Way Out There

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You are my love You are my love You are my love You are my love You are my love You are my love You are my love What's the next town? Pilot Navigator What? That last song That last song That last song That last song That last song That last song What's the next town? How many miles?

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Guard Guard Guard Guard You know, it's always an interesting experience to come back to some place where you once lived. The face of a whole town can change. Of course, so do the faces of the folks who lived there. Some faces are new, some have a few more wrinkles and some are simply gone. But if you've ever spent much time in a country like this, well, it gets in your blood, as they say. You meet total strangers off the road and something just creeps out of you. Something that drives you to want to tell them all about it. Of course, maybe I'm affected that way because I have, so I'm told, a big mouth.

It's quite an outfit. A friend of mine, John Gatlin, from Dattle, known to everyone as Ocho Huan, used to have a card. It read, my card, sir, I am somewhat of a bullshitter myself, but occasionally I like to listen to a professional, please carry on. And add more than one occasion we did just that over at the old Navajo Lodge in Dattle, till the early hours. Ocho Huan was a storyteller and a life-swapper. He and I were cut from the same cloth, I guess, but there really is something about this country. It's hard to explain, but every now and then I give it a whirl. And if you're even getting a free beer out of the deal, well, so much the better. Well, I get to sit with the pretty girls, huh? I guess that and a cool beer ought to be worth the story or two. And there you are. Well, much obliged. Where should I start?

About the beginning. You want to go all that way back? You want the 1800s? Oh, it's further. Much further. I'd imagine the place to start is when people first touched the land here. Of course, no one knows what early nomads may have seen it, but in a cave overlooking the San Augustine Plains west of Magdalena, was found some of the earliest evidence of man cultivating corn in the United States, dating back over 3,500 years. The San Augustine Plains themselves were in Inland Sea until 10,000 years ago, and the mountains that encircle and bisect these wide-open spaces are mainly volcanic and origin, formed 25 to 35 million years ago.

Later, the Anasazi thrived here, only to leave this land after a few hundred years. No one knows where they went. Perhaps their descendants are living in the pueblos of Akama, Laguna, or Zuni today. When the men of Coronado's expedition first saw this country in the 16th century, the nomadic Apache were drifting through, and later came their cousins, the Navajo. One legend has it that the mountain overlooking the town was named in honor of Mary Magdalena by some men from a scouting party out of Coronado's expeditionary force. They saw in the rocks and the brush on the face of the mountain. The face of the biblical bad girl turned good, Santa Maria Magdalena. It became known as a place of sanctuary, which the war like Apache would not violate. If you made it to the mountain, you were safe. That the Apache themselves saw meaning in the symbolic formations on the side of the mountain as an interesting speculation.

In the middle of the 19th century, this territory became American soil and was open for settlement. Norman Cleveland probably knows as much about that era as anyone around here. Oh, he wasn't around back then. No, but his grandfather was. Norman's a writer, historian, former cowboy, and Olympic gold medal winner, a mining engineer and more. His grandfather came to this country in the 1870s, surveyed the route across the Ratton Pass where the Santa Fe Railroad entered New Mexico. The Red River cattle company moved in here just as soon as the area was surveyed and the land was opened up for homesteading. They could move in very well before it was surveyed in the early 1880s. And the Red River cattle company sent down a large number of people, as well as a 20 or 30, who were grub-staked to homestead on all the water. If you had the water, of course, you had the control of the range.

And so all these places you see along here, all their names of people who came down from Colfaddes County, to homestead, a grub-staked with an understanding that when they completed their homestead, they turned it over to the Red River cattle company. Now that was not quite kosher or legal, but it was the only way you could run a make-this-country pay it had to be done on with large-scale operations. So as the country billed out, other outfits came in. The railroad arrived here in 1885. A new town sprang up and took the name of the woman on the mountain, Magdalena. Overnight, it was a center for the shipping of cattle and sheep and a commercial hub for the logging, ranching, and mining interests in the area. It was a classic western cow town that boomed. The first question most people asked, was it wild?

