[Charles (Pete) Barnum, How I Trap Wild Horses, Sunset, August 1908]

 

HOW I TRAP WILD HORSES

By CHARLES (PETE) BARNUM

 

            AMONG the millions of people residing in our country east of the Rocky mountains, there are no doubt many who know that Nevada is a state whose area is about three times that of the state of New York, and that her population in 1900 was approximately 40,000—to be exact, 42,885—yet I believe nearly all will be surprised to learn that we still have thousands of horses roaming the most inaccessible portions of the old ranges of this state which are in every sense "wild horses," traveling from one section to another in search of food and water in bands numbering from two head to thirty, according to season.

            Their origin is somewhat in dispute, for some of the earliest settlers have informed me that when they first came here (Eureka county) there were no wild horses, while others state that, west and south, they were plentiful. I have been unable to get any accurate statements that date farther back than 1846. The Indians—our oldest residents—do not make statements that agree, varying somewhat according to the tribe. The Piutes and Shoshones claim that horses were always plentiful with them, while the Washoes say they had none until after the arrival of the whites.

            The Piutes and Shoshones occupied that section of the country which now contains most of the wild horses and I know that west and south they were plentiful, so it is my belief that they were here before the arrival of our pioneers, and no doubt are the descendants of the old Spanish stock from which most of the wild horses of the plain, prairie and mountain are supposed to have originated.

            Many of them resemble the horses that used to roam western and southern Texas, and the bordering states and territories, their size, color and conformation being almost identical, about the only difference noticeable being that the manes and tails of these Nevada horses are much shorter, the manes of some being only a few inches long and very curly. At different times fine imported stallions have been by accident or for experimental purposes turned loose upon the ranges to run with the wild horses, where they soon become as wild as deer. These various strains have produced horses remarkable for endurance and speed. By the old method of catching these horses the blood was kept good by elimination for only the poorest ones could be

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captured, the leaders and the strong ones almost invariably getting away.

            When a stallion succeeds in leading his band away from their pursuers more than two or three times, he or his band soon receive local names. Many of these studs were able to avoid capture for years. The "Pinto" bunch which ranged near Dry Creek on the east side of Pine Valley about thirty-five miles south of the Central Pacific railroad owed its liberty to the cunning of the big Pinto stallion that led them even more than to their own fleetness and endurance. It has been estimated that over two thousand dollars were spent in various ways and at different times in efforts to effect his capture. I am forced to say that a rifle ball finally ended his career ; his death was a tragedy and a shame upon the human race.

            Some of these leaders are badly injured while being pursued by men in relays, so that after capture they are worthless. Occasionally they or some of their bands are actually run to death. This is described as "melting a mustang" in this part of the west. However many others, after intelligent handling, develop into beautiful specimens and serve their captors well for years.

            Among this class I might mention "Geronimo," the great quarter horse, now owned in Elko county, Nevada, which was but a few years ago a leader of a wild bunch upon the range. He was captured by Al Thatcher, a vaquero, who chanced to find him drinking with his band at a spring. Thatcher waited until he was filled with water, after which he had but little difficulty in roping him. This horse has raced and defeated every horse that has been matched against him, among those he has defeated being many blooded horses.

            Another deserving mention is "King," the flax-maned chestnut which has more long drives to his credit than any horse known in our country, ten miles per hour being his natural gait. He was more free in his actions and firmer on the bit after a fifty-mile drive than on the start. Ben Plummer, his owner, firmly believes him not to be at his best until he has been driven at least fifty miles. I might also mention "Black Billy," one of my own saddle horses, upon which I placed five hundred dollars as a wager that he could outrun any horse in Nevada for five miles. My faithful "Moody," a thousand-pound black, while upon the range was as wild as the proverbial hawk, yet since his capture he has developed the most even of dispositions. With the spirit of a race horse he has the surefootedness of a mountain goat. I have yet to see the wild horse that can outrun him or outlast him if he is in condition, and I burden him with a thirty-eight-pound saddle, six pounds of riata, a heavy pair of "chaps" and my own weight. Could I choose my course for a test, I would prefer the roughest and steepest mountain country to be found in Nevada.

            To capture these horses on their own range, western men have tried ways and schemes that are innumerable. Expert rifle shots have creased some; good ropers, well mounted, have at times obtained individuals, and one man attempted to run them down with hounds. The most common way of catching them has been to "run" them, varying the manner according to the country. On the big, level or rolling plains country of the Southwest, or in fact in any level country of large expanse they have been most successfully handled by a party of about five men who, after finding a band, would agree upon a definite plan of operation, generally deciding to run them in large circles. One man starts the bunch, the balance divide in relays, and by relieving each other they in time so wear out the horses that they may be driven like sheep into a corral.

