Riders at Sunset

No cowboy rode one horse all season. A hard morning of cow work could wear out a mount by noon, so every outfit traveled with a remuda, from the Spanish for a relay of fresh horses, and every rider was assigned a string from it.

Trail outfits figured on six to ten horses per rider, so a crew of a dozen could be driving more than a hundred loose horses alongside the cattle. A man's string had its specialists: a quick horse for cutting, a strong one for roping, a steady night horse that could find its way in the dark, a good swimmer for the rivers.

The remuda belonged to the horse wrangler, often the youngest and lowest-paid hand, at about twenty-five dollars a month. He was up before daylight bringing the horses in, and watering them came before almost anything else.

Here two riders have stopped at a shallow creek at sundown. The man in the denim jacket sits a chestnut with a blaze, a coiled rope at the front of his saddle. The other, in a canvas jacket, looks down at the water. Beside them two grays and a sorrel carrying an empty saddle have their heads down to drink, in water that reflects the orange sky.