My grandmother was very persistent that we should be a bit of a sheltered life. When we would ride into Magdalena, if we were only with cowboys, we had to turn back when they got to the nine-mile hill where we could see Magdalena in the distance. But then we turned back and rode back to the ranch where we would be safer. It was a pretty good cow town and had all the characteristics of a cow town. So it was a pretty good excitement. Get in the drink, get in the drink. Oh, give me a heart, great big heart. Give me a book, a room, and let me walk, oh, follow, follow. Oh, give me a rest, make my bed, give me a step into it. Let me walk, oh, follow, follow. Give me those wide open faces.

Or I'm just like the very flowers. Growing wilder every hour, give me a move, very moving. Give me a gal, walk through and let me walk, oh, follow, follow. It wasn't as wild as all the western story writers say. Oh, yeah, just about as wild as could be. Soaring is our Saty чем. It must never be even. I want to be able to say that. Cowboys use to come to town and shoot up a few love spots. And throw people out of my window or something like that. But it wasn't really all that tough. Well, should I say it, he was kind of nutty.

If I didn't, Davis was his name. Forget his name. We used to drink together and then he was a marshal. One day I was drunk and laying in the bar like that. He pulled his pistol out on my side here. He said, let me shoot that bottle. It was a bottle for red crosser or a cripple of children. On the other hand, he pulled the pistol in front of me. And he shot the bottle. Shot it off the bar. But boy, I jumped up the bar of high. Then later on, he kept getting crazy. And he was living up here by Pueblo Spring and he shot his wife. I guess he couldn't find any cans or anything. So he shot her right here and right below the high. Mm-hmm. It was wild. We used to go in with our kids. Picking bottles, selling for nickel piece. You find somebody hanging in from the tree.

It was pretty wild. Everybody used to wear gongs. I guess the longer ago you were talking about, the rougher it sounded. Today, they're a pretty peaceful bunch for the most part. But like so much of the American West, it simply had its fair share of just about everything and everyone. Outlaws and renegades, losers and winners, good times and bad. But it's a very different kind of place. I suppose you could say that about anywhere, but here the word different really applies. It's not the country that made it that way. You know, some guy once wrote how history doesn't come from mountains or towns or any place.

It comes from people and what they did while they lived somewhere. And every summer they celebrate their history here and honor it and reminisce about times past. Of course, the ones who have the most of reminisce about are the folks who've been here the longest. I guess that's why they call the whole affair the Old Timers reunion. When folks come from nearly every direction together one more time in the town at the end of the trail. I enjoy that whole time. I wouldn't miss that for anything in the world. I like that. I'm getting them steered on the street, you know. And then you get to see a lot of friends. Old fellow, they didn't hear and went away and come back. Get to visit with them. A lot of them are gone already. Old friends are gone already. When they were younger, wherever they go, I don't know where they go. I don't want to go that way sometimes.

I got to know some great ones. I'll mention one name, but I think it was one of the great old Fred Martin. I'm proud that I got to ride with him. Oh Fred, he's a cup of puncher in the hat. And Cecilow's late, another friend of mine. Every time he's seen him, he'd holler and he'd give him a drink. That's what I was saying. He'd give him a good drink. And we'll see you soon. You won't find Cecilow's late old timers anymore. He helped get the old timers deal started with the help of folks like his sister Vera back in 71. Of course, it was a whole lot different affair back then. At first we had it down in our house at home. We had barbecue or whatever. But now, I mean, we went into such a big thing. You know what it is now.

Here we go. Naturally, it ain't that wild all the time. Mostly, it's pretty darn quiet. Today, it's a little dot on the map of somewhere close to 1300 souls. Folks who, for the most part, go about their business like they do in lots of small towns across the country. But the place has better than 100 years of a special western life under its belt. A couple of years ago, the town celebrated her centennial.

That was such a big deal, even the US Postal Service got in on the act, putting a stamp of recognition on a little place that not many folks know much about. You know, in 100 years, you end up with a lot of stories about a place. But I think the most interesting one here about is why the town has its alias. For longer than anyone here remembers, Macdalena has always been known as Trails in. Macdalena, of course, was supported largely by Kelly Mines. But also, it was a major shipping point. And I have always figured it was far more important, the cattle industry, because in the early days of Macdalena, in fact, when my childhood here, cattle were shipped all the way from eastern Arizona, and all the way up from Alma down in that district to the south. It was one of the largest cattle shipping points,

but it's not the largest western Mississippi because of the larger area where they shipped the cattle from. Died city, cow town fort worth, and most of the west had settled down to more peaceable or what some folks might consider more respectable terms. The Depression and World War II came and went. The world changed and the west with it, forever. Macdalena, well, she was still holding on, kind of acting like a kid that just didn't want to grow up. They still moved them down the Macdalena driveway a better than 100 mile y-shaped corridor five to ten miles wide, built in the thirties by the WPA. The west still lived in a few places, at least. Up in the state capital, Santa Fe, those tourist promoters and chamber of commerce types at a heyday, they even produced a film of their own about it, Round Up Time in New Mexico.