            In the section of Nevada where I live this is not practical because of the mountain country. A band closely pursued will constantly lose the "tails." The innumerable cañons and gulches provide momentary hiding-places for the land, and a tired mare colt, or weakling, will discontinue the race. The rider will find when he again comes within sight of them that the bunch numbers one or two less than it did previously. The poorest give out first.

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            The greater number and the best are ahead of the rider, so he disregards individuals and continues. Perhaps the next mile another quits, soon another throws up its tail, and finally the rider may find that the bunch which numbered eighteen or twenty on the start has dwindled to two, three or four. These will have apparently the same speed they first had, or may have become "green-eyed; no longer turning when a man appears in front of them. On such a horse as Moody I have frequently run side and side with these leaders and beat them across the nose with my quirt in the endeavor to make them turn, and almost as often have had them slacken their pace enough to drop back of my horse and turn the opposite way from which I desired.

            Many ranchers have allowed their men to shoot the leader, believing that his death would disconcert his followers enough to

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allow of their capture. Many a grand old leader has met his death in this way. It was in killing the famous old stallion we called "El Rio Rey," that Hank Connors was himself killed. We had for hours been after the band that numbered nineteen head. All the mares, colts and weaker studs had given up and dropped out. All that remained were four head with the beautiful Palomina stud horse we had so well named, for he surely was a king along that section of the river admitted to be his range. This day he was running as he always did—head held high, his pure white mane streaming out and making a beautiful contrast against his dark cream-colored body. Although he had run nearly eighteen miles without a rest, he still held his tail out like a flag, and one could see that there was great power in reserve. It was because he, well mounted though he was, could not overhaul this magnificent stallion that Connors drew his gun and sent a forty-four crashing through the stud's brain. Whether it was mere accident or the direct work of El Rio Rey's guardian in the horse heaven, the instant he shot, Connor's horse jumped over an immense sagebrush. Being unable to see a large badger hole which was on the far side and directly underneath it, both front feet went into the hole to the knees and a terrific fall resulted. Connors cleared from his rigging but fell upon his gun, which discharged, sending the lead through his heart.

            Some of the boys said, "Poor Hank ;" I said, "Poor horse." I cut the mane from the stallion's neck and I have it yet, and had what I said been acted upon, the coyotes would have had a chance to feed not only upon the carcass of the famous old stallion, but also upon the man that died so near him. I was working for another man at the time, so could do nothing to prevent such slaughter, but since I have been running outfits of my own no man has carried a gun with my knowledge and permission while in pursuit of wild horses.

            While horses were more plentiful in this state the most common method of gathering them was to take a number of gentler horses called perada and drive them carefully to sections supposed to contain wild horses, always keeping a close watch for them. After discovering a band, the gentle horses would be left in a cañon or low spot behind a ridge, guarded by a few men out of sight of the wild horses. One man who knew where the gentle horses had been stationed would start alone, and by avoiding the ridges could usually get around to the rear of the bunch which would be feeding on some mountainside. Generally two or three others would be stationed along the trails which they believed the mustangs would travel, after being scared by the starter. This work of making the long detour and getting behind these wild horses without being seen calls for expert knowledge of the country and of the habits of horses, for to appear at any but the right point or time would be sure to scare them in a direction entirely away from the stationed men and the band of gentle horses.

            If the starter be successful, after reaching his desired position, he comes into view of the wild horses at a very slow pace. If still unobserved he would, after getting within fifty or sixty yards of them, stand still until some of the band noticed him. After discovering an intruder they seldom become disconcerted, but will look intently, sometimes leisurely changing their position to do so. Usually the leader will trot toward the object to get a better sight or smell. Sometimes if one can get close to a bunch without disturbing them and then dismount, the effect may be interesting—the horses seemingly not being able to determine what sort of a detachable animal they have seen. More than once I have had to climb into my saddle to keep a too inquisitive stud from getting too close. Most of them know a mounted man to be their worst enemy, and after a little investigation on the part of their leader, who, with head held high and his tail laid over his back, will trot around in a peculiar way. He then will strike out with his band on a smart gallop, generally stopping on the crest of a ridge where they all face about to study their disturber, who, if he desire to have them run in and certain direction, will now start madly after them, being careful to ride on the side from which lie desires them to turn. They are thoroughly scared now. The leader takes his place and the balance will fall into their regular

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INDIAN RIDERS MOVING CAMP AND ON THE RANGE.

