Blue Rocket

Blue Rocket was a castrated mustang stud Meb had traded for and figuring he'd be a good one on which I could improve my bronc riding skills. So we tied up a hind foot, put a blindfold on him then cinched on my saddle. After removing the fetters that ol' pony put on a demonstration of bucking with high crooked leaps amid turns and whirls that all went to make his back a hard place to set on. After he decided he couldn't shed that saddle we let him rest awhile. Then Meb snubbed his head to the saddle horn as he set on his prize stud-horse. He put his hand over Blue's left eye as I came up along that side, being careful to stay forward out of reach of his hind foot. I stepped up on his back quick-like and now he sees me with his right eye, a setting there so makes a hard lunge broadside against the palomino stud, knocking him flat. As we go over the top I look down and see them laying there below us on the ground, but that was only in an instant for when of Blue hit the ground he did his best to put me down too, and I don't have a cinch to hold me on. It's all I can do to stay aboard him and I'm wondering if he will ever quit. Finally his head comes up and he races down the lane, turns sharply to the left and makes a flying leap to go over that 5 strand barbed wire fence. It catches him just above the knees and he hits the ground on his chest and nose, sort of piles him up some, but he doesn't tip over. He gathers himself and we make a wild run down through the flat, then circle toward some trees. He heads for a big cedar with wide spreading limbs about 5 feet off the ground. I can't turn him. He won't respond to my exertions on the hackamore rope. When he comes out on the far side I'm left there hanging on a big limb.

Meb gathers him up and we put on the blinds, but we don't try that head snubbing anymore. We're in the corral now so when I step up on him an pull off the blinders he puts all he's got into piling me off on the ground, but my bronc-rider saddle holds me in place and he finally comes up for a breather. There's no cedar trees he can get to now so after a few laps around the corral he stops.

I sit there, glad I'm still on top as that old boy gets a second breath. He's watching the toe of my left boot; his left ear is cocked back too and I can plainly tell he's got evil notions still running through his head. I give that boot a kick and he sucks it in again and makes a big high jump. By now most of his energy is gone, it's only pure meanness that keeps him trying so his efforts are not as hard to stay with. After a few jumps his head comes up so we call it enough for that day.

Next morning he's had time to think things over and his attitude towards those 2 legged humans is not the least bit kindly. He gives us a hard fight to get the saddle on him and when I'm set and Meb pulls the blinders off his eyes, he does his best to explode like dynamite. Seems like his jumps are harder and more crooked than before. He does a lot of spinning and ducking off to one side so I'm wondering where 'bouts his head or hind end might be. Any second we could part company but I'm trying to last him out. I've got a tight hold on that ol' hackamore rope. It keeps me somewhat in tune with his head. No use to pull leather, that yanking horn would jerk me loose from my seat. Can I last one second longer, maybe two or three?

Exhaustion from trying is about to get the best of me. He takes another long jump or two then his head comes up. I'm mighty glad by now that I'm still on him. His nose and jaw are getting somewhat sore so he gives his head to the pull of the hackamore rein. We head down through the pasture to burn up some energy.

I ride him everyday for the next 2 or 3 weeks and everyday he tries me out to see if I can stay on him. Sometimes he watches my left toe, sometimes it's my right one with that ear cocked back for sound. I think it just naturally works in concert with the eye on the side of interest. Most generally he's good for some action when I give that foot a kick or jab in my spur.

I usually rode out alone though occasionally Suedey or Meb would come along. One day Uncle Roy sent me over to the Alcorn place to check on some cows. This was a pasture with good grass and some scattered cedar trees. Hadn't found the cows yet when ol' Blue decides he'll try me again. Think he remembered that first and only time he ever got rid of me. He started out with those high and crooked jumps. When I didn't loosen up he bucks right into a big bushy cedar tree where the limbs come out from the very bottom. We get well within the folds of the branches with him giving it all he's got, then he rams his head, BANG! against the big solid trunk. He must have had a flash or maybe it was just stars because he dropped down on his belly for a motionless few seconds. I'm trying to get myself loose from the tangle of saddle and limbs. I've still got hold of the hackamore reins when Blue comes up, but he goes out the other way and pulls away from me.

To be afoot is a real bad situation when you're 7 or 8 miles from camp. The pasture is a big square mile with no way of running that ornery critter into the corral on foot. Then I think of Molly. She's a sorrel riding-n-packing mule of Uncle Roy's that I'd noticed down the flat below the pond a ways as I rode by a while before. Maybe she will come into the pond enclosure for a drink of water and I can catch her. She's not one of those mules that's overly fond of her masters and allows a feller to get near her out in the pasture but if you're crafty and use your head, you just might get her in a position where she couldn't get away. So I take it easy and stay out of sight, but where I can still monitor her movements.

When in a predicament like that I had a method I'd resort to so I'd have a chance at success: I asked a little prayer that the Lord would make that mule-critter thirsty and she'd come in for a drink. Sure enough, not long after I'd made my appeal I saw ol' Molly heading toward the pond. I stayed out of sight till she went down over the pond bank then I trotted to the gate and closed it. She was somewhat surprised when she came back over and saw me there, but I talked nice and polite to her for a little while, telling her what a good looking mule she was, so after some maneuvering around and her realizing she couldn't get away anyhow, she allowed me to walk up to her.

I'd found a piece of rope over in the old Alcorn cabin so with it and some wire I created a makeshift bridle. We headed out through the pasture looking for that trunk-buster and found him down at the far end grazing, with reins a dragging. Ol, Molly loped right along as we hazed him toward the pond and after a break or two ran him into the enclosure, then pushed him into the corral at the other end.

He'd been roped enough to know it didn't pay to run by a man on foot so he faced my way. As I walked over and picked up the hackamore reins from the ground there was no mutual love passing betwixt us. In fact we're both feeling a bit mean, at least I know I was. I pulled his ornery ol head around close to me and stepped on board. His first big jump was helped along as I jabbed him hard with my spurs. I'm still spurring as he heads out the enclosure gate on the run.

We find the cows I'm looking for and they tally out. I point ol Blue for home and we get there by dark. That fall we moved the cattle down onto the lower Andrews Canyon Country for the winter. Even though I'd been riding Blue for 2 months or more he would buck a couple of times a day and when he wasn't bucking he was too tired to be much good for any other work. His body was well put together, but his mean head made him worthless for a using horse. His greatest worth was for protein in a bag of chicken feed.