Cowboys and Bra Burners - Part II

The old dirt, one lane Forest Road, now the Chief Joseph Highway, as it looks today dropping down into the Sunlight Basin from Dead Indian Pass.

The dudes would begin to arrive within the month and the outfit's horses had to be brought up from their winter pasture near Cody, Wyoming nearly 50 miles away. I threw my saddle and gear into a stock truck and rode with the boss from the ranch to the winter feed ground.

It was a cold, soggy morning as two of us hands saddled up for the first day's drive to the ranch. The owner put on his best show of supervising the village idiots for the sake of Cracky who was riding in the pickup with him and we complied as best we could. We were pretty sure he was explaining to Cracky just how incompetent we were, him being such a westerner and all. We have all been there with folks like that.

I climbed aboard a big, rangy bay and we headed over thirty head of horses right down Sheridan Avenue, the main street of Cody, Wyoming. It is my understanding that it was the last year it was done. I sure wish I had some of the hundreds of photos that were taken by the tourists. The local cops helped with traffic control getting the herd across the bridge spanning the Shoshone River and we strung them out along Highway 120 headed north.

We turned the horses loose on open range twenty miles north for the night, camped out and prepared to head them northwest over Dead Indian Peak and down into the Sunlight Basin the following morning. The light came grudgingly portending another gray, damp day. I was glad for the new three quarter slicker that still hangs tattered but usable in my cloak room here at the ranch. The owner pointed out which horse he wanted me to ride for the push over the mountains and then informed me that Cracky would be riding along with us that day. He said he would catch her horse and told me to take the edge off of him before she mounted up.

He walked out into the meadow and the horse was not about to be caught. In a situation like that you better read the horse pretty well because unless you can corner the critter, you will get one chance, if that, to catch them. The old boy had his opportunity and missed. No harm there as we have all missed catching horses. The big gray horse spun around and kicked him right in the seat of his pants. I ducked my head behind the horse I was saddling so that my grin would not be seen. It was obvious the owner, somewhere in his not-so-fit sixties was in a testosterone crisis over Cracky. It was pathetic, but now in my sixties, I guess I can understand it a bit. I got some oats and my lariat and caught the ornery beast, saddled him and stepped up. He was fresh not mean, just grouchy at having his vacation interrupted. I didn't think Cracky should be on this horse, but it wasn't my outfit.

The owner did the honors of putting Cracky aboard while I went about lining the horses out down the highway before we headed up the Forest Service road towards the mountains. I turned around in time to see Cracky aboard the gray go bouncing across the sage flats with no concept of how to control the animal. It was a wreck in the making. I rode over and shouldered the horse into a wide circle until I could get hold of his bridle. The poor girl was scared out of her wits. Horses are big and can be scary if you have not spent a lot of time around them, so it was not her fault. It was an environment for which she was not prepared.

Those of us that have been around horses and firearms have all dealt with the claims of experience and competency from those that have neither. I have found males to be more inclined in this manner than women. Ask any guy if he is familiar with firearms, and believe me, as an American male, knowledge of and experience with weapons is imbued at birth.

As a firearms instructor I will occasionally come across a weapon I am not familiar with. My approach is to ask the owner or another student that is familiar with the weapon for some basic instruction on how the firearm functions. I still get paid and I learn something without putting myself or others at risk. For horse folks, it is even worse. Ask any dude that walks up to the line for a horse if they have ridden and they all have years of experience. I would not attempt to rappel, fast rope, free fall or fly an aircraft without instruction. But, many folks will climb aboard a sentient, independently reacting animal of over one thousand pounds and expect it to behave like an ATV. Were it not for the basically kind and generous nature of horses, there would be more graves filled and space occupied in neurological wards.

While stationed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, I trained horses while I was off duty. I had a couple of horses in training at a local stable that boarded private horses as well as rented saddle horses. A group of blacks from the base had come out to go for a ride. The head wrangler was a real southern boy I avoided due to issues of hygiene and his penchant for knocking horses around. He put these "riders" up on horses that were not the best mannered of beasts and one of them took off across the four lane highway that fronted the stables.

The horse bolted out into the roadway with the black guy screaming in panic and was struck by a car. The vehicle came to a stop in the grassy median. The horse, with broken legs flailing, lacerations squirting blood and patches of hide missing, was moaning and kicking on the side of the road. The rider was laid out on the highway. It was a mess to be sure, but as a police officer and combat veteran I had seen a lot worse so I was not too excited about the injured people. There was plenty of other incompetent help running around in a dither to take care of them.

I immediately went to the stricken horse. There was nothing to be done for the suffering animal. I returned to my pickup, retrieved my revolver and put the horse out of his misery. The State Patrol and ambulances arrived and order was gradually restored. I have never understood folks screaming at a crisis scene. Doesn't do a damn bit of good, just makes things worse and certainly noisier. I have had to firmly counsel screaming victims at the scene of disasters to shut the hell up.

Before it was all over, I was threatened with arrest for firing my weapon on a public roadway and for not getting permission from the legal owner of the horse to put it down. Additionally, I was thoroughly lectured by both the uniformed idiots and assorted other Good Samaritans about the inappropriateness of my choice in rendering aid to the wounded animal rather than the wounded people.I would do the same thing again under the same circumstances.

The event was unnecessary and was precipitated by the rider of the dead horse claiming he was an experienced rider and compounded by the stupidity of the wrangler for not being a competent judge of customers. It was about folks making claims of competence where they had none. Rather like Ms. Cracky. Life is tough, but it sure as hell is tougher when you are stupid and maybe a lot shorter. The real tragedy was the loss of the horse.

I helped a very shaken young woman off of the horse, unsaddled him, threw the gear in the truck with the good doctor from Yale and galloped off to catch up with the herd. Those horses knew exactly where they were going and were not wasting any time getting there.

Cracky was driving one of the pickups and would go ahead on the forest road and open the gates while the owner would bring up the rear and close the gates after the herd had passed through. The system worked well and kept the horses lined out and moving without the time to get into mischief.

I just could not help myself. As I passed through one of the gates and rode past Cracky, I leaned down from my saddle and said "So much for equality." It wasn't like I called her stupid or anything. She immediately reported this affront to Yale 1939 and I later heard from the other guy in the truck that the elderly fellow responded with "I'll kill him." You have to be kidding. I know something about killing and I don't use such phrases. I thought it was absurd but this event was the catalyst that would prove to be the undoing of my career as a dude wrangler a few short days later.

Far Rider
See to your weapons and stand to your horses