The late summer, or early fall, cowboys round up the cattle and brimmed the calves. Roundups are held on all the ranges in New Mexico, from Lord's Burg to Raton, from Lovington to Macdalena. Macdalena was the only shipping point in this part of the country, and they were the only railroad, you know. There was no such thing as semi-trucks there, and any where you went to went horseback. We just get ready, be looking forward to that. Get the horse ready, everything ready to go. Before the Roundup starts, horses are brought in from the open rain, and ponies for the cowboys remuda are selected. Well, you went through the different kinds of weather.

That doesn't snow, rain, dry weather, and dust storm. Sometimes you didn't have any pins to pin those cattle, where you had nightgarden. And the morning they didn't say, well, you've got the work last night, you can sleep all day, there was no such thing. You just roll up your bed, and change the horses and start to drive. You know, a lucky cowboy that got maybe two or three hours sleep. You slept most of the dogs on time on that horse, driving those cattle. After, you know, you're on there so long while the horses kind of get used to it, and you'll graze, and if there's a cow sits back, while he'll turn, you know, and when he turns, you wake up, and you know there's something wrong somewhere, you know, and that's how you go. You know, cowboys nowadays don't even know how to drive cattle. Oh, wait. You know, they don't know what to point and to swing in the drag.

It's all they know is to get behind and try to push the drag over the point. What I mean, they just get behind and try to drive the back end over the front end. You know, drive cattle out of the way. You didn't use to, you do now, but I guess you didn't use to. Maces that a few hours before, look deserted, now come to life. My last drive I was on at the 45 days. And we drove them for miles and miles and miles. Where I was raised, we drove those cattle about 100 miles. I part of the country, if it was dry, and the cattle hadn't been doing all good, wasn't it? The wagon boss would hold you from driving too fast. You know, on the graze that lane, you know, as he comes along. At the time, he'd get the town with them while they'd pick up some weight. The trick was to get your cattle in to Maglina, get them loaded and not lose weight. They were people coming with cattle all the time. There was a bunch of cattle one right behind the other company.

And you timed your travel across the plains to meet a certain date of when the cars were there to be loaded. Antelope, which grazed the open rain, scurray before the drive. At each location, the cook makes camp. Yes, he's the genial boss of his own domain. He was so hungry that he'd eat anything, you know, and if he could get to any kind of food, well, it was good. On that 45-day drive, we had a fellow who was cooking. He had some cattle in there. He had some cattle in there. He had some cattle in there. He had a fellow who was cooking. He had some cattle in the herd. And he'd never cooked for camp. So he was a source that I remember. I heard and dusty from their morning's work. The cowboys need no special invitation to head for Chuck.

Chuck wagon food is prepared over an open fire. The cook prides himself on timing his noon day meal so that it is ready and steaming hot when the herd reaches camp. If we had breakfast, we were lucky if we had something to eat by eight or nine o'clock, that night. And we didn't have any sandwiches if we had a piece of jerky, maybe, in our pocket. Saddle pocket. That was fine. But these modern days, no, they come in for much at noon. There is always plenty, and second-helpings are the rule. We have a lot of bread and cans of tomatoes and onions. And he chopped these onions and put some bread all over the bottom of that Dutch oven. And then put fillet full of onions and then pour the tomatoes on top of it. And that was our dinner. On the open range, corals are built near the railroad and cattle are driven for miles to shipping points.

I've shut brought down my own day herd and helped cut cattle food. A week at a time to get in to load them on the chains. It was camped all around town with their cattle, you know, had chuck wagons and waiting to get into the stock yard. That was cobbling when you had to know what you were doing. And that was success or failure. It was with your cattle lost too much weight or gum up in the proceedings of shipping them out. After the calves have been separated, they are placed temporarily in holding pens. And later, loaded into stock cars where they begin their journey to market. 30, 40 years ago, 30 years ago, my glamer was the biggest cattle shipping center in the world. They drove cattle to here and put them on the train. She didn't mind. Now the trucks go through the place and look.

