Cattle ranching in the Big Bend began about 1870 when Milton Faver set himself up as ‘Don’ Milton not far from today’s Marfa. He eventually built five spreads, including the region’s first sheep ranch. As his headquarters he built a fort at Cibolo (Buffalo) Creek Ranch. The Army gave him a cannon for it and even garrisoned soldiers there under his command. During one difficult period, Indian raids wiped out all Faver’s livestock except 40 calves confined in the fort. With superb swapping he rebuilt his herds from the Indians new largesse. By 1880 more and more ranching was pushed west into the Big Bend by range shortages and overgrazing east of the Pecos River. Formal leasing and land purchases followed. The much sought-after lands had springs. Fencing soon put an end to the free range policy, but as late as 1890 cooperative roundups, branding, and drives were still required to sort out whose stock was whose. Stock was stolen by altering a legitimate brand. This came to an end with the introduction of barbed wire, which changed ranching considerably. Most of the grasslands have never recovered from overgrazing. [Illustration: Branding.] [Illustration: A cattle drive.] [Illustration: Longhorns.] [Illustration: A roped yearling submits to inoculation.] [Illustration: Imported from the Mediterranean area for use as windbreaks, tamarisk spread quickly across the Southwest. This water guzzler—it loses five times more water to the atmosphere than an apple tree does—can actually lower the water table.] Big Bend has five seasons—winter, spring, summer, fall, and that extra blooming season that bursts out any time you have a good rain and other conditions are right. The more rain, the more spectacular the display, with flowers, buzzing insects, croaking toads, and nesting birds in a complete new cycle of regeneration. Imagine the gravel wastes of the Castolon floodplain awash with flowers—solid carpets of little white and yellow and purple blossoms on either side of the road. Running back from it are desert baileyas and grasses, with orange caltrop blowing like orange butterflies in the wind. Picture Cerro Castellan’s red flanks green, with pockets of ochre blossoms amid white heaps of volcanic ash. Imagine Mesa de Anguila’s talus slopes misted with grass, Santa Elena Overlook smelling garden sweet and so matted with little low-lying flowers that you cannot put your foot down without crushing dozens. You have never seen their like before and may not soon again, for this is the floral profusion that follows desert rains.