I Think I Hear
Something Smelling
A favorite time for me to get my nose working was any time I
could visit the cowboy’s bunkhouse. It sat just off the barn—a 12-foot by
15-foot building. The north and south sides had four bunks on each side—two on
top, two on the bottom. Each bunk had a bedroll that could be rolled up and
tied behind your saddle. On the bunk,
they were unrolled but enough roll was left for a pillow.
The west end held a wood burning stove—the top a shiny black
iron. Every cowboy would spit a well formed glob of saliva and watch it as it
cascaded across the hot iron. This was known as a spit oyster. Why? It was just
done.
The center aisle was log poles placed off the floor. Saddles
were put here—saddle blanket on the saddle seat and bridles hung from the
saddle horn. Some even hung their spurs from the saddle horn.
Above the saddles, there was a wooden shelf where the go-to-town
Stetson sat. The rest of a cowboy’s possessions were placed in his war bag.
That sat beside his bunk. Every real cowboy had two sets of boots: one for go-to-town,
the other, his everyday work boots. The town boots sat proudly next to his
Stetson.
The smells emitting from this gear were breathtaking. All
this well cared for leather mixed with saddle soap was…just breathtaking. Right
outside the door, on the east end, was a table with a washbasin—soap on a lid,
towel on a nail, a bucket with a short rope tied to it that would be tossed
into the water tank and pulled over the fence to be poured into a basin. A
mirror hung on the back of the door. A razor strap anchored to the door was
there for sharpening straight edge razors. I never knew a cowboy who enjoyed
facial hair.
For bodily releases, a three-holer sat ten or twelve feet
from the wash station. Winter found sheep skins placed carefully around two of
the holes. The middle one was the one you used while standing. In summer, this area was rich with odor.
Winters—no smell whatsoever.
The cowboys had their own face tonics to use after shaving.
Before going to town, they poured it into a hand and patted it all over their
faces. It usually took two pourings. One cowboy had a tonic in a bottle that he
gargled and then swallowed. It smelled just like whiskey to me.
All I can say is when that group was ready to go to town,
ready to paint the town red, they really looked great: ready to drink, dance,
or fight—any one of the three was all right. They all smelled just right.
7/25/14 Roger Wilson
