Tommy loved working for Mr. Miller. He loved that land. There really was nothing like it in all of Aspen. It had been in the Miller family for three generations. Big skies, a brutal beauty, a sense of solitude. It was Miller’s legacy. A generation ago they had even more land, ran a cattle ranch, but for the last few decades it’s been Mr. Miller growing old up there by himself. Hired help coming and going. It was just far enough from town not to feel the impact of the crowds during the first boom. The town was built on silver in the late 1800s, and when it lost its value in 1893, Aspen, well, stopped. For a long time it was over. Can you imagine that now? Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Hollywood hadn’t found us. If we hadn’t reinvented ourselves.

I remember my mother talking about being excited when people started coming to town again. When the Aspen Skiing Company expanded. It was a second boom. This time, instead of silver, it was celebrities. Fashion came to Aspen. In came the stores. We all learned words like Prada, Gucci, Dior. Nicholson, Douglas, Costner. Friends I’d known since grade school, if they weren’t determined to hate the renaissance they were in the middle of, were now putting on lipstick and sunglasses with their cowboy boots just to walk up Mill Street to Wagner Park.

To anyone who only wanted to live in peace, all that pressure came hard and fast. Tommy would tell me how, literally as a survival tactic, Mr. Miller had firmly established himself as antiestablishment to scare everyone away until they’d all but forgotten him. He liked the fact that he had a reputation as a recluse. His five acres were big enough that he could forget about the mansions being built far out near the property line in all directions. So he didn’t have to bother with too many people.

Mr. Miller never had any children but took time with his hired hands, got to know them. Fed them. Talked to them. He expected them to be strong and work hard, he was strict, but kind. That’s what Tommy said. You had to get to know him. He didn’t show it to just everyone. Mr. Miller knew how to instill loyalty and always made sure anyone working for him had what they needed. He was a careful, measured man with large hands. Huge. Covered with calluses. Tommy admired his work ethic and his stubbornness. Admired how he wasn’t persuaded by money. How he was the furthest thing from a sellout. He’d tell me all about the people who would sometimes stop in to see if Mr. Miller’s land was for sale. Vultures. If you don’t care about the money, Mr. Miller told him, you take away their power. Everyone’s equal. Of course, he had money—his cabin was sitting on it—so it was easy for him to say.

I’m telling you all this because I want you to be able to hold a picture of them in your mind. Of two hardworking, salt-of-the-earth men. I’d even say they were a couple of the last cowboys.