The Moorhouse Wagon
article and photographs by Bo Brewer
Found on page 16, Winter 2001.
When you go to the wagon, you know that the cow work is going to be done in the old-time way. And while there are some ranches that pull the wagon out as something of an entertainment factor, out in West Texas the wheels roll because it is still the most economical and efficient way to get the work done.
One of the places it gets done that way is on the Moorhouse C Ranches headquartered near Benjamin in the historic Texas country where cattle still rule.
When you go to the Moorhouse wagon, you'd better be cocked and ready because Tom Moorhouse does cow work the way his daddy "Togo" did it and the way his granddaddy did even further back.
When Moorhouse and the men who work for him prowl the mesquite thickets and cedar motts, they do it with saddle horse and catch rope, and their legs hang down from some of the best ranch horses anywhere.
The C brand is seen on the left side of Hereford-cross cattle from as far north as the old Milliron Ranch, in Hall County, down into Knox County at the headquarters, and on the Parramore Ranch between Guthrie and Aspermont. The Moorhouse Company, including brothers Tom, Bob, John, and Ed, have found that running cattle on the combination of lease and owned properties has worked well for them.
The Moorhouse name and the history of ranching in Texas have gone hand in hand since the turn of the century when Togo Moorhouse's father began ranching in the rolling plains/cross timbers section of the lone star state. The land changed hands when the early 1900s drought caused the family to sell out, but, some years later, Togo bought the land back. Since then, the C brand has been recognized and respected from the south reaches of the Palo Duro Canyon to just north of the Salt Fork of the Brazos.
While all the Moorhouse boys contribute to the operation, it has been Tom and Bob who are most often connected with the ranch. Bob is manager of the famed Pitchfork Ranch located between Guthrie and Dickens but still helps in the administration of the Moorhouse outfit.
The 2000 works started in May, right after the Mother's Day weekend when the Moorhouse crew made up a ranch rodeo team and competed in the Western Heritage Classic (WHC) in Abilene. They also had a horse or two in the WHC ranch horse sale.
At the Parramore, Wagon Boss Bubba Smith and Fro Walden, who was down from the Moorhouse holding between Turkey and Estelline, were getting ready for the wagon and horses to arrive from Hall County. The horse truck got there before the hands did, the hands being both Moorhouse crew and some daywork punchers. But they'd all worked together in the past, so there was a lot of catching up to do.
The cowboy crew consisted of Johnny Ferguson, Buster McLaury, Cotton Leathers, Tim Stoud, Lanham Jones, Scott Williamson, and youngsters Gage Moorhouse, and Gage Williamson. The cocinero was Valente. And there were Tom and Becky Moorhouse.
The fence at the horse pen was soon festooned with an array of saddles that were worn and torn by miles and miles of brush country riding. Hanging from the horns were leggin's slicked on the inside from rubbing saddle leather and ripped and roughed on the outside from mesquite thorns and cedar limbs. Most of the equipment was shop-made and customized to the riders' needs.
Heavy shotgun leggin's were the most common. According to Buster McLaury, when you're bustin' brush there in the cross timbers/rolling plains section of Texas, not one hand in a hundred will go in there wearing short leggin's, at least not more than a few times.
Most of the saddles had at least some swell on them as well as a 4-inch-or-better cantle.
When Valente came in with his rig, the crew went right to work stretchin' canvas, settin' up benches, and getting the wood stove in place. By the time the last corner post was staked into place, Valente' was russlin' supper. The crew headed for the horse pen to grain the stock before turning them into the horse trap.
After an evenin' of visiting and a night's sleep, it was up in the morning to Valente's black coffee and hot biscuits. Then the horses were jingled in and Bubba and Fro hung loops on the horses the men called for. Those hoolihan loops settled, soft as goose down, even over the heads of the Houdini horses who kept their heads low to escape. It was pure art.
The ropers would lead each horse past the cowboy's left side and then turn around behind and come back to his right shoulder. It was only then that the cowboy would slip his own catch rope or reins around the horse's neck to claim the animal. Things are done a specific way at the wagon.
After a high trot to the startin' place, cowboys were dispatched in different crews and in different directions, off into the mesquite and cedars. The crew made lots of noise, in order to keep track of each other.
Cow work can be strange. One minute a cowboy can be lost and dodgin' rattlers, and the next minute he'll have cows in front of him and his pony will be keepin' them moving in the right direction.
Eventually, the drive came together like Injun magic, and the cattle were penned and the fires going. The drys were peeled off, and draggin' calves began.
When everyone on a branding crew is doing things right, everything meshes real well. After the calf is dragged in by his heels, he's turned on his side. One man spreads those rear legs while another holds the top front leg and puts a knee on the animal's neck. A quick slice of a keen blade and you have a steer calf. Another slice and a "slick" has his ear cropped. The needle gun puts vaccine up under the top front leg while nubbin' horns are scooped out. Then comes the iron-too hot and the brand will blotch, too cold and it won't take. Done right, it's a mark for life.
When the stock was all worked, it was tightened cinches and back to the saddle. Cow calf pairs were moved against a back fence and fly spray applied.
Cow work goes from can to can't. That is, from as soon as you can see in the morning till you can't see in the evening. In the springtime, that's a long day. And the cattle still had to be returned to their pasture.
By the time the crew followed Tom back to the wagon at a long trot, the West Texas dust had stuck to every sweat stain from hat to boot and had converted the crew into a tribe of red men. Back at camp, the first order of business was pouring hats full of "gyppy" water over dust-cover bodies.
Food never tastes so good as it does after a hard day's work, and Valente's stew, biscuits, and cobbler were downed with enthusiasm. It was time to slow down. Under the big horsethief moon, the cowboys played poker or jawed about horses, cattle, and ranches.
And then, one by one, the cowboys began to loosen the straps on their bedrolls.
Out in the darkness, a cow called her calf, and thunder rolled way off up toward the Red River. The romance of the moment was tempered by the knowledge that 4:30 comes early at the wagon, and the brush was still full of slicks.
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