They have loading shoes. They have built loading shoes. So they go out there with a truck and they load them at the ranch. They are not driven one step anywhere. Well, it's too fast now. You don't have that day in and day out there and the weather and holding the cattle up at night and watching over them and stuff like that, you know. So there comes the ranch. You can load them and they are going that dead. I guess George Far was the only seller,

the last seller that ever drove on the drive. I guess he was. There's no more cattle drives. One round up is over. But next year, on the ranges in New Mexico, from Carl's band to Raton, from Tuchem Carey to Mindelana, seen such as these, will be reenacted on all the rances throughout the state. Like I said, I want to go and wish that little train or the back over here. We call it the Maggie, that little train that come pick up the cattle. And the guy spears that one time when he comes and wherever he comes from. When he first comes in this country,

he got in this little train and said, well, taking as far as this train will go. That's as far as it went right here. Magdalena. What have you been doing here this week? You know for the morning prayer, please. On the way back home for the day, thank you for the nation that went with him. For these days of celebration, for the birthday of our nation, for the history of Magdalena. The Lord has sent his final reminders one day we do shall pass this week. We just want to increase the riders in the amounts of the day, keep your head and protection on each one. No time for that day.

The stories can go on and on if you have the curiosity of the patience. And when they get off talking about the areas passed and start talking about their own, you sometimes catch a glimpse of a curious phenomena, something that poets and philosophers talk about. Sometimes life really does seem to go around in a circle. By 1923, with my dad in a little drawn mountain, punching the cow with tennis shoes on. His name's Nash Godinus. Yeah, he's a cowboy, all right. Been doing it better than 60 years now. Used to work over at the slash ranch, but the other day, Nash and his wife Fidi were moving. Did you do it all for a week here? No, I'll hold some junk over this morning. I'm moving on like this, I work with the spears rancher here. Yeah. Riley. Yeah. Oh, yeah, Riley.

Oh. It's right here north here, about 20 miles. And that's where I'm moving to now. To look up to his ranch where his son Richard spears. Hey, this is a great guy. Well, you guys spears. Just get on there and ride him to the end this time. I believe you're going to make good ride this time. Okay. Try my best. Okay. So I'm going back home, you see. This is the last cow punch you know where I get. I like that country. That's home. Riley. It was named after an Irish sheep rancher from these parts had its first post office in 1890. But it was a community long before that.

Early Spanish records indicate this is one of the oldest small missions in the entire state. And the village was called Santa Rita. After World War I there were 50 or so families in the area. Now there's just a handful. It used to be a whole lot different around here. Every so often Riley used to kick up a team. We used to have little rodeos out there for Shiesta. And right next to the schoolhouse right there. I'm an old cowhand from the Rio Grande. And I sing this song. There's one time there I got on the wrong side and the horse got away and got right on the middle of that hard road. And he was just pounding on it. Just felt like it was hitting me on the back of the neck all of that. But I stay with it, I'm riding back. I didn't let him go. Well there's no more rodeos but folks still come out here

once a year for a Fiesta. Kind of homecoming. And every so often they'll come just to look and remember and maybe visit the cemetery. What you might call Riley's center of population these days. Andy and Elfego Baca came out the other day. These guys grew up in Riley. Andy moved to Oklahoma as a young man. Hasn't seen Riley in 45 years. They had little ranch up here on this what they call the Baca Creek up here. And my dad was about... Oh he must have been about 10 or 12 years old. And Grandpa bought some cattle that were... It said we had to have a chopper by the dealer. Mount Taylor. And they brought those cattle up here. So these were the ranch up here. There was no fences. So dad had to... They heard on those things and be sure they didn't go back. That's where he spent most of his young life right out there and a little ranch up there. He said he could get so long some.