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AT A WATER HOLE IN THE SAGEBRUSH COUNTRY (UPPER).  LEAVING THE RANCH FOR A WILD HORSE CAMPAIGN (LOWER).

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BRANDING A STANDING HORSE (UPPER).  READY FOR THE FIRST SADDLE (LOWER).

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positions with the precision of soldiers, the last being usually the smallest colts.

            They do not look back now, for they are determined to get away. The riders must keep abreast of them, but not too close. On the start a man riding a few hundred yards distant will cause them to turn away from him, while if he were to ride closer they would merely increase their speed and forge ahead. If they are to be caught the gentle herd must be near by, and riders must appear at such points as will cause the mustangs to run directly among the gentle ones which are quietly feeding. Hidden men now suddenly appear directly in front of the frightened wild horses. Surrounded as they are on all sides by mounted men, and being mixed with the quiet, gentle horses, in theory they will soon quiet down, and by careful work on the part of the men can be driven along with the gentle horses.

            By this method immense numbers of horses have been caught. Often the wild horses thoroughly scared will run right through the perada, sometimes taking a few of the gentle ones along with them. Often after being stopped and held as planned they will break and dash for the mountains. Unless a man be ready and handy with his rope, they always escape, for it is not only an impossibility to drive one horse back to a band, but the loss of a man while pursuing would leave an avenue of escape open, of which they are very apt to take advantage.

            Only the studs can be recovered after running away from their band. Often if allowed to go unnoticed and the bunch held quietly, the men retiring as far away from the band as deemed safe, these studs will, after much delay, return if their mares are in the herd. One of the finest stallions our range country has ever known was recovered in this way. Renegade saddle horses and mustangs that have been chased into a perada and made their escape soon become impossible to capture in the manner described. They will not only leave the country on the distant approach of men with horses but should they be started they are constantly on the lookout for the bunch they know to be ahead of them and upon meeting it will "split" like quail and all escape. This method also fails many times because the starter possibly is seen before he has reached the desired position, or as it often happens the leaders will strike out in a direction totally different from that anticipated or desired. This of course leaves the relays and perada in a position wholly wrong and unless the starter should perform the almost impossible and turn them gradually back they are sure to get away.

            Thus on every range the hardiest and most intelligent horses have been constantly escaping. This very fact is responsible for the high standard of the horses remaining. Such as escape a few times remain immune from capture. They know the plan as well as the men who are after them, and by dropping out one by one, by splitting, or by dashing straight through the perada, will get away every time. To decide upon some plan to catch this class of horses has caused me many a restless night. The men who had tried to get them were all as good or better horsemen than myself, and as well mounted, yet I could not give up the idea. I had seen bunches after being started strike out over known trails and use the same mountain passes time after time. Some bands will take the same course even if they have to run over a mounted man to do it. This fact led me to believe that if stockade corrals were built in the mountain passes most used by these horses, all of these wildest ones could be driven into them.

            Four years ago I took a gang of men to a pass where the horse trails were worn a foot deep in the ground. This pass has been used by wild horses for years. I believed it to be perfectly located for our purposes. On either side were two towering mountains between which the horses had to go. Just beyond the pass we constructed a stockade corral, making it of cedar posts set close together with ends three feet in the ground. We selected none that would not project at least six feet from the ground after being set in position. The enclosure was made circular in form, with wings extending fifty yards from either side of the gate, widening so that their ends were about fifty yards apart. We worked as rapidly as possible, camping three miles away and did not attempt to haul the posts to the

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chosen spot until we were actually ready to set them. When ready to do this I put on an extra force of men and had everything brought to the place and erected in a day. While doing this work we saw wild horses on every side. Next morning breakfast was over at sunrise and every man was keen for the roundup. When we finished the day's work we counted four granny mares and two yearlings in our corral—no other horses going anywhere near that pass that day nor since to my knowledge. They had watched us work and seemed to know as well as we what the corral was for.

            The rest of the season I worked hard but with little success, crippling seventeen of my saddle horses and wearing out the balance to such a condition that they were useless. As if to complete the failure and utterly discourage us, my foreman, Jack Keene, an expert roper and rider, was killed by a wild stallion which he lassoed in Cortez Valley. Riding a fine horse he had overhauled the stud, threw his rope, caught the stallion, and got his turns upon the saddle horn—having made a throw clear to the end of a seventy-five-foot riata—but the strain was too much for the saddle tree. It broke with a dull report, Keene went straight into the air, landed on his head upon some rocks, breaking his neck. This accident caused us all to discontinue for a while, but I never ceased planning. I felt that those horses could be caught but knew that it had to be in some way different from methods previously used.

