Cecil, I find, as he and I spoke together, didn't let the still or gentle wind settle on his face. Always saddlin', girthin', bridlin' and ridin' a fine Horse somewhere. And sometimes that was with some body else, a lot of people, or across this country of the U.S. by himself, border to border, coast to coast. It was for weeks and months on Horseback, you'd find Cecil. Bitter Creek Newcomb is what they called him. What about him, and why? Well, to...