AT HOME ON THE RANGE

Punchin Cattle Cowboying in Australia or Arizona Suits This Old-timer Like a Custom Saddle

More cattle!" screamed Karen Landis.

"Hush," Mike Landis shouted back from atop a gelding named Josh as he attempted to "heel" the next cow for branding. Karen's 69-year-old husband of 13 years moved with precision and a patience that comes from a lifetime working cattle.

"Punching cows to me that's all there is," Landis said later, once the job of branding, castrating, and ear-marking was done, giving him time to sit down, roll a cigarette, and reminisce.

A cowboy for 55 years, Landis has worked steadily in Arizona since 1958 except for a detour to Australia in 1996. "I don't care where you are Australia, South America, or Arizona a horse is a horse and a cow is a cow," he opined.

Landis' dream was to punch cows in Australia, and he managed to do that when offered a job Down Under. "Australia is the land of opportunity. Good people. But I couldn't understand them at first," he said.

"In Australia a cowboy is a 'ringer'. A woman cowboy is a 'jillaroo'. A young cowboy that we'd call an apprentice is a 'jackaroo," Landis explained.

Born in Kansas, Landis learned about both horses and cows at a young age. He was only 14 and just out of 10th grade when, inspired by tales from an uncle, he sought his destiny on the range. The old-time cowboys gave him a tough initiation, too, laughing at his lack of know-how and putting him on ornery horses knowing he'd get bucked off.

"That was hilarious to them," Landis recalled. "And I had so much fun I hated to see sundown come."

Landis listened and learned. "We roped and roped and roped and roped. After 10 days, 12 days, I could rope like a booger better than I can now because now I'm getting old."

"I forget about his age until his birthday," Karen said. "Then I say, 'Maybe I'm working him too hard.' But he's holding up pretty good, so maybe I'll just keep working him hard."

It's common sense that makes a lasting cowboy, Landis suggested. According to him, "The more school you get, the less common sense you have. I don't know why it is, but you can watch it out here. People that's gone to school much, they come out here and they can't do it at all."

Landis' no-nonsense talk brings to mind romantic images of bygone times. Step inside his rustic home near Peach Springs, though, and look at the pictures on the walls and you'll notice that in many ways the scenes, the wardrobe, and the techniques haven't changed.

"The biggest change is we used to ride our horses all the time. Now all big outfits haul their horses. Instead of tramping out 15 miles to get to the back side of the drive where you're going to gather cattle, now they'll trailer them horses out there," Landis reported.

The Landises own 740 acres on old Route 66, 20-odd miles northwest of Seligman, and leaseanother 58,000 acres 30 miles west of Seligman, where they keep their cattle. Their house used to be a general store. That's where Mike and Karen met.

'To him, every day is a beautiful day,' said Karen. 'He don't care if it's rainin' or snowin'. He loves cattle. He loves horses. He loves the land.'

"I was normal once," she said, laughing. "I had this little store, and he kept coming in and buying things, and every time he'd come in I'd say, 'Who is that guy?' "He asked me if I could ride a horse. I said, 'No, and I don't want to ride a horse, either,' and he looked at me like I was pathetic. Then he came with a horse one day and taught me everything that I know."

Come branding time each spring, Mike does the roping and Karen handles the knife-cutting out the testicles of the male calves and branding and putting notches in the ears of all of them.

It's a dirty, smelly task. The air fills with dust and the scent of burned hair, although the process appears far less painful than one might expect. "Cattle have a higher tolerance for pain than people do," Landis said. "I know that. I can't prove that, but I know that because they walk right through barbed wire and never even flinch or blink an eye."

Arizona law requires that cattle be branded. "Somebody is going to get your cattle, the ones that crawl through the fence, if they're not branded," Landis explained. "It might seem like a small deal, but one of these calves-that's $500. You can't afford to lose your cattle."

Landis estimates he worked for 40 different cattle outfits before retiring in 1993 and starting his own herd. "There were bad times, of course, when it's cold and muddy and wet. One guy said he never slept in a wet bed. An old cowpuncher told me this, but he added, I've laid awake in a lot of them."

It's the image of the cowboy that tempts city folks to run away to the range, Landis said, chuckling over the notion of a city slicker wanting to become a cowboy. "I can sympathize with him up to a point," he said, laughing, "but here's where the common sense comes in. What makes him think he can come out here and within two weeks do what we've took a lifetime to learn? There's a lot more to it than just riding along letting your feet hang down."

Even for an expert, being a cowboy's a dangerous job. Landis has suffered a broken collarbone, broken hand, broken leg, and several broken noses over the years. "But you don't even think about that because if you do, you might as well go to town and start selling ribbons for a living."

That's something Mike Landis could never do. "To him, every day is a beautiful day," said Karen. "He don't care if it's rainin' or snowin'. He loves cattle. He loves horses. He loves the land."