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z 167 z • S E V E N • John Elliott n Margaret Ann McLean visited the Rabbit Creek ranch as a girl. That was in the 1930s. Later in life, she shared with me her memory of a little incident concerning the owner. “John Elliott had a doll, in Levis, shirt, and bandana—a cowboy—and he had it in his room. I was in his room and spotted that doll on his dresser and I fell in love with it.” Margaret explained that on visits for several years she admired the doll so much that Elliott broke down and gave it to her. That a big rugged man like John Elliott kept a cowboy doll on top of his dresser tells us something about the second part of his life, which is the subject of this chapter. In youth and early manhood, John himself had been a cowboy—for seventeen years. Yet now he called himself a cowman, the term he liked to use instead of rancher or landowner (DL). The word choice is significant. A cowboy was a hired hand and, no matter how old, still “a boy,” for he did not own land and cattle. The cowboy was wild and impetuous like an adolescent, especially if he was single. He did not knuckle under to the responsibilities and moral codes of the adult world. A cowman, in contrast, was a cowboy who had grown up and come into his own. John’s usage suggests not only difference, but also continuity between the two stations, which may explain why this cowman kept a doll on his dresser. It was not so much a toy as a household idol that represented his past. It stood for a particular character ideal. John was a cowman, but he never entirely let go of the cowboy. He lived long, to the age of eighty-two. Up to this point, we have tracked his boyhood on a Kansas farm, his youth and schooling in chapter seven 168 Fort Collins. We followed him into the Livermore country, where he hired out as a ranch hand and ran a freight line. We witnessed his marriage , his purchase of the Middle Rabbit ranch, and his hiring of Miss Lamb to teach his son. Now it is time to look at the second part of his life, for it is in the second part that the character of a man is laid bare. The English word character ultimately goes back to the Greek word kharakter , meaning “brand” or “engraved mark.” The metaphorical root of our word, from the ancient practice of animal branding, seems singularly suited to John Elliott the cowman. z In the year before he died, Elliott came back to live in Fort Collins. Seriously ill, he stayed at the house of Jo’s sister Del, who was a nurse. There, he liked to watch the cowboy shows on the family’s TV, something he could not do in Livermore. It was 1961, the golden age of the westerns— Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, and Bonanza—and he found them absorbing. All that said, Elliott did not fully subscribe to the myth of the cowboy —perhaps because he had been one himself. In reply to a question about whether he had carried pistols, he said, “We didn’t carry guns. No, if you’d carry guns, there’d be some young stupid kid to see if you could use ’em” (BK). John Elliott was a crack shot. At Rabbit Creek, he shot ducks on the wing, with a rifle, not a shotgun. Jim Elliott says he owned a matched set of Colt .45 revolvers with pearl handles. On the trail, though, he carried a bull whip rather than pistols. Livermore was cattle country, but not Dodge City; it was by and large peaceful. There had been several Indian raids in the 1860s. There had been rustling, a few stagecoach robberies, and some fence cutting, but no shootouts, vigilantes, or hanging trees, no saloons or brothels. John was a hard-working stockraiser. Unlike screen cowboys, he was not a drifter, not a Texas Ranger. He didn’t sing or play the guitar. He wasn’t bashful around women, and his manners were not gentlemanly. He smoked and drank whisky. In short, he was no Gene Autry. Nor was he an Alan Ladd or even a John Wayne, to whom he might most easily have been compared because of his size and presence. Many people we talked to, however...

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