Wild Bunch

Story of Keith Iverson and sons Derk and Dranen as told to Budd by Keith

There is still some rough and brushy country where cattle like to range that brings out their natural tendency to get wild. they know that them two legged critters astride a saddle horse aint meaning to do them any good so the less they see of them the better they like it. Riding horseback through thick trees and brush can't be done very well at a high rate of speed and cattle can outrun most riders, but not all, for there are still some who are of the same grit and expertise as the cowboys of bygone days.

For several years a bunch of cross breed Brahma/Angus had defied all attempts to gather them from the rough points and canyons of the Glendale Bench. All the local cowboys had tried their hand, with no success. The owner offered half to anyone who would deliver them to the cattle auction. Me and my two sons, Derk and Dranen figured we could do it without too much trouble. We hauled in four head of good saddle horses, a portable pipe corral and loading chute, along with our boars nest camp outfit (tent, bedrolls, and dutch oven with grub in a box). We figured to have a little excitement, along with making some money at the same time.

Camp was set up at the southwest end of Sawmill Canyon along the trail leading from the seeded grass flats down-canyon to Mud Springs. Sage brush, scrub oak and cedar trees was the natural vegetation of the mesa top. Out along the finger ridges and in the canyons bitter brush, sarvice berries, cliff rose and other browse grew, with here and there an inaccessible yellow pine. Good country for wild cattle. The bench rim dropped off eight or nine hundred feet into Long Valley on the west and on the sand hills south and east. A natural barrier for men and animals. Above the ledges the land sloped upward for several hundred feet, being covered with brush and trees to where it leveled out on top of the mesa.

Tall grass grew in the open flats, but no cattle fed there in the daytime, all the tracks indicated that they grazed it at night. Down in the trees fresh tracks showed us that cows had heard us coming and were on the move. Even though we rode as fast as possible through the thick trees we were unable to get a glimpse of them. The tracks circled and crossed over where we had come. Splatters of green manure and slobber streamers from their mouths showed we were hot on the trail and the cattle were moving at a high trot. They kept circling and re-crossing previous tracks until it became difficult to know which were the fresher tracks. Those cows are smart enough not to head out into the more open country where a feller could rope them.

Now we are crowding them so close they split into several bunches and Dranen followed after some while me an Derk go another way. Our tracks criss-crossed through the trees, trying to force them to go out into the open country. After chasing around for quite awhile, horse and cow tracks were going about every way and we didn't know which way they went last. As we rode along, Derk said, "look over there across that little canyon." There under some trees was two of them old cows laying down with their neck and jaws stretched out along the ground, playing hid like their mamas taught them to do when they were calves.

We rode back up around the head of that canyon to where this finger ridge splits off from the mesa. We tighten up our cinches and shake out a loop because we know that as soon as they figure we're coming after them, they'll come up through the trees to get by us. Sure enough, we hadn't gone another hundred yards toward them when here they come on a high run.

I dropped my loop onto the black one. It tightened up across her brisket and just in front of her shoulders, a hard place to hold one from. Derk, lucky for me, missed his and was able to help me with old black cow. When the rope stopped her run for freedom, she turned off the hillside toward the top of the bluff. My buckskin quarter horse was stout, but his small withers didn't hold my saddle from moving forward very well. That old cow was down hill at a 30% grade a bucking and jumping and I thought sure she's going to pull my saddle off and it and her and maybe me would go plunging off that high ledge. She's so close to the edge that a hind foot went off a time or two and my rope was all that held her on top. Me, I'm standing in the off side stirrup doing my best to keep the saddle in place. She finally climbs uphill a little bit, giving me time to whirl my horse around and point him the other way so my saddle pulls back into place. She hits the end of my rope again and just about goes over the ledge. Derk gets down along side her and boogers her up onto flatter ground where he catches her hind feet and we stretch her out between us. I put a halter on her head and tie the lead rope to a tree then we let her up. It's been a very exciting ten minutes or so. Don't know what my horse would have done with a thousand pounds of kicking cow hanging over the edge of that ledge on the far end of my rope. Leaving the old black cow, we ride off through the trees looking for Dranen. He didn't rope anything so we head back for camp.

The next morning after breakfast we saddle up and ride south again where we jump a bunch of cattle in the thick trees. This time we come in below them and pushed them north toward some open country. However, we couldn't get them out of the trees before they slipped away from us except for the old cow that Derk had missed the day before. We keep track of her until she hits an open place where Dranen dabs a loop on her. I pick up her heels and stretch her out while Derk puts on a halter and ties her to a tree. Then we ride toward the old black cow that's tied down there by the rim.

Dranen's brown dog's a trotting along in front of us a ways and happens by the tree where the black cow's at. She jumps up with a beller and he comes streaking back by us a yelping every jump. Must have thought a big black bear had him. We got a good laugh out of that.

Dranen roped her hind feet and stretched her out while we side hobbled her and take off the tie rope. When we turn her loose she takes off like a shot in spite of the side hobbles and I wondered if we were going to be able to keep track of her, but pretty soon she bushes up in a patch of thick oaks and when I get in close to drive her out, she charges OI' Thunder and butts him in the ribs pretty hard. Sure glad she doesn't have any horns. After a few times of being hit by her hard head he gets leery and wants to stay clear of that old heifer. She's difficult to dislodge from her patch of brush and as I coax 01' Thunder in closer, she comes flying out and raises her body and head up, trying to knock me out of the saddle, but Thunder whirls away and she misses us. I have never seen a cow critter try that maneuver before or since.

By the time we got her out of the rough country to where we could drive a truck to, it was after dark and still a long way to the corral. Roping her head and heels by moonlight was a touchy job because you can't see your rope very well, but we finally stretched her out again and tied her to a tree.

At camp, three of the horses are hobbled out to graze and I keep old Thunder in the corral. About the time we get through eating our late supper we hear a critter bawl over toward the horses. By the bright moonlight we can see a big wiener sized calf coming toward them. We figure it had got lost from the bunch we were chasing that morning. I slip down to the corral and saddle up old Thunder, intending to rope the calf. When we get out near him, he takes off on the run. I jab the steel to old Thunder, expecting him to put on some speed so I can rope it, but guess he was peeved about being rode at night after working hard all day and being butted in the ribs to-boot, so he bogs his head and cuts loose with ten or twelve hard jumps and I'm grabbing for everything I can get hold of to stay aboard. Needless to say, I didn't rope the calf. But by then Dranen had of Bay unhobbled, figuring to help me keep track of the calf when, here it comes, trotting over to of Bay like he's his mama, so Dranen led them both down into the corral. Just another example of our expert cowboy strategy.

Next morning one of us drove the truck and we went down to haul in the old black cow. We dug the wheels down in the soft sandy soil. Then roped her heels and pulled her down for the fourth time. She ought to be getting used to it by now. Both Dranen and I have a rope on her head and Derk has a long rope on her too, which he runs up over the bed of the truck and through the racks on the front end. Then he comes over in front of her, playing rodeo clown, and the old gal chases him up into the truck bed. He goes over the front end while I pull up the slack. We then got the other old cow that's tied up and those two leaders and a big calf are now captured. That figures one cow per day.

The rest of them, we are able to drive out and corral a few at a time. We had the entire bunch gathered in little over one weeks time. Seeing as how we got them so easy, the owner figured half the selling price was too much money, so reneged on his agreement. Anyhow, we did have a lot of fun.