Cornpone

Cornpone was a mustang from the cedar tree and sage brush country that lies between Panaca, Nevada and Enterprise, Utah. He's scrubby and inbred, but better than being afoot. Leon had trained him to be a good kid pony. Horses and mules sometimes do foolish things, just like men and boys. Early springtime had come again; the cottonwood tree was leafing out; the cool nights and pleasant days make a pack trip, with saddle horses and mules a fun time to explore the off-road country. I was itching to get out of town so my son, Victor, and I with a bunch of boys about his age, packed down river to the old Babblin' Mill silver ore processing site.

We made camp at the base of a towering red sandstone cliff that would shelter us from northerly winds that sometimes swept hard across this area. The horse feed was good, a campfire warmed a feller's britches, and there were plenty of hills to ride over. Spring snow melt was coming down, making the river run high and chilly, but the tougher boys like to get out in it for a little bit. Soft sand bars were good to run and play on and the warm sandy banks felt real good after a chill in the water. I was head cook and pot scrubber, plus horse wrangler. I tried to delegate much of this chore duty, but then the aftermath were usually worse than the original task and sometimes I chose to do the job myself, but I did try to teach these kids how to survive; be responsible; and have fun.

After about 3 days of roughin' it, most of the fellers wanted to go home to mama's cooking and where she could fuss over them. They voted to follow the river bottom rather than a round-about course through the hills like we traveled on the way down. I took the lead on my mule, Tigger, to check for channels that would swim a horse. The wide sections were only about belly deep or less. The streambed wandered from one side to the other making frequent crossing of the water necessary. I had just crossed where the water was spread way out, making the depth about 2 feet when someone yelled behind me. I looked around to see Leon standing in the water and his horse flopping along like he had 3 busted legs. I hurried back, as close as Tigger would get, and Leon said Cornpone had laid down to take a roll in the water and couldn't get up. The current would roll him over. He'd raise his head for a breath, then the water would roll him over again.

"Hold his head up, " I hollered, "or he'll drown." Leon grabbed his bridle from the up stream side and is able to keep his head up, also stopping the rolling. I tried to spur Tigger in closer but he's boogered of that under water critter and stays far away. Some of the other boys are splashing around trying to give a hand.

"Feel down in the water to find out what's holding him down," I yell. "Think he's got his foot in the stirrup," Leon answers. "Well, undo the cinch and pull the saddle off:"

There's 6 or 7 boys out there now and I don't hanker to get my boots full of water so I set tight on Tigger. A couple of the bigger boys grab hold of Conpone's head while Leon fishes for the latago. They have difficulty getting the mustangs foot out of the stirrup so Leon unlatches the quick change adjustment and the current gets away with the stirrup. Cornpone is on his feet again, a sad looking little mustang horse rescued from a watery grave. I don't know if he learned a lesson but it did stamp in our memories a unique and exciting few minutes that will stay for a long time.