Robert Carrington Ward
excerpts from
GHOSTS AND MEMORIES
by Robert Brannin Ward
Once I thought that Ward and Parker's place in the Crazy Mountains had always been and always would be. Now, I find my father, Bud Ward; his partner, Ernest Parker; and the Crazy Mountain sawmill in memories over a cup of coffee.
Robert Carrington Ward left the Midlands of England when he was sixteen years old. That would have been about 1912, and a bloody good year for new adventures.
Young Ward rode a cattle boat to Canada and spent his first year as apprentice in bank. The second year he worked at a dairy farm near Calgary. He frosted his lungs, and, when family connections arranged for a job at the Blakeman Ranch near Melville, Montana, he took a train south. One of Blakeman's ranch hands, Bob McClachy, met "Bob" Ward at the Big Timber railroad depot. McClachy loaded Ward on a freight wagon, drove him to the edge of town, handed him the reins, and said, "Drive to the ranch. The horses know where to go."
The freight team ambled along twenty miles of open prairie. McLashy turned off the ruts of the main road and headed towards the foothills of the Crazy Mountains to call on his girl friend.
The two Bob's met before the freight wagon reached the Blakeman Ranch. Having two fellows by the same name caused some confusion at the bunkhouse until a forty year old bachelor, Ernest Parker, said, "We'll call the new one 'Bud'." The name stuck. The friendship between Bud Ward and Ernest Parker also stuck.
The ranch foreman assigned Bud Ward to a used horse - a high spirited one - a Thoroughbred with race track experience. Blakemans entertained guests from back east - even beauty queens! Bud Ward jumped at the opportunity to escort the eastern guests to Melville where he could prove himself as a protector from the dangers of the untamed West.
Young Ward had the opportunity to show his off horsemanship when a young lady's mount mistook a jack rabbit for a mountain lion and fled across the Melville flats like a house-a-fire. His rider had a great voice for screaming, and she was in full voice.
"Don't worry, Lass," Bud Ward shouted back. He spurred his horse. "Blood, thunder and sudden death," he shouted as he sped to the rescue A hundred yards across the prairie the gap between the horses was closed. The next instant the race horse passed the runaway. Bud Ward grabbed for the reins on the way by. He missed. He'd have been better off to have shouted, "Blood, thunder and a path of dust!" By the time the horses cornered up at the home corral, my father was leading by six lengths.
Cowboy Ward had better luck up the Sweet Grass. A bevy of young ladies hung out at the Brannin Ranch. Ward tipped his hat to them. Some thought he was scratching his head. The youngest Brannin girl didn't know whether he scratched his head or not. Anita Brannin was notoriously near sighted. By the time Bud got close enough for her to see, she had him cornered. Later, my father claimed, he had to rope my mother and tie her down to get shoes on her. This was probably an exaggeration. He stamped his brand on her, and he stamped his image on some of the grandchildren. There are several who walk with the same gait and are muscled up the same way.
picture: Robert Carrington Ward, WWI