The Drifter

Ranch work was seasonal. Once the fall roundup was done and the beef was shipped, most outfits paid off all but a few hands and carried a skeleton crew through the winter. Everyone else was on his own until spring.

Plenty of them rode what cowboys called the grub line, or the chuck line. They drifted from ranch to ranch, stayed a night or two at each, ate at the cook's table, and moved on before they wore out the welcome. Range custom said a rider who showed up at mealtime got fed, and most outfits honored it.

Old cowhands drew a clear line, though. Any good hand might ride the chuck line through a hard winter. A man who did nothing else, year after year, was a range bum, and the cooks knew him on sight.

That is the drifter this picture has in mind: no herd, no partner, no hurry, just a trail and whatever ranch lies at the end of it. It is drawn in charcoal on tan paper in loose, fast strokes. The rider is seen from behind on a dark horse, following a pale two-track road that winds off between sagebrush toward low hills. The sky is a whirl of smudged diagonal marks that reads as wind more than cloud.