Stud Steak

Long time ago when I was quite young, Johnny Pymm had three head of saddle horses at his corral in St. George and they were eating a lot of good hay. He asked me if I'd ride them out to his Grassy Mountain Ranch for him. "I sure will. Be glad to I'd be mighty happy to get out of town." Next morning by the time it was getting daylight, 3 head of horses are lined out on a long trot headed south up the Moquiac grade. I'm astride that gray one out in front. By noon those same ponies are south of Wolf Hole, several miles and I'm riding the bay. We've been on a good trot most of the way. The sun is still a couple hours above the western hills when we water up at Little Tank and there's still a few minutes left before it drops out of sight when we pull up at the Snyder Ranch. There hasn't been any grass growing under us on that trip.

Afton and Eldon Snyder are there at the ranch. They are brothers and cousins of mine. Don't remember who else was there. I tell them I'm heading for Grassy Mountain in the morning. They've never been over in that country, also Andrews Spring is nearby where lots of wild horses water. Everybody was interested in horses in those days, sort of like cars now-days. They were the mode of getting around. (That was before they found out hiking was so much fun). Those Snyder boys want to know if they can come along. "Sure", I said, "It'd be nice to have company." 'Course, I thought they'd bring their own grub. I'm traveling quite light myself, just got enough grub for a few days.

Next morning they throwed a few quilts on my pack horse and nothing much else. I wondered if those fellers had been weaned of eating. When we pass by the old Alcorn place, Uncle Roy Whip is working some cattle there in the corral. I tell him we're headed for Johnny's place. He says there's a short cut not far away that follows a long draw down into Mule Canyon, then downstream a short distance to a big side canyon off to the right that comes in from the north end of Grassy Mountain. He says we can follow the trail easy.

After we get down in Mule Canyon, we pass a deep narrow inlet from the right, but no big wide one like we are thinking about. As we travel down grade the canyon deepens fast. We think maybe it's just a little farther on. There is a 6 foot jump off that we go down over to check out a canyon just below. Oops, it's not that one cause there's a big drop-off that we can see. We must have missed the turnout canyon. We can't go back up over that 6 foot jump off. but hope we can go on down without the canyon ledging up. I'm familiar with that part of Mule Canyon a few miles further on down. We're way deep now. Maybe 1,000 feet to the top of the hills up above us. It's getting real narrow with big boulders in the bottom. We come to a place where the passage is only about 2 1/2 feet wide and the pack horse can't squeeze through, so we take off the pack and carry it down a ways to where the gorge widens out. You've got to bend way back to see the top of that canyon wall. Pretty quick, it broadens out about a half mile wide. It's sort of a boxed in valley where grass and brush grow pretty good. Over against the right side is a little spring trickling into a water trough. No sunlight's shining on the eastern hilltops of the canyon, so we make camp for the night. I fix supper from my grub supply and those two fellers pitch in and eat it all up to the last morsel, then look around for some more. There's still some daylight left so I take my single shot .22 and get a couple cottontails for breakfast. Next morning we're up and going shortly after it comes light. I know this country, there's a trail that climbs out on the east side. Pretty quick we jump a bunch of horses. Afton ropes what looks like a 2 year old colt. He ain't branded, but looks like he's got draft stock blood in him and he leads along pretty good.

The trail out is steep and long. We gain about 1,500 feet of altitude. We are up on top of the mesa now riding back toward Alcorns ranch to try again, probably 15 miles or so. I've got a quart canteen of water with me. They don't carry any. It gets hot, so I take a couple of swallows and hand it to Afton and he takes a couple, then we pass it back to Eldon and tell him to go easy on it, cause that's all there is. When I look around in a couple minutes the canteen is tipped way up as he drains the last drop. The Nerd. I wish I'd let him choke.

Uncle Roy Whip is still there at Alcorn's when we ride up the second day. He's kind of surprised to see us come in from that direction. He also wants to know where we got Chet Bundy's work horse colt and offers to take it over to Chet. There's no argument from us there. We thought he was a mustang, besides they hang horse thieves. He describes the route again so this time we find our way all right.

