The Occidental Saloon is situated in Buffalo, Wyoming, a town of 4,500 people roughly halfway between Yellowstone National Park to the west and Mount Rushmore to the east.The Historic Occidental Hotel Wyoming/Supplied
The lone guitarist is tapping his hand-tooled Luccheses and doing his best John Prine as three 70-something couples two-step smartly around the small makeshift dance floor.
The men wear tight blue jeans, tall white Stetsons and giant silver belt buckles, mementos of rodeo glory days gone by. They sport their bushy mustaches with pride as they swing their smiling partners round and round with ease, kicking up their heels as they twirl.
Waitresses swerve adeptly between the dancers, carrying trays overflowing with the house special − US$22 ribeye steaks that would cost four times that in any big city − and seemingly bottomless pitchers of Rainier beer, the brew of choice.
High on the walls above, stuffed heads of bison, wolf, mule deer and bear look on, approvingly.
Welcome to Saturday night at the Occidental Saloon in Buffalo, Wyo., a town of 4,500 people on the windswept plains roughly halfway between Yellowstone National Park to the west in Montana and Mount Rushmore to the east in South Dakota. There are more tumbleweeds and snow fences on the nearby interstate here than there are souls.
In fact, suggesting to locals that this is the middle of nowhere elicits sly grins that say they don’t disagree − and they like it that way.
This is ranch country, farm country, and sometime mining country. At one time, Buffalo held the notorious distinction as the most lawless town in America.
This is also Trump country. About 72 per cent of Wyoming voters supported Donald Trump in the 2024 presidential election. Republicans have both the state’s Senate seats and its lone seat in the House. The Governor, too, is a Republican. It’s been that way for as long as most of the old-timers in town can remember.
That partisan lock, one local explains, is the reason you don’t see any Trump signs or bumper stickers or T-shirts around town. Don’t need ‘em. Most everyone supported him, so why overstate the obvious?
To be sure, folks here are more likely to understate. Yes, ma’am or no ma’am is a mouthful. Too much talking is what people on the coasts and in Washington do; but not here.
A cultural hint at Buffalo’s aggressive modesty: Scattered around town are posters and banners celebrating the Wyoming-based A&E series, Longmire. It’s a less fancy, less theatrically over-the-top western serial than Yellowstone, the glitzy Kevin Costner-produced drama-soap opera from Paramount that chronicles a fictional ranch family’s fight against private-equity-backed developers from New York.
Yellowstone’s blockbuster success has transformed real-life Bozeman, Mont., from an authentic western town into yet another gentrified destination for moneyed social climbers from California and New York. Lululemon and Athleta stores are nestled among the town’s historic Main Street theaters such as the Ellen, which shows classic oaters on a regular basis to remind tourists of what used to be.
Not so in Buffalo, a place proud and protective of its quirky history as an Old West icon.
About 72 per cent of Wyoming voters supported Donald Trump in the 2024 presidential election. The state's Senate seats, lone House seat and Governor are also Republicans.The Historic Occidental Hotel Wyoming/Supplied
Among the locals at the saloon tonight are a few tourists. There’s a young couple from suburban Chicago and their three kids. They stick out like city slickers among the cowpokes. But the staff and the townsfolk treat them with respect and seem genuinely pleased that they are there.
As if to draw attention to the fact that he is not a Buffalonian, the dad wears short pants and a striped golf shirt. He points excitedly at the saloon taxidermy and the wagon-wheel chandeliers swinging precariously on long chains above the tables as the stomping from the dance floor gets more enthusiastic. His wife wears a pained expression. This is not the noodle salad buffet at the country club in Winnetka.
At the bar, a retired salesman from England is sipping on a draft beer and telling the visitor from Florida beside him that he has come back to the American West every year for several years on vacation − but he thought twice about it this time.
He then rolls out a long list of talking points about Mr. Trump that worry him − issues such as immigration, civil rights, U.S. relations with China and Russia, and, of course, tariffs, and what they are doing to relations with allies such as Britain.
The Florida man listens politely, and then asks the man why, if he hates America so much, did he come back.
The Brit raises his hand and shakes his head. He loves America and Americans, he says. It’s the President he doesn’t like.
The Floridian is about to respond when a giant shadow overwhelms them. A grizzly bear of a man looms. Bearded and brawny, he stands 6 foot 2 at least – maybe 6-7 with the cowboy hat.
He places his enormous heavily tattooed forearms on the bar. They are bigger than the average man’s thighs. He gives each man a long look and addresses them as “fellas.”
It’s Saturday night, he explains, and these are hard-working people − people who work with their hands and their hearts. They are here tonight to have fun. To eat and drink their fill and kick up a little dust on the dance floor. And, well, this is not the time or the place for political talk.
Locals are proud and protective of its quirky history as an Old West icon.The Historic Occidental Hotel Wyoming/Supplied
He then turns to the Brit and suggests that while it is a free country and every man is entitled to his opinion, there are some who might take offence at his increasingly loud criticism of the current President.
He nods toward a nearby table of burly men whose leathered faces and gnarled hands say these are the products of decades of hard labour in a harsh climate. These are ranchers and cowboys, raised on old-school freedom, personal responsibility and frontier justice.
Knowing that Wyoming has the most liberal gun laws in the U.S. is useful for self-preservation. It’s okay to carry concealed and open firearms here without a permit. So, the mustachioed Sam Elliott lookalikes at the table really don’t need to say out loud, “don’t mess with us.”
The Brit gets huffy and tries to press his points about Mr. Trump. He is on dangerous ground.
The grizzly bear tilts back his hat and says quietly to the man that he was asked once to rein it in. Nicely. He doesn’t really need to add that the next time won’t be so nice.
He motions to the barkeep to set up another round for the two out-of-towners – on him – a hospitable gesture that says this conversation is over. Period.
The guitarist has shifted to a mournful set of Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. Couples slow dance and clap appreciatively at the string of classics.
After a soulful rendition of I Walk the Line, he takes a breath. He tells the room that after an hour and a half he usually takes a break. But tonight, he says with a smile, that because everyone has been so nice, he’ll keep playing right through to the end of his three-hour set.
The crowd roars. As if by magic, more Rainiers appear. And the strains of another song about heartache fills the air.
It is becoming clearer now. The bison, the wolf, the mule deer and the bear are not just trophies reminiscent of the frontier days. They are sentinels keeping the old ways in and the new ways out.
On a Buffalo Saturday night, it seems, time stands still – or moves mighty slow − and that’s just fine for the folks from around here.