I became a storyteller in the usual way--by listening to and reading stories, in particular stories of the history, lore, and legend of the American West. Growing up on the big open ranges of the Crow Indian Reservation in southeastern Montana, my heroes were cowboys of the old school. I loved everything about them. As a kid, I followed my bow-legged role models around, got in their way, pestered them with questions, and disobeyed my mother's strict orders not to hang out at the bunkhouse.

As for the cowpunchers themselves, they were surprisingly tolerant, pretending they didn't notice the big-eyed kid curled up in the corner and taking in the tales they told--tough, funny, sad, true, and tall.

I learned to sit a horse and work sheep and cattle, but I never became a decent roper and I was never what you'd call a top hand. I attended school in the small reservation town of Lodge Grass, working summers on my dad's ranch, and the bunkhouse and bedroll became my homes away from home. I bothered the cowboys and ranch hands less, but I still took in their stories, and I began to make up my own.

horses, West, Cowboys, Cavalry, Indians

county, rock

Westerns