Johnny's ranch headquarters consists of 2 boarded up tents with some well made stockade corrals close by. Grassy Spring is about 50 yards up the hill above camp. Water is carried from there in a 3 gallon bucket. An enclosure of about 50 to 100 acres lays along the rough canyon and mountain side. It's not very good feed, but a horse could stay alive in it. To the west a mile or two is a spring of water that comes up in the bottom of a gully. Thick cedar trees cover the mountain side from which it raises. Wild cattle drink there that roam the rough country west of Andrew Canyon and south toward Dansil. Mustang horses also, but they range farther out on the open flats and hills north and northeast, and round the north end of Grassy Mountain. Many mustangs have been trapped at this spring. Wing fences with a good pole fence corral stands on the right hand bank back in the trees above the water.

Next day we size things up and that night lay out under a bank of the wash. We are about 100 feet down-grade where the water seeps back into the gravel. The trail comes in from the north and turns up toward the water not too far above where we lay. Eldon ain't much good, he can't stay awake. We don't do any talking. Those mustangs have got good ears. We wish we'd left him at camp. He keeps snoring. I punch and whisper at him.

Way along in the wee hours, the clunk of hooves on rock come to us in the stillness of the night. Then "hooush", the suspicious blow or whistle of the wild horse. Wow! my heart's a thumping louder than Eldon' s snore. I give him a jab as I hiss "shut up." They know humans have been around, but they haven't drank for at least 2 days. Finally they come in and pass by. We can hear them up there pawing as they tank up. We give them a few minutes, then scramble up the bank and holler as we run up the trail. They spook out of the wash up into the corral. I get to the gate while they are still hunting for a hole to get out the other side. It doesn't take long to drop the bars in place.

There's 4 or 5 head. It's pretty dark with only starlight to see by. That's all for tonight, there's no place to trap a second bunch, even if they did come in. We roll up in our blanket to sleep the rest of the night. When we go up to the corral to see what came in, it's not yet sun up. There's 4 head and one is laying on the ground. Looks like a nice 3 or 4 year old stud. He's a bay, not dead yet, but mighty sick from water founder. The other's all have Johnny Pymm's brand on them and we turn them out.

The stud doesn't have any mark on the top side. He bangs his head on the ground cause he's still got the "miseries." Water colic is giving him a real bad belly ache. He should have come in and watered up the night before. When he gets up about noon there's no brand on the other side, but all that head beating has blinded the bottom eye which is too bad for us because he is a nice looking horse, but for him maybe it's better: he regained his freedom.

The next night we left Eldon at Johnny's tent, he was just a nuisance. Afton and I took turns snoozing while the other one stayed awake. I could stay awake real good in those days if I set my mind to it, especially if I was laying for mustangs to come in. We'd been waiting a couple hours when I heard the muted sound of a single animal walking along the trail. I suspected it might be a bovine critter as there was no snorting or horse whistle. We ain't taking any chances of missing, though, so after it's had time to fill up on water I go dashing up the trail making a lot of racket.

At the corral I can see this dark critter turning this way and that looking for a way out on the other side. It's so dark I'm not sure what it is. The second bar is going in place when the critter comes down along the fence at a high rate of speed. "Look out!" I yell, leaping onto the fence. Afton is just getting there and makes a desperate grab for the top pole of the corral. A big bull or steer thunders out with a "snooch" at Aftons pants as he rushes by. If he'd raised his head a little bit that sharp left horn would have torn the bottom of Aftons pants clean off. Whew! that was close.

Along toward morning it's my watch. The click of horses' hooves on rocks comes to my ears, then some snorting and whistling cause everything doesn't smell right down there by the water. They stop back in the trees a ways, listening and testing the air currents. My heart's pounding loud and clear. They surely can hear it thump-thumping at double time. I give Afton a gentle shake. Some more "hawhoos" (whistling) and snorts, then some come on in. The dumber thirsty ones come, can't wait any longer, while the wiser ones hang back. This is a big bunch, 15 or 20 head. Finally they all get in on the water. They are moving around, squealing and kicking as they assert their pecking order. We wait about 10 minutes, then I dash up over the bank and along the trail whooping and hollering.