            It occurred to me that the problem would be solved if I had a corral that was movable, one that could quickly and easily be erected, which would be strong enough to hold wild horses yet light enough to pack—especially if I could get long wings. Woven wire was suggested, but its weight was too great; neither could it be removed easily if once erected. After much delay and by reasoning that I had never known a wild horse to try to jump through or over anything he could not see through, I decided to buy the heaviest and widest canvas possible to obtain. I bought two rolls of canvas seven feet wide, each a little over one hundred yards long, also thirty-five hundred and twenty yards of cloth similar to khaki which I had doubled in width and sewed together. This I used for the wings. Cottonwood poles I had cut, peeled and dried, seventeen for each corral exclusive of the wings. Stretching this canvas in a circular form, outside of the poles which we allowed to lean inward slightly, we guyed the poles tightly from the outside, thereby making the canvas walls as tight as the head of a drum. This done we had two corrals each about thirty feet in diameter, with gates directly opposite and two wings each extending a quarter of a mile toward the mountains.

            It was late in November when all was ready. Although it was too late in the season to do much, we were very anxious to try the corrals, so prepared for a short trip to the mountains. Pole Creek, the name given to a section of range about thirty miles south of Palisade on the west side of Pine Valley, was chosen as the best place for the experiment. Saddle horses, forty-six in number, already nearly worn out with work, were again gathered. Six pack horses were also selected for their share of the work, but we had to enlist the services of four more peck horses, for although we successfully packed corrals, poles and camp outfit upon the chosen six, every animal lay down. Although I asked them politely and later used persuasion of a most decided character, they refused absolutely to get up, so we had to remove the packs, divide the loads among four more horses and found that they all had enough even then. We started about noon. That night we camped in the mountains ten miles south. Soon after sunrise the following morning we were ready to start, and by a little urging we reached our destination shortly after dark that night. During our drive from Palisade to this point we were seldom out of sight of wild horses, which were very inquisitive for they had been undisturbed for a long time. I could recognize none of the leaders, but their numbers promised much and made us even more eager to try the corrals. We had decided to erect them on a ridge which we had learned was a favorite one for them to use in going from the mountains to the flat below, so with all possible haste and with very little noise we set the poles and stretched the canvas, being somewhat

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disappointed in finding that it took the greater part of the day to accomplish this.

            There were four men beside myself: Dicey, a full-blood Shoshone Indian, Miguel Quiroz, Chico, and Bascus, three Mexican vaqueros possessed of good judgment and plenty of experience. Before starting out the next morning I again explained to them that much depended upon the success of our undertaking, that I expected every man to ride through blazes if necessary to corral these horses, and hinted that any lukewarm performances would be noticed by me and dealt with accordingly.

            Miguel and Chico left early and rode north about two and a half miles, climbing to the crest of a mountain in their endeavor to get around a band which they discovered soon after leaving camp. They were successful in getting to their desired position and started fourteen head on a run toward the wings of the corral. For some reason unknown to us the leader turned east toward the flat immediately, completely ignoring the ridge we expected they would strive to use for this purpose. I had stationed myself about half a mile north of the end of the wing nearest the horses. Perceiving the intention of the leader I tried to ride in front and below them so as to cause them to take a southerly course along the side of the mountain until they were inside the wings of the corral. In this I was unsuccessful, they being determined to keep the course they had started upon.

            Seeing that it was useless to try to hold them above or even level with the end of the wing, I quickly worked my way above them, with the idea of allowing them to go below the corrals, hoping that we might be able to turn them back to the mountains and then into the wings after they had reached a point high enough and suitable for this purpose. Miguel and Chico understood my new move, so without orders rode in the manner they deemed best. Both rode at breakneck speed directly down the side of the mountain, knowing that about a half mile below was a pass that the leader was striving to use in his effort to get his band to the flat country to the east. To get there first would cause the mustangs to turn south, which would eventually lead them back to

IN THE HOME CORRAL READY FOR THE FIRST LESSONS IN CIVILIZATION

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the mouths of our corrals. The movement called for quick work and hard riding, but all knew that the time to outrun a wild horse is to do it down hill—for if you can not beat him down hill you surely can not do it going up. Quirt and spur were not spared and we gained our point.

            Miguel, Chico and myself were below these wild horses and running as fast as the leaders, and they gradually turned from us toward the mountains above. The horses carrying the Mexicans were badly distressed, having been running as fast and a little farther than the wild ones and carrying about two hundred and thirty pounds of man and rigging, so believing that I would be able to handle the band until relieved they returned to camp for fresh horses. My horse, though somewhat winded, still had plenty of go in him.