He'd climb a little peak right there by the ranch house. He'd climb up every evening and he'd sit there for hours till he'd get dark and he'd go there. Elfego lives in Magdalena now. One of the town's experts on New Mexico's favorite food, green chili. On the little town. The little ghost town. Most of them had cattle. And then they raised a little garden. Just a little patch of chili with a raised over 100 strings of chili. And the food was so good. Everything that we raised over here, everybody liked it. You know, these soils... I guess it was the good or the water and the hot. When Rado Korea grew up in the Rio Grande Valley, first came here in the early 1940s. After a career with the Santa Fe Railroad, he retired in Raleigh with his wife Maria who grew up in a ranch 10 miles down the road. We used to come down on horseback down here. Go on, Rado Ragoon.

And Alejandro Ragoon, nephew, we'd call on them, won't play the guitar. They had to play the violin, violin. So we asked them to play for us during dances, made a dance, everybody in town went to it. There's only about a hundred people in town. It was a time when things were a lot simpler than they are today. Give us the music and they give the music. Music Things changed. Western towns of all sizes lived or died years ago and even today, mainly because of one simple thing in life. A big thing. The money, the money was the one that moved up. When they started out with the Kelly mine out there, people decided to move to Kelly.

Music There were two guys came in and they found this leg on top of the ground. And that's where the mining started. In fact, I've seen the leg on top of the ground melted. It's still there, I guess, but I wouldn't know where it is now. It would just like be bordered out of a pot, on the ground. And that's where the mines started. J.S. Hutchison, better known as Old Hutch, stayed the first claim here in 1866. But Kelly didn't see its first boom till the late 1870s when silver, lots of it was found in the lead zinc ores here. And then they raced to Kelly looking for a strike and if they're even halfway lucky, maybe land in a job at one of those places that ran on three shifts, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. There's still racing up here.

Of course, it's a bit different today. Good job, water. I don't know. Little kid ran me to death. It's a centennial run from Magdalena to Kelly. Eight kilometers, mostly uphill. Yeah, these folks aren't pretty good shape. Kelly? Well, that's a different story. During its heyday, there were over 3,000 people here. They worked in mines with names like the Lynchburg Morning Star, Juanita, legal tender in Young America. They pulled out better than $50 million in ore, mostly lead in zinc, laced with copper, silver and even a little gold. Billy Dobson's dad owned and operated mines here,

including this one, the Nip. 150 railroad cars of ore got shipped out of here in 1947. But as Billy can tell you, mining in Kelly like anyplace else was part what you know and part hunch. There was one old timer that used to run the Lynchburg. His name was Kenneth Hughes. And one day we were talking and he said, I don't know. He said, it was up to me. I think I'd take the luck. I'll tell you why. He said, a lot of times things don't seem logical. But once you find the ore and you mine it all out, then you see the logic to it that this ore body shouldn't be there. But sometimes it is. It's kind of a guessing game. It's a gamble, yeah.

It was a lucky day in 1902 for a man named Coney Brown. When he picked up some samples of a greenish rock that laced through some of the mines and had an assay done. The miners had cursed it. The tailing dumps were filled with it. Brown got his assay results and quietly leased one of the biggest mines here. Coney Brown was on the edge of a fortune. It was Smith's tonight, a rare zinc carbonate deposit. By the thousands of tons it got sent to the smelters to be processed. The furnaces roared and Kelly lived it up again. The Sherman Williams paint company bought a mine here in those days. And for a time every coated their white paint slapped on houses from Maine to California had zinc in it from Kelly. Today, nearly all the Smith's tonight you're going to find here is in Magdalena's rock shop sold by the carrot, not the tonne. Up here it's pretty much played out. It was a story of boom and bust up and down and finally busted. What really killed it here was when it pulled the railroad out.

There was a time there when the price of war was down quite a bit and when that price was down there for about a year or so and nobody was producing when the railroad pulled out and that kind of killed the whole deal here and the smelter don't want the war anyway. It won't smelter for you. Kelly played its last hand in the 1960s when the Lynchburg mine had a small crew work in it. Now it's all over. There's not a single soul who lives here but sometimes you could swear your voices. I guess they're just the echoes from Kelly's past when the music played and Kelly was quite a time. And one of the great players and I worked with him when he was an old man with Jim Osborne. That's the one that he used to tell me

he's old age about the horse that they used to have in Magdalena or the dances in Kelly. He bought a car, a study baker. At that time that study baker brand knew it was $450. He says he's not time I paid because I used to charge him a dollar to take him to Kelly for the dances and another dollar to bring him back. Of course I would know to patronize him. But I remember. Yeah, the town had its brothels all right. So it did almost every other frontier settlement. But the settling of the West brought families, meaning women folk and in time that changed a lot of things. It's still changing. Louise Massingale's jazz or size class is as good a proof for that as almost anything. But in those days women had a special place and were treated well differently.