It's dark in those thick cedar trees. There's the pounding of hooves on the rocky bottom where the water is. They're coming my way! I jump behind a little tree that's in the middle of the trail. Horse bodies flash by on each side within of few inches of me. I could have touched horse flesh easy on each side at the same time. Afton just narrowly missed getting tromped on. Some wise old mare or stud had led them out the wrong way for us, but the right direction for them. We laugh and enjoy all the excitement. It doesn't matter that they got away, we're having great fun.

The next night a lone horse comes in which we booger up into the corral. The moon's a shining some at that hour of the night. He's a pretty black color with an arched neck, acting real wild, snorting and running around, back and forth. He's fat, in good shape and he looks familiar to me. I talk to him, then get down in the corral and walk toward him. He faces me with his neck bowed and ears pointing my way. I can see he's got one stocking hind foot. Sure looks like my old Cheeko-horse that I'd traded to Johnny Pymm for a worthless jug headed mare and colt. Sure enough, pretty quick I'm petting him and renewing our acquaintance. We had done a lot of fun things together in the past. I could kick myself for trading him off. We put him in with our saddle horses cause I knew Johnny would be out before very long to do his fall round-up.

The next night we catch an old bay stud and his bunch of mares and colts. He's an old warrior, scarred by many battles with other rangeland stallions. Above his left eye the skull had been caved in from a terrific kick, leaving a sunken spot. He's well built but has the heavy jaw of an old stud. I figure he's at least 15 years old, maybe 20. I don't want him but Afton does. He's a mean one to handle. There's none in that bunch that suits my fancy; two or three of them are branded. These we cut out and let go. Afton and Eldon keep three mares and colts, plus the stud. We move them over to Johnny's holding pasture where we hobble or side-line them. The stud we rope and choke down and put on a halter with 2 lead ropes, that way he can't eat on one of us as we lead him over to the pasture. Johnny's got a good stockade type corral next to the tents. Here we snub up his head to a post, then tie up a hind foot so we can hobble his front legs. I let Afton do that. It's his horse.

The next two or three nights all we catch is mares and colts, some are packing brands, which we turn out. Another old stud comes in about like the bay, but this one is a sorrel. Darned if they don't want him, too! The last night at the trap we run in a little bunch. It's always exciting to go up when it gets light the next morning to see what we got. It's really more fun than checking under the Christmas tree.

This morning there is a nice looking red roan mare about 6 to 10 years old. Also another old stud and three or four old mares. Eldon and Afton want to draw sticks for the roan mare. She's the only one we've caught that I'd like to have and I tell them they've already got a corral-full. They argue that I didn't want any of the others. I remind them that it's my grub stake that we've been operating on, but they're greedy so we draw and Eldon gets her. He aint even been doing any of the night watch!

I'm sort of put out and know I've been taken advantage of. My grub is all gone and rabbit meat is hard to come by, so we tail 'em out in three bunches there's 10 or 11 head, all told. We barely have enough rope to tie them together. We take the short cut back across Mule Canyon. As we are going up that long draw toward Alcorn's ranch the roan mare falls down on the ground. She was second to the last in the bunch I was leading. We couldn't see anything wrong with her except she acted like she was unconscious. I tried to get her up, but she paid no mind to me. I finally got her untied from the others. At this point the trail is on a sloping bank. After being untied, she slides down to the bottom. I check her breathing and could detect none. Her eyes were sightless. I suppose she died because of a sad or broken heart, pining for the loss of her freedom and because we are taking her away from her home range. I'd heard of other horses dying in this way. When we got the rest of those mustangs over to the Snyder place I get a little grub at Bundyville and took Johnny's saddle horses back to Grassy Mountain to wait for him to come out from town. It wasn't long. He has Wally and Walter with him and after a few days Eldon rode over to help us.

The next winter was a tough one, with lots of deep snow. Milas and Afton Snyder wintered on their old home ranch. The snow's about three feet deep which makes travel difficult. Along about Christmas time their grub got low and that old sorrel stud was still looking quite fat, so they butchered him and hung him down in the barn. They were cutting horse steaks and stews off him till the latter part of April. Guess Afton could see farther down the trail than I could when he saw value in that old stud.