            Twice I dismounted and led him up two of the steepest ridges, which gave him a chance to recover somewhat, and by forcing him down the slopes I was able to influence the course of the band toward a point which, if I could maintain my speed, I knew would bring us just inside the wings. It was a long, hard race. The sagebrush was very thick and high, my horse jumping much of it instead of going around. This, together with the fact that we had to cross many washes and ditches and were constantly climbing the mountains drew heavily on his reserve strength. Inwardly I was losing hope. The wild horses were running very strong, all staying close to the leader and only a few sucking colts being very far behind.

            Just then out from behind a rocky ridge rode Dicey, the Indian, with a yell and a dash that was a credit to his race, straight for the leader. Over rocks and badger holes down the side of a mountain that would cause a man to exercise care afoot this daredevil Indian rode at race-horse speed until he was just ahead of the big bay stallion in the lead. The stud saw and heard him and turned away from him. I knew now that we had a chance to win, so closed in behind and to the right of the band. At the same time I saw Miguel appear in the distance to the left of the mustangs and just beyond him were Chico and Bascus. The horses were now within the wings of the corral and five men were behind them. The leader had noticed the wings to the right and left and was acting as if he would like to turn back. We knew he was likely to do so when he saw the corrals directly ahead of him, so bent every energy to the task of crowding them in. They were running slower now, some dodging from one side to the other in a confused sort of way. Yelling and beating the air with quirt and rope we literally forced them through the gate. They were corralled.

            Now came the test—would the canvas hold them? They circled about inside the enclosure, some running one way, sonic another, yet none tried to run against it or to jump over it. One young stallion being crowded against the canvas, kicked it wickedly, which of course did not harm. We allowed them plenty of time to quiet down and then opened the gates leading to the second corral in which we had the gentle horses. This allowed the wild band to go in with them. Then shutting the gate between the two enclosures and opening the outside one we were once more ready for another band.

            Our work thereafter was much the same. Sometimes we could so influence the leaders that we would get them inside the wings with but little work; other times we had to make the long relay runs that

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characterized the first one; occasionally we had to allow them to escape entirely. One afternoon Dicey and I caught five head that we fully believed had escaped. On two occasions preceding this we found a band led by two big grays which seemed to know exactly what we desired to do for they persisted in keeping away from the mouth of the wings. Twice we had them almost within only to see them go just beyond to the outer edge and escape to the flat below. This after  noon through a misunderstanding Miguel, Chico and Bascus had followed this same band for nearly twelve miles and had successfully brought them back to the wings only to see them go directly across and past the farthest wing—because Dicey and I were not there to stop them.

            We had been watching another band which we supposed were the ones they were after, even though they were running in a direction entirely different from that which we had planned. We were both much chagrined when we saw the large bunch escape, knowing it was only through our negligence. I spoke quickly to Dicey, asking if his was a good rope horse.

            "Yes, him savvey pretty good, him no tired at all, let's rope some," said he.

            My horse was also fresh and keen for a run, while the wild horses were very tired, so we started and soon overtook them. Dicey was slightly ahead. I saw him make his loop and pile it on to a fine bay three-year-old. I was after a sleek black mare that had a yearling and a two-year-old following her. Just as I saw Dicey throw his rope I passed him, and in the next fifty yards had my mare roped, thrown and tied. I stood trying to regain my wind when I saw Dicey again in pursuit of the band.

            Did that fiend lose his horse or did he tie him? thought I. His yell to come on brought me to activity, so vaulting into my saddle I again started in pursuit. The Indian had tied his first horse down with something and still had his rope ready for another. I had tied my horse with my riata, so was now riding empty-handed. I saw Dicey make another cast and catch a blocky little mare. I hated to be outdone by him, so decided to try to "tail" one. Spurring my horse I was soon among the band. I reached and caught the tail of the last horse, then wrapped it around my saddle horn two or three times, reined my horse sharply to the left and saw my victim turn a complete somersault and fall heavily. I was soon sitting on his head but was in a quandary, for although he was mine I could not hold him there forever, and had no rope to tie him with—nothing except my belt, with which I soon successfully hobbled him.

            I mounted and rode to where I saw the Indian sitting on a prostrated horse. "How many you got?" he asked as I rode to him. The sparkle in his eyes and his gleaming white teeth back of a broad smile told me of the inner satisfaction he felt. I knew he was anxious to tell of his work, so asked him how many he had caught. "How many you see?" he asked. I looked about, saw two, and told him so.