The women did not go in the bar when I was growing up. Yeah, so they did not. But men did. And a little boys. If he was big enough to belly up to the bar he was big enough to drink. Then there was no wage limit like today. But the women didn't. My mother and I sit in the lobby and wait until the women went in and had their drinks or whatever. And there was no question what the standing of a woman was very much different as it is now. I want to be a powerful woman. I want to learn. I want to learn. Well, those days, the Western Civil War was a real living thing, particularly as regards women. They came across here in the comfort wagon. All of those miles. How did they manage? All of that and cooking over an open fire and taking care of the little ones

and helping with the cattle and helping with the verses? It's just remarkable. I mean, those old gals were tough. That's all they were tough. But the frontier woman, those seldom a major figure in Western literature or film, always had a real impact on life out here. There were certain things concerning women that ought to be done and some things that were taboo. To Widow, a woman, the day after she gives birth would not consider very good manners. To say that women have full equality in this country wouldn't be accurate. But they can do things that would have been unheard of not many years ago. And then there are some things that seem to be true no matter what era you're talking about. Like they say, behind every man there's a woman.

And if it wasn't for those tough old gals that did hard work. It couldn't have been. There was no way it could have been. We come here in 1943 April. I'd imagine as good an example of that around here as you could find would be Birdie Spears, who raised two boys out here with her husband Guy. You know, he spent six years in a Navy before he'd become a cowboy. He came to New Mexico and, saying all these other cowboys, and now the girl's just a crazy about him. He thought that was about the best thing he could do. Get him a French. Guy Spears and his grandson Raymond were local celebrities at time back on a national PBS kids show called. The grandpa has a small wrench out at Rodley, New Mexico. It's a small town.

It's about 24 miles from where I live in Maglina. In the winter time I'd like to go out there and spend the weekend out on this range because I really like to help him. How great that was. How great that was. My grandfather raises cattle and horses for the rodeo. How great that was. How great that was. Now this chapter is great, Dan Raymond. Sometimes I practice riding the bucket steers. You ready? Okay, here we go. Guy, dirty, fuck him up. What are you doing? You going to be a bull rider? Yeah. Out of boy. We just had that patient bull rider deliver us some evil. Providing us with him.

Our boy forever. Hey, man. Did I tell you about the time I stepped on that big rattlesnake? No. Was it a big one? Oh, yeah, sure was. I think we got the rattles here somewhere. There's the rattles. He was under these gourd binds and I couldn't see him. My grandfather is about the best friend I ever had. I got away from him. Yeah, he was a really outstanding guy. Everybody went, he saw somebody that knew him. Yeah.

They've been out there for a long time and they knew a lot of different things and I've learned a lot from them. And every time I get around old time or what, it's always best to be close mouth and open to your. That way you can understand what they're saying and because they've been there. They've been there ahead of you. When I was younger, I was a little hammerhead and I never listened to him. But a center later you find out, you know, a horse bucks you off in the rocks or something, and you say, well, damn, I wish I'd listen to this old boy. You know? I got always running around with that. Old people. And everybody asked me, now is how come you know them old fellas? That's the one I was a kid. I wasn't my dad all the time. And I was running the old folks and I didn't have time to play or play on the kids.

I was a horse back after. It was a way of life. Cowboy is a way of life. I mean, you learn cattle. You learn what cattle do. And there's never a day past if you will study cattle and pay attention that you don't learn so far. That is cowboys. There's no cowboys in here. Like they say, they cowboys supposed to be dead and gone, but I don't know around here, I work with a lot of cowboys. They're still cowboys around. The real cowboys still the cowboy, no matter what. It's just the times that change. They just never been tall. These are different. They are just times to change. They've never been tall. We learned this job the hard way. I learned from my dad. He's a Bronx stumper in the drone mountain, 1902. And my kid learned it from me. He taught us all how to work hard. He says, if you're going to do something,

you'll get after it. Just don't do it alone. It's round the time and the weather's fine. The sprays will go befriended. The iron's frying. The doggies cry. But the old man has come out. So old, he long has seen his song. Hold that better down. Hold him down. Burn it high. Burn it to pay for. Burn it for days. Hold that better down. Burn it high. Hold him down. When the sun goes down. I'm right. You throw the pie in the sink. Looked shy. And high him up in his bed. And we'll make him run. Give it 20 for girls. I'll hold that better down. Hold him down. Burn it high. Hold it to pay for every day. Hold that better down. Burn it high. Hold him down. Don't let him run. I'll let him run. Don't let him run. Don't let him run. Don't let him run.

