Turkey Eggs

Mustang chasing was one of the most enjoyable things a feller could do when I was a kid and we were always trying to figure how, when and where would be our next great adventure. Sometimes our saddle stock wasn't too high a quality and sometimes our camp equipment and food supply shortages limited our operations. Never were those two necessities ideal, so sometimes our escapades turned into real hardship adventures, like one time when Dad had moved us into St. George and I was itching to get out of town.

I told my friend, Mally Roberts, that chasing wild horses was the most exciting thing a guy could ever do, so we planned to ride out toward Seegmiller Mountain looking for a bunch of them cayuses. I had access to two horses, one a locoed mare and the other a nice gelding I was taking care of for Grey Wilkins. We were planning to be gone only one day. I fixed me a lunch and figured Mally would do the same. Somehow Ben Blake got wind of our plans and as we rode out through the Washington Fields, here he came on a big black mare he'd "borrowed" from some-body and throwed in with us. The only saddle we had between the three of us was my old bronc riding saddle that I was using on Grey's sorrel gelding. I'd legged Mally onto ol' Crazy while I held her till he got set. Her backbone wasn't easy to sit on but she was better than no horse at all.

It's a long ways out over the Sunshine Trail up into the country where them wild ponies range. The sun was laying low way to the west and we hadn't seen any yet. We stopped at a pond and watered up. There were fresh unshod horse tracks there so we decided to ride farther on. Neither Mally nor Ben had brought any food so I shared my two sandwiches with them. It being March time we all three had brought jackets, but when the sun sank behind Seegmiller Mountain that stiff breeze felt mighty chilly. I tell my partners we can lay out by a fire tonight and tomorrow our horses will be rested and ready to give them mustangs a hard chase. Up along the foot of the mountain there was sagebrush and cedar trees but no grass for horse feed. Since our success depended on our horses, we figured to make camp where they could graze. There wasn't much fuel to keep our fire going but each of us took turns throughout the night scrounging for little pieces of brush as we huddled over that small flame.

Daylight next morning didn't come any too quick for us. Our route was south where the grass improved as we traveled along. About an hour after sun up we spotted a big bunch of them mustangs at the north end of the Twist Hills. Grey's gelding puts me right up in the bunch. There's a lot of branded horses so it takes me a little while to pick out one that's clean. He's a grula, a grayish yellow, and when he sees I've singles him out to rope he puts on more speed and my sorrel gelding doesn't have enough go power to put me up close enough to pitch my 20 foot rope on him. Then I can feel my horse has used all his energy and is slowing down, so I pull him to a stop and turn around. I've passed up a lot of horses looking for the best. One I'd liked was a black mare with two colts following her. The oldest was a short-two year old and the other last summers foal. Presently I spotted them heading north about a mile away.

When I find Mally. He hadn't let ol' Crazy run for fear he'd fall off and she's still got plenty of steam left in her so we switch horses and I take to that black mare and two colts. After about a three mile run I finally catch up. The biggest colt is on the tail end and he's the one I'm after. They're all tired by then, including ol' Crazy, but I finally get her close enough to dab my rope on him. I'm riding bareback but figure I can choke that colt down just by holding it tight by hand, but when he feels that rope around his neck he puts on more speed and Crazy doesn't match his stride.

I hold with all my strength, determined not to let go. Pretty quick he pulls me off onto the ground and drags me across a flat covered with match-brush. I've got my eyes closed tight cause stuff is hitting me in the face hard and thick. My hands are scraping the brush and losing patches of hide, but I still hold on, hoping he'll run out of wind though he keeps on a going. Guess that rope is just too low on his neck and not acting as an effective choker. Finally I bang into some big rocks and have to let go.

After pawing the sticks and dirt off my face, I see the colt running through the flat dragging my rope. East of where he left me is a black rock ridge with a trail angling to the top. The black mare, followed by her baby colt, is trotting up that trail and right behind them is Crazy, straight above me is the top out point of the trail. I know that if I don't beat my horse to that point I'll never catch her and be left afoot. Even though I'm tired and hungry, I race up that steep hill on a high run and get there just in time to catch hold of the bridle reins as she tops out. I climb on and go back looking for Mally on the sorrel gelding.

A way up the country there's a rider on a horse that looks like Ben's big mare. When we get up close, I can see it's Mally. Says Ben came along and insisted on trading, so we go searching for him. After an hour or so we find shod horse tracks and they're headed north in a straight line. The sorrel gelding is the only one with shoes so we know it's Ben. We follow along several miles till we know for sure it's him and he's not trying to find us, but heading for home. He's got that ol' hoss moving cause them tracks are far apart. All he can think about is his hungry belly. He don't care about us. We didn't want him along anyway.

It's late in the afternoon now, and our horses are tired and the big black mare is sore footed so we just walk along, not making very good time. It's way past dark time when we get down off the hill country into the flats south of the Fort Pierce Wash. Our line of travel is northwest and I'm aiming to hit the Bundyville Road about 20 miles away where it crosses the wash. The night gets awful dark and it's hard to tell where we're going or what is the best route. There is no moon and the sky's covered over with clouds, but the horses keep plodding along I'm riding ol' Crazy. She's done fagged out so aint doing any spooking. Then she stops. I urge her on but she won't go. I tell Mally, who is right behind me that I'll get off and strike a match to see what's in front of us. As I slide off I can tell that the brush is growing thick here. By the light of the match I see that we are at the very edge of a deep wash, looks like 15 or 20 feet down. If I'd walked around in front of Crazy I'd have stepped off the edge. I'm glad horses have better night vision than we do or we'd all have been on the bottom.

That Big Dipper is laying way over on the eastern horizon when we get to Hyram Leany's turkey raising ranch on the out-skirts of the farms south of the Fort Pierce, I'd been working for him some and knew he had lots of cracked turkey eggs there in the old farm house. Hyram lived up town in St. George and drove his team and wagon down to the farm each day to look after his turkeys that were laying eggs for the hatchery. We put our horses in the corral and fed them some hay, then went in the old house where we made a fire in the cook stove and scrambled up about two dozen of them big turkey eggs. They were sure good eatin! ! It was the custom in those days that a feller who was hungry or in need could go into a house or camp on the range and fix himself some grub or what ever he needed as long as he didn't carry off a lot of stuff.

By the time we got through eating the new day was lightening things up so we rode toward home. We didn't know where Ben had got his horse from so we turned her loose before we crossed the Virgin River. When I got home Dad said that Grey Wilkins' gelding was tied out front that morning. When I looked at him in the corral he was still sweating. That darned Ben had really rode him hard to get home during the night.