Part 2. Dru Tankersly's hired hand.
After we got our cow Babe penned up with the bull. Dru invited us into his adobe house
for a cup of coffee.
The house was a real ranch house, wide eaves all around, and screened porch on the
east. Inside, the furniture was sparse, wooden frame chairs covered with cowhide and
Indian rugs on the walls. The big kitchen table was adorned with a kerosene lamp, catsup
bottle, salt, pepper and assorted knives, forks and spoons sticking up from a blue flecked
porcelain covered tin cup. In fact, all of the dinnerware was this blue flecked metal,
from the plates on the shelves, to the coffee pot on the propane stove. At least the lid
of the coffee pot was still blue, the rest was charred black by the 6" high flames
that licked up the sides as the coffee boiled, steam rolling escaping and rolling along
the ceiling and finally escaping thru the top of the screen door. Dru was proud of this
new stove but complained that he had to drill out those tiny little holes in order to get
enough flame to brew up a proper pot of coffee.
While Dru and Dad sat at the table, I wandered around the parlor inspecting the
collection of Indian and western lore. There was a hexagon barreled 30-30 rifle on pegs
over the mantle. An Indian grinding stone by the hearth. A framed Indian arrowhead
collection. Double spring coyote traps hanging by their chains from a nail. There were two
pegs near the door, from one hung a holstered .44 revolver. I was fascinated by the oil
paintings that seemed to be everywhere. They all featured Indians and horses and were
signed by the same artist "Lona T."
I asked Dru about the paintings and Lona T., he said that Lona was not around and had
been gone for about a week riding fence in the Cady mountains. It was about then that the
dogs started barking, the horses in the coral started setting up a fuss and running
around. The bull even stopped what he was doing and turned his attention to the east. Dru
just looked up and said "stick around a few minutes and you can meet Lona."
The rider rode in out of the desert leading a pack horse loaded with barbed wire,
bedroll and tools. After tying up the horses at the water trough and greeting the excited
dogs, Lona headed for the house yelling. "I could smell your 1#&% coffee clear to
the dry lake. Won't you ever learn not to cremate that %#* stuff before you drink it? I'll
bet you haven't done the #+&* dishes since I left either." My anticipation was
great, wait till I tell my city kid friends about this trail dust covered
cowboy/artist/fence rider. As Lona entered the porch my Dad said "Lona I would like
you to meet my son Billy."
"Howdy Billy, I'm Dru's daughter Lona."
In her early teens Lona was already the Newberry version of Dolly P., at least in
build. When she removed her hat, her raven black straight hair hung below her waist. High
cheek bones and slightly almond shaped black eyes showed the Indian blood on her mothers
side. She wasn't what you would call beautiful or pretty and she definitely was not
feminine, but there was sure something about this loud talking wasp waisted girl that was
hard to forget.
Now! what was I going to tell my (city kid) friends? Lona was everything I had ever
dreamed a real cowboy to be, at least up to the point that I discovered that Lona was a
girl. She completely missed the mark to fit the cowgirl image of the movies. How do you
brag about meeting a real cowboy in a woman's body.
Copyright 1995, William E. Smith, All Rights Reserved
Newberry Springs Chamber of Commerce
P.O. Box 116
Newberry Springs, CA 92365
Phone: (760) 257-1072
