The Drought Left Me One Choice: Drive 400 Cattle 120 Miles With an 80-Year-Old Uncle, a City Kid and a Dog

The storm lasted forty minutes. It felt like a year.

When the wind finally dropped and the sky turned from brown to orange, I saw the herd first. Bunched up tight in the bottom of the draw. Every one of them.

Then I saw Pistol, sitting on top of the bank, covered in dust, looking very proud of himself.

And then I saw Tanner.

He was on the far side of the draw, still on his horse, which was standing perfectly still with its head down. He’d tied his bandana over the horse’s eyes, exactly like Uncle Boyd had told him the old cowboys did, and he’d stayed with the back of the herd the entire time.

He was crying. He was also grinning from ear to ear.

“Uncle Garrett,” he said. “That was the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to me.”

“I know.”

“Can we do it again sometime?”

Uncle Boyd laughed so hard he nearly fell off his horse.

We reached the New Mexico ranch three days later.

On the last evening, we sat on our horses on a ridge above the new pasture and watched four hundred cows walk down into knee-deep green grass, along a creek full of water, while the sun went down red over the mesas.

Uncle Boyd took off his hat.

“Last trail drive,” he said quietly. “Best one.”

It rained in Dalhart in March. The cattle came home in trucks. I could afford it by then.

Tanner went back to Dallas at the end of the summer. He calls every Sunday now. He’s applying to an agricultural college in Lubbock.

His mother says he hasn’t looked at his phone at dinner since September.

What’s the hardest journey you’ve ever had to finish? Tell me in the comments.