The Mustanger

Uncle Archie was Mom's youngest brother and was the black sheep of the family, a non-believer of the faith. When I was quite young he had to leave the country because the sheriff wanted to talk to him about some cows that couldn't be found. He stayed away from this country for the next ten or fifteen years and punched cows for big outfits throughout the West. He was good with a rope and had won a considerable amount of money competing in rodeo events all across the country, even to Madison Square Garden. He cut a striking figure in cowboy garb. His red hair and blue eyes went along with a hot temper and tough personality. He wasn't a fellow to tangle with, a loner, interested only in what would benefit Archie. I sort of idolized him because he lived the romantic life of a cowboy, or what I thought was adventurous and romantic.

He came to our place once when he was about 35 years old with his saddle and not much else. He had heard that a bunch of red roan mustangs ranged down in the Virgin River gorge and in the adjoining canyons and ridges. We had a tall red roan mare that he figured would mount him up right well for a couple days chase after them wild ones. He didn't come around very often so Mom and Dad wanted to please him in every way they could, so they loaned him the mare.

Frank Fawcett heard of the proposed mustang chase. He had a horse for himself and a black mare that would do for a pack animal so Uncle Archie told Frank that he and I could come along for the run

We rode southwest from Bloomington to travel down a long draw which drains in from the east to the Virgin River. We found the smooth tracks of the mustangs along the trails leading to water, so made camp at the mouth of this draw. The horse feed wasn't very good near the river but there was enough to get by a day or two

Early next morning we followed a well traveled trail down river on the south side that led out onto bench country below the high points. The trail then forked out to big canyons draining Black Rock mountain to the south. We found the wild bunch we were looking for feeding in a big draw several miles down river. There was seven or eight head of mares of a beautiful red roan color. Only one colt in the bunch which appeared to be about a year old. It was a nice palomino color. The cougars had been working on this bunch as there should have been at least five or six colts for that number of mares. The stud of the bunch was a deep orange palomino with a white strip on his face. He was really a beauty and I could tell that Uncle Archie wanted to catch him bad.

Beyond the bunch was a flat top ridge. The draw they were in climbed south up a large canyon between two high mountain points. Archie figured it would be best to try to keep them out of the big canyons, so we came in from the upper side. When the horses spotted us they ran west up on the flat top ridge. Archie raced his mare over there with them so they cut down toward the river. That long legged mare could really travel, especially with an experienced mustanger riding her.

I was trying to keep up so I might be of some help. Archie was crowding them so hard that they turned to the east more in my direction and I was able to get into where the action was. That roan mare was zeroed in on the stud and gaining fast and the stud was running for all he was worth. The stud was traveling north-east toward some boulder piles and ledges that broke off into the next draw. I was angling in toward them from the south. That roan mare had her neck stretched out and was only a second behind the stud. Archie was standing up in his stirrups, whirling his rope when they went out of sight over the edge of the ridge.

When I got to that point a big dust was raising up but I could see through the haze a horse and rider still upright. The stud was down in the bottom headed toward the river. When Archie rode over to me he said the stud had jumped off a ten to twelve foot ledge, had rolled over when he landed then got up running. He bragged on the mare that she was fast and could stay on her feet, and if she hadn't been agile they, too, would have gone over the edge.

We could see the band of mares heading south up that big canyon. Archie figured we better rest our horses, that the stud would come back looking for his band of mares. After an hour or so we saw him coming up the next ridge to the east of us. We stayed out of his sight as long as we could then went over to intercept him.

He turned over against a drop-off where the ground was covered with big boulders, making it difficult to manoeuvre a horse very rapidly. Archie was on the left and Cheeko and I were on the right. The stud trotted out to the edge, took a look, then turned around, shook his head with that long white mane, bowed his neck and trotted over toward me. I didn't know what he was up to but I figured whatever it was it would happen too fast for me to stop it.

Archie hollered for me to turn him over his way. I moved Cheeko forward in an attempt to comply. The stud was about ten feet away coming straight for us in a high-stepping walk when, in a flash and a great burst of speed, he shot by on my right side. A long chase began and it led up river beyond our camp to the most easterly canyon on that side of the mountain. Archie out ran him along the bottom and he turned to climb the slope toward the ledge above. I was halfway up the slope riding in from the north side. Archie moved in from the south. The stud made a wild break between us. He came bursting downhill within a foot of Cheeko's nose. He knew who the man was with that dangerous rope.

Archie and the roan mare were angled down off the slope making thirty foot jumps. When that stud passed in front of him Archie reached out with a small loop that settled over the studs head true and straight, but the roan mare was 1/1000 th of a second too far behind. The loop stopped on the end of his nose, rode there for a second, then slid up across his eyes to yank out a handful of white mane when it popped off. He turned up canyon running hard.

Archie figured he'd better not try again because that roan mare was about done for. She had tried her best and done a good job so we headed for camp. Frank had gotten lost on the run up the river but was at camp when we arrived.

Next morning before sun up I was out looking for our saddle horses. Their tracks led up the draw to the east. About 1/2 mile from camp I found Frank's gelding. He had some fresh horse bites on his back and rump. I wondered why some of our saddle horses would be so ornery. A little farther on was Cheeko and he also had hair missing on his rump. I took off the hobbles, put on the bridle and rode on up the draw following fresh tracks. I could see the smooth tracks of a mustang and I figured that stud had come back and chased and bit the two geldings. A couple of more miles and I caught up to the two mares. That yellow stud was hazing them up the canyon not far from where Archie had pulled that hodo full of white mane. When the stud saw me he loped up the canyon about 300 yards and stopped.

After removing their hobbles I led the mares back toward camp. The stud followed along behind a ways. When I came to Frank's gelding I took off his hobbles and tailed him to the black mare. At camp Archie was wondering if they had gone back to Bloomington. I told him what had happened and pointed up the draw where the stud stood looking our way. Archie said he figured the roan mare was in heat. He said he would ride the black mare west along the route we had traveled the previous morning to where the trail went next to a high upper ledge and one that fell off toward the river. He would tie his rope to a big rock, then hide out of sight. I was to ride over leading the roan mare and go past him while he would wait for the stud to come by, then he'd pitch a loop over his head, which sounds a lot easier than it is.

A wild horse's reflexes are almost instant and his peripheral vision is mighty keen. To snap a loop on his head as it appeared from behind a big rock would sure require quick action and accuracy. But Archie did it and after the stud fought the rope and choked himself down, he put a halter on him and dallied him to the saddle horn. We soon had him moving along toward camp.

About dark that evening we rode into Grandpa McCain's place at Bloomington. The stud was tied up that night but the saddle horses filled up on good hay. Archie stayed with Grandpa and Grandma a month or so and broke the stud to ride. He talked his folks into selling the farm so they could move to town because Grandpa was getting too old for such hard work. They sold it to a Heaton who was a car dealer. Part of the payment was a new pickup truck. I don't know what else Heaton paid, but Archie drove that pickup away when he left the country and Grandpa and Grandma moved to Aunt Artie's place where all their kids, except Archie, pitched in to build them a little three room lumber cabin with an out-house in back.

Archie was a mighty good hand with horses and a lariat, but he let others look after his folks.