Don't let him run. Leave him. I get rotated. And everybody worked with your team. All the cowboys worked together. It's your team. And that's the bee in the cowboys. Yeah, yeah. You kid. Look what he saw on the journey. Curtis knew I need you. No. There's more to it than just cowboys. There's Indians too. Twenty-some miles northwest of Magdalena. There's the Alamo band of the Navajo Indians. The descendants of a small group that eluded Kid Carson when he rounded up the Navajos for their long walk to Fort Sumner. I need you in a very special way. Tiger. We roll and roll and roll and wipe. Pytons down highway 60 ways. One of the last areas open to homesteaders in the continental United States. Ed Jones, known to his friends as Shorty,

was a dust bowl refugee from Texas who came here and made pies in Pytown. Pytown or bust? Mostly bust. There's a hold-in to tradition, some more recent than others. Since 1941, folks have been coming out to Montose Camp meetings every summer. There's a hold-in to tradition, some more recent than others. Since 1941, folks have been coming out to Montose Camp meetings every summer. And then there's the once-a-year tradition on Christmas Eve of Manianitas. A Spanish custom still carried on among some families here. There's just no denying that some folks here are good examples of the real Western independence in the way they see things. Take Diego Montose Camp meetings every summer. And then there's the once-a-year tradition on Christmas Eve of Manianitas.

Take Diego Montoya. He's put a whole new twist on that ship in the bottle business. I don't know. I don't know if you would mind to see the new God that we have and the fake that I got in the bottle now. Now, the new one, the way I see it, anywhere I go, it's these, the new. That's the new God that we have today. It sits on a crossroad where the past meets the present. Only about 60 miles as the crow flies, you have Trinity sight. Sighted the first A-bomb test where we entered the shadows of a new age. Just over the mountain, you've got Langmuir Lab, where scientists from the college in Sicoro, New Mexico Tech, study lightning. In the VLA, the very large array, the world's largest radio astronomy facility, studies the universe. Today, it's Magdalena's largest employer. And so it goes.

The good times and bad, the unknowns and the dreams. And speaking of dreaming, I'd better turn in. I thank you for the beer and all the nice conversation. Our pleasure. Thank you so much. It was really nice meeting. Oh, yeah. Take care, huh? Thank you. Nice meeting you. And you have a good room. Thank you. Thanks. See you later. Bye-bye. Bye-bye. Bye-bye. Bye-bye. Hey.

Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Well, on this spot, I know where no man will go. Where the shadows have all the room. I was riding three on the O-S-D. I'm in the sun and two. Where the man came on, made me push my song, pick me off the way. Hey, hey. Hey, hey. Hey, hey. Well, on this spot, I know where no man will go. Where the shadows have all the room. All the way out there. As she phones out during the night. All that's around wearing. Buldal I could see. We want a ring. Oh, hey, bring in. I want to put her off my feet on the top wall and treat her with this ring. Well, come on, boy. Listen to it. Thank you. She learned enough. Where are you headed? Oh. Always, how far are you going?

Well, just to an nearby ranch here and then probably on out there. It's only about five. Right away. Well, yeah. That's great. And I hung the tune to the rising moon. He gets on some way out there. So I clothed my eyes to the starless sky. Lost myself in dreams. I dreamed that there's a sandwich and milk and honey land. And I woke up when the star. There's a train coming back on that one-way track going to take me away from here. Here we go, lady. Here we go, lady. Here we go, lady. I she was passing by. I'm going along the fly.

I climbed in an open storm. Then I turned around to the dancing grounds of all the spot I would see all morning. So I was riding away on the hill when I was saying, farewell, pal. And you know, guess what? I'm here. Here we go, lady. Here we go, lady. Here we go, lady. Way out there was made possible in part by a grant from United New Mexico Financial Corporation, providing full service banking throughout New Mexico.