Cows dot a square plot of land near Haunted House pasture, 2 1/2 miles from the Colorado Cattle Co. ranch. As a light drizzle settles in, a group of city slickers are told it's their job to figure out how to move the cattle.

The field is pocked with holes, some as deep as a horse's knee, so everyone must move slowly. Normally, if a cow breaks, the slickers can bolt after it in an adrenaline-filled chase, but not here. It's too dangerous.

This pasture calls for a deliberate plan and determined teamwork.

For 17 years, the cattle company, two hours northeast of Denver, has been enticing people to come work at the 10,000-acre ranch. The twist: Guests pay $1,800 to work for six days - some longer. There are 900 cows and 900 calves that have to be driven and later sold for beef.

Only two full-time cowboys and a cowgirl are employed: Tim Hastings, Monty Johnson and 4-foot-10-inch Jennifer Shimko, fondly known as "Shorty McGorty." So with just three hands, some seasonal help and a whole bunch of cows, the idea isn't for guests to sit back and enjoy the sunset - unless it's on the backs of horses while they're driving cattle.

Even though they pay to work hard, the ranch averages 15 guests a week, all because of a dream - one as American as Fourth of July fireworks:

The fantasy to become a cowboy or cowgirl, if only for a week.

"It's fun to see them transition from judge to cowboy, from accountant to cowboy . . . to lose whatever they are and become what we make them," says Penny Persson, ranch owner.

Rumps are sore, and one light-skinned woman from Milwaukee, Wis., is slightly roasted.

But despite the aches, many are smiling. After six days of bumping around on horses, driving hundreds of cows and inhaling the rank smell of calves being branded, many guests will go home feeling like Roy Rogers or Dale Evans. Other Colorado cattle drives

A physical mind game

The group decides they'll move to the far corner of the pasture, staying away from the cows until they've formed a horseshoe shape around them. They push toward the fence line, near the barbed wire.

Calves fasten themselves to udders even as the herd slowly funnels out of the pasture. A few defiant cows bellow in annoyance.

"Cattle have pressure points, a bubble of space around them," Persson says. "You have to learn how to respect that bubble."

Push too hard and cattle scatter, undoing the group's hard work. Forget your guard and one will easily slip past, with many more following.

It's a mind game, but a physical one, too. A stubborn horse takes coordination just to turn, a combination of pulling on reins and correctly placing a boot heel.

After half an hour of work, this group of inexperienced riders has succeeded. All the cows are accounted for, not one attempting an escape.

Guests vary week in and week out - some doctors, others hair stylists, one an exotic dancer.

Some come looking to "fill their bucket," like Daryl Willock, a 57-year-old retired registered nurse from Minneapolis. He dons spiffy black chaps so new the pristine smell of leather would still cling to them if it weren't Day 4 among horses, cows and a whole lot of manure.

Willock admits he purchased the chaps, the black hat and the red scarf neatly tied around his neck just for the occasion and "to help set the mood." Next on his bucket list: a four-day motorcycle trip on his recently acquired three- wheeled Honda Gold Wing.

Then there are the horse enthusiasts, like Glyn Jones of Forest Dean, England; Kate Weaver of Madison, Wis.; and Seamus O'Dwyer of Tipperary, Ireland.

Jones, a hair stylist who owns a three-time national veteran showing horse, pours a great deal of attention into grooming his ranch horse before the day's drive.

"Every horse I get here is filthy," Jones says with a laugh. "And I like my horse to look smart."

While the horses may be dirtier than his horse, Jones has opted to turn his two-week stay into a three-week adventure.

Weaver was promised a one-week trip after graduating from college, a gift from her mother, Ann, who's here, too. The 23-year-old chose the Colorado ranch over sandy Mexico beaches, saying she wanted to see what it would be like to lead this life, "if only for a week."

"I don't consider this work," she says as the guests spend the early morning shuttling horses in and out of the pasture, a daily feeding ritual.

Behind her, Ann rolls her eyes.

O'Dwyer has come with his own small herd of fox-hunting friends, some of whom work on farms back in Ireland but use jeeps to drive cattle instead of horses.

Many Colorado Cattle Co. guests are international, drawn by the American adventure. They come from England, Germany and France, some from Switzerland and Austria and others from Spain, South Africa and Singapore.

But Denver city slickers are drawn to the cowboy adventure, too. There's Barbara and Don Hunter, here after bidding on the trip during a Red Cross charity auction.

Despite the diverse backgrounds, they all come for one thing - "dream fulfillment," Persson says.

A real working ranch

Sweat pours down the gleaming forehead of Don Hunter, a 41-year- old who says he was fit back in high school. His damp hair hangs over his eyes as he forces his weight onto the front shoulder of a calf. Someone else is holding down the back leg, stretching it out straight, as a third person brings down a pair of hot irons to brand it. Smoke billows, and the smell of burned fur clings to everything.

The calf gives a long moan. Seconds later, they release it, its skin pink with the brand of a rising sun and a broken arrow. More than 100 calves huddle in the bustling corral, awaiting the necessary tradition.

Some have to be castrated, a quick cut followed by a spray of medicated foam. On the menu tonight: Rocky Mountain oysters, the cowboys say.

Some guests, like Hunter, are eager to participate. Others stand back, peering through camera lenses with squeamish expressions.

Head cowboy Hastings is glad there are paying guests willing to work.

They do a lot of chores, and Hastings can sit back and puff on his Marlboro or a skinny cigar, barking orders over the drone of cows. He's a true cowboy, the kind who uses his bacon to scoop up hash browns, the kind who pairs the word city with rigmarole, the kind who is the vision of the Marlboro Man.

"Hey, Harry," Hastings hollers at a guest, his voice gravelly. "You're a vascular surgeon, right? If I smoke four packs of cigarettes a day and a pack of cigars, how long do you think I'll live?"

Retired doctor Harry Saranchak of Newington, Conn., just grins. He knows Hastings isn't looking for a serious answer. The 30-year-old cowboy is rarely serious unless he's on a horse, where he has spent a great deal of his life.

Hastings' take on ranch life, after having given bareback riding a try in small-time rodeos: "If you're on a horse for 8 seconds, why not stay on them and get them broke?"

Sense of accomplishment

Most guests will say it's the drive they love best. There's something about bringing in the herd through the chiseled ravines, across the green, rolling pastures and back to the ranch.

For Patti Laird of Sarasota, Fla., all the work that goes into it is worth it.

"I wanted my vacation to be an experience instead of just some place you go," the 51-year-old pharmaceutical rep says.

There's a sense of accomplishment for guests, a dream fulfilled.

"It's funny," says Laird, "but I wonder where the fantasy comes from."

Maybe it's from watching old Westerns on TV. Maybe it's from playing cowboys and Indians. Or maybe it's from a legend as old as wagons and gunslingers, one in which cowboys and cowgirls lived wild and free.

speera@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-954-2367