ought to at least give it a try. Wanna stay away from those Durhams, though. I read in the Journal there are too many birth defects with them. Last thing we want is to put a bunch of calves down.”
“I’m guessin’ we’ll find both here at the sale.” Robert had been attending cattle sales with his father for as long as he could remember. Sometimes his mother even came along and enjoyed a day of shopping, but not this time. “I have to say I’m partial to the flavor the Angus-longhorn crossbred gives. I think we’d do well to incorporate the breed into our herds.”
“Seems most folks here agree with you.” A number of men were already gathered around the Black Angus sale pen. “Guess I’d better be ready to part with a good bit of money.”
A year ago the Stock Raisers Association had changed their name to the Cattle Raisers Association of Texas and headquartered themselves in Fort Worth. Robert was glad to hear about the change now that they were able to participate with the group on a regular basis. Such associations were beneficial and made ranchers stronger as they stood together. This association had seen them through the closed-range issues, the drought of the ’80s, and the recent economic failures and drought of the ’90s. Issues of disease, the introduction of new breeds, and innovations for raising profitability were also addressed. Robert found the information of great use, as did his father.
“Where’d Mr. Atherton and Mr. Reid get off to?” Robert asked after his father finished the business of registering with the salespeople.
“Lookin’ at horses. Brandon Reid is always lookin’ to improve his herd. The man’s gained himself a reputation as an expert on horseflesh.”
Robert nodded. The mount he rode today was sired by a Reid stallion. The sorrel stood sixteen hands high and was a mix of Thoroughbred and American Paint. Robert had never known a cow horse with better instinct. The gait was easy, too. Robert could sit for hours in the saddle. He’d ownedthe horse since it was a colt and had been the only one to break and ride him. Aunt Marty had teased him about the horse he affectionately called Rojoe, a play on the Spanish word rojo —meaning red. When Robert had first learned to read Spanish, he had insisted the word was pronounced with a strong J sound instead of the H the Spanish used. Marty had given him such a hard time about it that it had become a running joke.
“We’ll all meet up for the discussion on increasing profits. I can’t say there’s much hope during this panic, but you never know,” Robert’s father said, moving to remount his black. “Meanwhile, I’d like to take a look at some of those Angus.”
The day passed in a flurry of activities. Robert went with his father to consider the Angus, after which the older man was determined to buy a young bull and three breeder cows. They looked into some of the other breeds, listened to the lectures on how to survive the lack of water and decent range grass, saw some of the new barbed wire available for fencing, and heard a highly regarded veterinarian speak on a new dip to eradicate Texas tick fever.
Robert listened as his father made deals on new watering tanks and lumber for building another barn and pen, as well as other supplies. Sometimes William Barnett allowed his son to barter for some of the ranch needs, but most often Robert simply accompanied his father. He had learned a great deal by keeping his mouth closed and his eyes and ears open. It was to his benefit that his father handled business and helped Robert establish relationships and connections in the industry.
Of course the Cattle Raisers Association was in and of itself a school of training for the men who sought to make a living raising Texas cattle. The state’s weather could be ruthless and unforgiving—sending droughts, floods, tornadoes,and even blizzards. The ranchers had endured a great deal over the years, and only by helping one
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