            "Maybe you only get two, Dicey he ketchum three," he proudly stated. I doubted it, but he had told the truth. Out of that one band he had, unaided, roped, thrown and tied three wild horses. Never before or since have I seen this feat equaled. I doubt if I would believe it possible had I not seen it done.

            We had tested our corrals, knew they would hold the wildest horses, had caught enough to give us some good saddle

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material, so knowing a big storm was near we decided to return to the ranch. The horses we had caught were held in the corrals, being fed just enough hay to take the edge off their appetite and had been supplied with water by diverting a small stream so that it ran through their corral. It would of course be impossible to drive them as they were, so everything from yearlings up were roped and thrown and had one front foot securely fastened to the tail, so that to run was an impossibility. The camp outfit and corrals were packed. One man was left with the pack horses and the rest of us started home with the gentle horses and the catch. The trip was made without incident, the wildest horse soon giving up when taken off his range. Before night we were pounding some of them on the back to keep them up with the others.

            It was December 18, and in this section of Nevada it is winter at this time. We branded all the horses we brought back, turned out upon the range all mares, colts, saddle horses and unbroken studs under three years old and the balance I held at home, having decided to break them to saddle. Dicey and I rather reluctantly began the task. I say reluctantly for after the hard season we had experienced there was no novelty in handling these matured wild horses, especially on frozen ground, snow, and many times riding them on the ice. Upon solid, dry ground a bucking horse is none too sure of his footing, so patches of glassy ice do not add to the pleasures of the task—especially to the one whose duty it is to climb the colt. We worked hard, of course, finding all sorts of dispositions. Some readily accustomed themselves to the inevitable; others fought, kicking, biting, striking and throwing themselves, but barring a few severe bruises we received no injuries. We worked all winter and in the spring had some fine additions to our ranch.

            The following season was one of the most successful I have ever known. We took the corrals into the roughest country, moving them often from place to place, and from April to December corralled a large percentage of the stock we started. This last season I made another departure from established customs and successfully tried another way of corralling.

            To explain fully I must first describe the country in which we worked. Nevada is called an arid or semi-arid state, yet in the central and northern part water is quite plentiful. In the section I call home water is found practically everywhere, and especially in the mountains. As one goes south it becomes less plentiful. Knowing a section of country about one hundred and twenty miles south of the Central Pacific, far away from regular routes of travel which contained hundred of bands of these horses, I rode to this locality and spent considerable time riding the range I found one valley about twenty miles long and five to nine miles wide that fed an immense number of these horses, and further discovered that practically all of the stock watered at one of four springs which were in cañons separated only by small hills. It occurred to me if one would fence this water and erect there strong corrals and then leave them with open gates so that the horses would become accustomed to entering the enclosure to drink, that eventually a large number could be trapped.

            This seemed entirely practicable. Accordingly I fenced the water and within the enclosure erected corrals of woven wire, using heavy mesh about four feet wide, which when stretched tightly and secured to posts set three feet in the ground and seven feet apart, made corrals that seemed strong enough to hold anything. This work was done in the fall of 1905. In the early summer of 1906 I again rode to this valley and watched over night at one of the corrals to see how the horses acted around my fences. I tied my horse among some very thick cedars about a hundred yards away and secreted myself in some heavy sagebrush and waited.

            It was about seven o'clock and for nearly an hour the silence was unbroken, but shortly after eight I heard a bunch approaching. Down they came on a swinging trot, right through the gate they went, never hesitating. There were nine head in this bunch. From the noise they made in traveling I thought there must be at least twenty-five. They drank and played for a while, then quietly walked out.

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            From that hour until six o'clock the next morning one hundred and twenty head of horses, including colts, passed through that gate and out again. Had I sent anyone else to watch and had they reported what I know to be a fact, I would not believe it to be true. Since then we have never known one-half that number to water there in the same number of hours.

            I returned to the ranch and fitted up an outfit to handle these horses, men were hard to obtain. It was impossible to get as many as I wanted, but decided to go short-handed. The actual start was made from Hall's ranch, about thirty miles south of Palisade, the only incident of interest in connection with our departure being the driving of six horses in a team, four of which had never before been in harness. Two well broken horses were placed in the lead and the four "bronks" harnessed and dragged into position, then the outfit was turned loose. I do not have to wrench my memory in recalling teams that were somewhat easier to handle than were these.

