Ol' Loco was one of the prize critters that I used as a mode of transportation when I was a kid. She was a mustang from the Clay Hole Wash country. The loco weed grows succulent there in the early spring and at some time Ol' Loco had eaten more than was good for her. She was about as untrustworthy and unpredictable as a horse can get, and a fellow had to stay on the alert or she would get the best of him. Dad had moved us to town at this time. I was riding down along the Fort Pierce Wash and up on the bench to the south, just wandering around looking to see how many rabbits or quails I could flush out. As I was crossing the lower part of the hill south of Cottom Bench, I jumped a nice ewe with a big fat lamb. Some sheep outfit had lost her that spring. Strays like that are soon killed by the coyotes so I thought I would try to catch her. I didn't have a rope but figured I would run her down, horseback, and then when she was out of wind, jump off and catch her with my hands. Some heavy twine in my pocket would be all right to tie her legs with. I didn't worry about what to do with her after that. So away we went, Ol' Loco in hot pursuit. About the time the ewe got winded, she ran up onto a big pile of rocks. I couldn't get that crazy nag up on the rocks to chase her off so I dismounted and, holding to the reins, climbed up after her and away that ewe went again. I jumped down to mount up again and failed to grab the side of the bridle to pull her head around as usual, but just swung on. She gave a big jump forward that landed me back of the saddle, then she lit into bucking. I stayed with her for about 50 yards and finally bounced off. Down through the country she tore, like as if the devil was after her, headed north for the bottom of the Fort Pierce Wash. I picked myself up to follow along her tracks on foot.

Rabbit brush, tamarack, and mesquite brush were scattered out across the landscape. Presently I came to where a new net wire fence was being erected. About 50 or 100 yards to the east of me a couple of men were working on it. They were grumbling about a crazy horse that had run into and knocked down a stretch of their newly hung net wire. They didn't sound very happy about it either, so I stayed out of sight. Her tracks led on down into the wash where wire grass and salt grass grew and a small trickle of water wended its way toward the Virgin River. Tamarack willows grew sufficiently thick here to obscure vision to 100 feet or less. Horse tracks in the mud and sand indicated Loco was still on the run, headed down stream. On the right bank of the wash the Cottom Bench rose up in a vertical wall 70 or 80 feet high. I followed her tracks on through the willows about another 50 yards to where I came out into an open area. Surprise! There she was with a brown gelding. He was nickering and fussing over her. She was enthralled, absolutely overcome by this big handsome fellow. While she was thus engrossed, I walked up and got hold of her bridle reins. How fortunate can a fellow be? If it had not been for this romantic interlude it might have taken me a week and 6 head of good saddle horses to run her down or I might never have caught her.

A couple of years later I gave her, for free, to my friend Ben Blake. He made the mistake of turning her loose in his dad's 640 acre homestead pasture. He tried for 2 years to capture her. He tried to rope her with a fast horse, but she'd get in the rough country and outrun him. He tried to choke her by withholding water, but she crawled into the water trough the cow triggers and back out. He baited her with good hay but she wouldn't come. He did everything he could think of but that contrary critter stayed way out. Finally in a fit of anger he shot her dead with a 30-30. The only thing he didn't try was a proud-cut gelding.