BH: What was Malcolm Stewart like?
Andy: He was a Texan when he came here. Boy. . . they had queer ways about 'em. (Laughs)
BH: Like what?
Andy: Ah. . . Lee Haus, he's from Antonito—he worked for. . . for Linger. But then he went in the service. He was a. . . and then when he came back. . . he was a Marine, service. And when he came back, why. . . why he. . . ah, they gave him the foreman job.
BH: Ah huh.
Andy: So he was. . . he was the foreman then, when I worked on the. . . worked on the ranch. Lee wanted to quit, and I wanted to quit, and he kept begging me to stay until he could quit. He had a certain amount of money he wanted to make before he quits, and he did not want to stay there alone. So we often talked about it. Anyway, finally, I left, and just not long after that, why then he left. So he. . . he went in the trucking business. But boy, them ideas that. . . that Malcolm had—the Texas ideas. Any time a guy come from Texas wanting a job, why just up to the Medano—Malcolm would give him a job. But ah. . . but they were all insane, you know. They all had crazy ideas about ranching. I guess maybe that's the way they ranch over there, but anyway, it sure wasn't the Colorado way of doing it. But anyway, Malcolm finally got over to. . . take this one day, he was. . . oh, he'd been there, I don't know—three, four years, I guess. And he was. . . he was always ate with the men there, and he'd met a guy here in town, and he said, "Oh, well, that guy" He was telling Malcolm all about the ranching. Malcolm says—told us about some of the crazy. . . crazy ways that guy had of running a ranch. He says, "Was I that way when I came here?" (unintelligible). And I just laughed—we never said a word, though. So anyway, he knew that he was a little bit different than Coloradoans were at that time. But anyway, Malcolm's a good guy. I liked. . . I really liked him after he kind of got to where he done things our way. He used to tell. . . when I was irrigator out there, he used to quite often say, "Well" he says, "I come across this ground today," and he said, "There's. . . there's a spot out there where there was no water, and there's a place over here where there's no water." I never think much about it, you know—them kind of humps out in the meadow?
BH: Um hum.
Andy: I thought nothing of it. I just figured he wanted something to talk about. And then, when I quit once, and he had to irrigate, he couldn't. . . he couldn't hire an irrigator, and he had to irrigate three years. And then I came back—he found out where I was, and. . . and ah. . . so he started writing letters. Kept raising my wages a little bit, and finally I moved down here. And he told me, he says, now, he says, "I'm going to turn this irrigating over to you, and I'm never ever going to say another word about your irrigating." He said, "If you need help, I'll furnish the help. And if your need some lumber to build headgates, or ce. . . cement" he says, "I'll do those things." But he says, "I'm never going to take your job away from you." (laughs). So. . . but for three years, he irrigated. He found out what it was like. Up until then, he just thought that. . . you know, on a farm, to try to get every bit of ground under water, they level it, you know. But there on the Medano, that's. . . that's different. You can't go out there and level all that ground.
BH: Huh huh.
Andy: So anyway, he. . . he learned a lot after he took my job over. But he was a. . . he was. . . he turned out to be a real good guy.