Uncle Joe & the Rainville Ranches

 Although most of these stories are about my dad, Floyd B. Lewis, I would be remiss if I should fail to tell you about Floyd's next younger brother, Joe. Just two years apart, they were about like Siamese twins. They worked together, traded and hauled together, for a time during the depression our families lived together, and finally in the late forties they entered the logging lumber and plywood business together—a working partnership that lasted a lifetime. But in 1940, Joe purchased the Joe and Elzer Rainvill Ranchers at Tiller, Oregon. They branded Lazy JR and bar 7R and the brands went with the ranches. Since both Joe and Elzer were up in years, many of their cattle were scattered up Jackson Creek and over in the head of Cow Creek. It was several years before the last of them were gathered out of that mountainous country. Many of those cattle would trailed down within a quarter of a mile or so of the corrals, then break for the tiber. If you were lucky you got a loop (or two or three) on them, then tried to work them through the gate without one of those saber horned killing you and your horse! The biggest one I recall was a red steer finally caught about 25 miles away, near Glen dale, Oregon. He weight 1,630 FOB Duffy Commission Company in Portland. That was the dangerous introduction to the ranch, but there were many fun times. We rode lots of primitive country, moved and salted cattle, killed rattlesnakes, put up hay (killed rattlesnakes in the hay), chased some wild horses, and poached a few deer. Lots of country and darn few roads back then. Hung By The Leg Then there was the time we were filling the barn with horse hay. We were down to the last harpoonful on the wagon, when Joe yelled "Take him out!" That simply meant I was to ride the single draft horse away from the far side of the barn. By so doing, I pulled the cable that lifted the hay, carried it into the barn, and then with a jerk on the trip rope, it was dropped in the barn. Suddenly Joe was yelling "Hold it! Bring him down! Back him down!" You guessed it! He was daydreaming and allowed the trip rope to half hitch one ankle. He quickly found himself hanging 30 feet up and staring down at a bare board wagon bed. Luckily, he didn't shake out of the hitch and fall! Joe was always ready for a laugh, and provided a million of them for the rest of us. There was the time we were pushing cows to summer pasture along a trail that ran parallel to a fire look-out telephone line. The brush below the line was all cut and stacked in piles three to four feet high. As always, one old cow lost track of her calf and broke for home. Joe's horse was hitting a good clip when he sailed over a two foot log. Dead ahead on a brush pile was a buzz-tail sunning himself. The horse saw or smelled that rattlesnake and made a hard right turn, with Joe landing belly-down on the snake. He rolled off unbitten, but was still speechless when I brought his horse back.