            The first night we camped at Mineral Hill. At half-past three breakfast was over, the wagon loaded, and we were waiting for daylight so we could hitch our "bronks." This day we crossed the range into Diamond Valley and drove south through the big alkali desert until sundown, when we made camp at Sulphur Springs. Our bronks were now giving us very little trouble and the following day we drove to Eureka. Two days later we were on the field of action.

            There were only four men in the party, each having one saddle horse. The first few days were used in making necessary changes. I then sent Hall back to his ranch to get about forty head of gentle horses which not only would give us fresh saddle material, but would greatly aid us in driving the wild ones after capture. There were four different traps, so we made camp at a spring about equally distant from them all. To distinguish these different places we called them "Cabin Trap," "Big Field, "Trap Number Three," and "Trap Number Four."

            Our expectations were keyed up to the highest notch, for wild horses were always in sight. Regularly they came and soon we had many of them named. There was the "Nineteen" bunch with the lame buckskin always trailing behind. The "Palomina" bunch consisting of twelve head led by a beautiful palomina mare which was the proud possessor of a milk-white colt. Roans, blue and red; grays, whites, and all colors coming and going always, the hour from midnight to sunrise being the most favored. We wondered why the horses would come to our camp and drink from the unfenced spring with no show of fear or excitement, although there were tents, chuck wagons and saddle horses all in plain sight. True they would stop and look, possibly the leader would have his band wait a while to see if the campers would not leave. Many times they would retire for a short time, but were sure to return, even though we chased them drumming on pans and kettles—they would drink. They were not afraid, however, of men on foot.

            I have said we wondered at this; we are still wondering for we afterward saw these same horses come to our fenced waterholes where the mere scent of man would send them scurrying away through the pines and cedars. My experience leads me to believe their sense of smell to be as keen as that of a deer and they are as suspicious as a fox. The noise made by an approaching band will scare others into instant flight. This trait brings to notice a peculiar and distressing fact, one without a parallel in my knowledge of wild animals. Wild mares when thoroughly scared will run away leaving their colts behind, never even looking back to see if the little fellows are coming. It is true that after these colts once gain the use of their legs they are capable of running remarkably fast and far, but of course are the first to wear out on a long run. It is this fact that makes the old method of running down wild horses a most cruel one. The value of the matured horses while on the range is small, so to most western men a colt is, in value, about par with a jack rabbit. They are allowed to become separated from their mothers, left to starve or be coyote food.

            In the spring of 1905 while riding the Cortez Valley, in a section that had recently been the scene of a big horse rodeo, I saw in one morning eleven colts that had been left by their mares in trying to escape from the

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riders. There is no means of estimating how many might have been hidden from my sight. I had six cartridges in my gun. I used them on the first six colts I saw. I cut the throats of the other five, all of them being too weak to stand. Though they might have lived twenty-four or thirty-six hours longer, they had no possible chance to survive. I deemed it best to put. them out of their misery, although it was almost as hard for me to kill them as it would have been to perform the same act on as many human beings.

            To further illustrate the value attached by some to these helpless colts I might mention a trip I made in July, 1906. I was riding to Duckwater, a small settlement about fifty miles south of Eureka, when within a few miles of Mendes' ranch I found some boys in camp at some hot springs which are there. A colt skin was hanging near by and I inquired about it. The boys informed me that the colt had been killed a few days before for dog meat.

            While mentioning this, the unfortunate, the most distressing part of the wild-horse business, one would not give a faithful account if he did not mention a few other unfortunate things that sometimes happen to these animals, even when the utmost care is exercised. In roping and throwing them in the corrals, just previous to the first attempt to drive them to the railroad about three per cent are killed, broken legs being the most common cause. Of course these horses are immediately shot, thereby perhaps being more fortunate than those which eventually find their way to the markets of the east. In transit I have sustained an average loss of four per cent.

            The heaviest fatalities occur when they first find themselves within the woven wire enclosure. In their terror they either do not see the wire or think they can run through it, for many charge it headlong, generally with one result—a broken neck. My loss from this cause alone during the season of 1906 was twenty-five per cent. One bunch of sixteen head was almost annihilated, twelve out of the sixteen killing themselves in this way. To one who works among horses because of his liking for them, it is most distressing to see so many beautiful specimens killed in almost as many seconds, and to further know yourself to be indirectly the cause of the slaughter.

            Like any work that is continued for long periods of time, even the trapping and handling of wild horses becomes somewhat of a grind. Incidents occur and pass almost unnoticed, which if they were experienced by one while on a vacation would be remembered and related for years. One may work among these horses a considerable time, feel that he knows them and their habits thoroughly, only to afterward find individuals and even collections of them doing things that are in direct contradiction to all previous actions he might have observed.

