Even though I grew up in the cattle country of northwest Colorado, it wasn’t until just a few years ago that I had my first sip of Arbuckles’ Coffee, the original “buckaroo brew.” After a mellow day of trail riding, we’d decided to kick back around the campfire for a spell, warm-up some canned beans, and see who could spin the best yarn. This turned out to be an appropriate setting for learning about the java that “won the West.”As the evening wore on and the pinyon fire settled down to a comfortable glow of hot embers, one of the old-timers posed a tricky question: “Go back one-hundred years. Who do you suppose was considered the most famous and best-known hero in the Old West? Whose autograph was most valuable?”We each had our guess-maybe the Governor of Colorado, Alva Adams? Was it Cleveland, the U.S. President? Chief Ouray of the Utes? Otto Mears, the road builder? After we’d exhausted every name we could remember, we gave up and the old-timer answered his own question. “It was Arbuckle. Everybody-men, women, children-knew of Arbuckle. His name was known in the lowliest dugout and in the best log house, in freighters’ camps, on roundups, in trappers’ tents, and in prospectors’ shelters. Arbuckle’s signature was the most treasured autograph ever known. Everyone drank toasts to him.””Who was Arbuckle?” we asked.

The old fellow, enjoying his role as historian, answered, “Arbuckle was the man whose signature appeared on the one-pound paper packages of coffee used by everybody. Arbuckles’ “Ariosa” was the only coffee known on the frontier for many years. The price was 20 cents a pound, and Arbuckle was the first merchandiser to offer premiums.”

He paused as if to remember, then continued, “On each package of coffee, running lengthwise, was the scrawled signature of Arbuckle. Cut out the signatures, save them, and in due course for a certain number of signatures and a little money you could get such things as scissors, jackknives, mirrors, comb-and-brush sets, razors, and perfumes, not to mention mouse traps, jaw harps, napkin rings, and mustache cups.”

That old-timer indeed knew Arbuckles well, for he was Val FitzPatrick, once a cowpuncher for the famous Two-Bar outfit at the turn of the century. He’d had his share of the strong brew, we were sure.

Out West, Arbuckles’ coffee was a success with chuck-wagon cooks, who were faced with the task of keeping cowpunchers supplied with plenty of hot “mud” out on the range. As enticement to buy Arbuckles’ Coffee, a stick of peppermint was included in every package of Ariosa. This became a powerful tool for the camp cookee to bribe cowpunchers to help with chores. The chuck-wagon cook was well-respected, for anything otherwise might lead to “dehorned coffee” or “water that’s been scalded to death.” Sears carried bags of the coffee in their famous mail-order catalogs at 20 cents a pound.

Arbuckles became so common that by 1890 it had became a generic name for coffee. It was common to hear cowpunchers ask for a cup of coffee by saying, “How about them Arbuckles?” And a good cowpuncher was “worth his weight in Arbuckles.” One old cowpuncher said he made “cowdog coffee” out of Ariosa. When asked what “cowdog coffee” was, he replied: “It’s just like cowboy coffee, you boil Arbuckles in a pan over a fire for a few hours, then you throw in a hoss shoe, and if it won’t sink, it’s done. Add a little whiskey. Makes you howl.” Variants on this recipe were once found across the West (often you’d throw in a six-shooter). Another cowpuncher said, “Most people don’t realize how little water it takes to make good coffee. Probably not all that nutritious, though, without much water.”

But truly, the most widely known man on the frontier, even more well-known than General Custer, was Arbuckle. And many a cowpuncher and many a waddie spent many an hour telling tales by firelight at the Arbuckle Cafe, served by a surly waiter called Cookee.

I sincerely hope you enjoy this collection of stories by Val FitzPatrick and have many pleasant evenings at the Arbuckle Cafe.

On January 4, 1886, in a log cabin at a silver mine near Georgetown, Colorado, a baby boy was born and christened Valentine Stewart Parnell FitzPatrick by his Irish/English parents. When young Val was eight months old, his family homesteaded in beautiful but lonely northwest Colorado. Craig, the nearest town to the FitzPatrick homestead, was still struggling with the concept of civilization. This last frontier served as a refuge for those who preferred the old ways.In 1894, when Val was eight, the family temporarily moved from the homestead to a ranch that was near the postoffice for the tiny community of Lay, Colorado (originally called Lay Over, as it was the crossroads of the government road from Wyoming and the wagon road west towards Utah, and was a handy place to stop for the night). Val writes, “We were right in the mainstream of whatever traffic there might be in the region. Hardly a day passed but there came ranchers, cowpunchers, an occasional prospector or trapper, a few Indians, and now and then an outlaw. In this same year, 1894, the outlaw Teton Jackson died in a jail break in Idaho. Although Butch Cassidy and his Wild Bunch had not yet attracted much attention, they occasionally stopped for food and shelter.”At the ripe old age of 13, Val got a job at the K Diamond Cattle Company, and at 14 he went to work for the prestigious Two-Bar Ranch, the goal of nearly every young man in the area. Thus began Val’s career as a cowpuncher. Val’s other careers over the years included geologist, civil engineer, and newspaperman. Twice he was made Grand Marshall of the Craig Ride ‘n Tie Days Rodeo, once at age 98, and again at age 100. Val died on July 3, 1988, at the age of 102.

Irby H. Miller spent much of his life in the Elkhead Creek region and in Craig, Colorado. He now lives in Montrose, Colorado, where he spins true tales on his computer. Mr. Miller’s writing has been favorably received by readers across the country and has also been featured in a number of magazines, including “Steamboat Magazine.”