            The performance of a big sorrel pinto stud and his band will illustrate this. During August, 1906, I was spending the greater part of my time watching Trap Number Four. Being short of men it was not possible to have relief watches at the gate. Therefore when one in charge of the trap desired to return to camp it was necessary to close and fasten the gate, either to prevent horses from watering during his absence or to hold any that might at the time be within the enclosure for at this time this particular trap was a simple enclosure with no division within for holding stock that had entered the main gate; thus after one bunch was inside they had to be kept there by intimidation for the gate must be kept open for any that might afterward come. To accomplish this we would allow them to enter and to drink, then while they were thus engaged the watcher would quietly slip up to the gate and stand there. As soon as his presence was noticed there would be a chorus of snorts and the inevitable attempt to go through the wire. After a few unsuccessful assaults, however, they would usually calm down and retire to the corner of the enclosure. Barring an occasional faint-hearted attempt, they would remain huddled there, jumping at every sound. Many times I have scared them back from the gate by

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merely tossing pebbles in the dust in front of them. We had built a little sagebrush shelter about seventy-five feet away from the gate, but among some heavy brush that the horses     naturally avoided, in which the watcher was concealed.

            It was from this place I crawled out this August morning just about sunrise after having been busy all night, for twenty-four head had come and watered after much delay. By continuous vigilance I had managed to hold them and yet keep my presence unknown to new arrivals, although three large bunches had come to the gate and refusing to enter, remained around the corrals the greater part of the night. Believing that few horses would come to the trap during the hour, I decided to go to camp for breakfast. After closing and fastening the gate, I quietly went to my saddle horse which was hidden about one hundred and fifty yards away.

            In about an hour I returned. Just as I left my saddle horse I noticed a big sorrel-pinto stallion leading nine head to the trap. He was very suspicious and would go only a few yards when he would stop and snort and look with ears erect and eyes fairly bulging from their sockets. He would occasionally come quite near, then suddenly turn and dash back to his band which remained on the summit of a ridge at a safe distance, though in full view of it all. For nearly an hour I waited thinking that he would go away far enough so that I could open the gate and get to my sagebrush hiding place without being seen.

            At last, however, I determined to bother with him no longer, so stepping out in plain sight of the stallion and his band I walked to the gate, loosened the chains which held it, threw them on the ground, opened the gate and with no effort to hide my movements went to my sagebrush wickiup. Through it I could watch the stud. He surprised me by remaining, for I fully expected that on sight of me he would take his band away and refuse to come within miles of the place thereafter. All during that morning he continued his maneuvers. I saw him trot to his band and after a little more snorting led them all into the trap. I allowed them no time to drink for I was afraid he would change his mind and come out before I could get to the gate. He showed little surprise when he saw me, yet his band was thoroughly frightened. One by one they would come to the spring to drink after I had returned to the sagebrush, and I was kept busy throwing stones in the dust near the gate to keep them from coming out.

            No other horses came to this trap until about nine o'clock that evening. The moon was full, making it as light as day. I was lying in the sagebrush shelter when I heard a band approaching on a sharp trot; some of them were galloping. I knew they were very thirsty, for they hesitated but little when they came in sight of the trap even though the horses inside made much noise. On they came until they reached the spot where I was concealed; then the leader, a big gray stud, stopped as though he were frozen to the ground. I will never know what caused him to stop so quickly. He was not over five feet from me as he stood there. With head erect, listening, looking, smelling, with the full knowledge that danger was near, he looked like an immense and beautiful statue. I was badly cramped, for upon his approach I had cuddled myself as close to the roots of the sagebrush as was possible and had not moved a muscle since he stopped so near me. The horses within the corral had of course noticed the approach of the gray stallion and his followers. The sorrel-pinto that had caused me so much annoyance in the morning had been watching the gray ever since he came in sight, and I knew from his actions that he wanted to come out and dispute the right of another to enter his corral. He was held within only by the memories of the little puffs of dust that always appeared when he walked toward the gate, which were generally accompanied by "scats" and other usual sounds.

            I was in a perplexity, for to attempt to restain the sorrel from coming out I would have to let my

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presence be known to the gray, which would be so thoroughly scared should I move because of my proximity that he would be miles away before he would recover from his fright. He was a fine animal and his followers were all desirable. I wanted them to go in the gate, nevertheless I did not desire to lose the sorrel or any of the others I had already caught.

            While I was trying to decide what was best to do the sorrel-pinto stallion walked toward the gate and came out alone. He trotted directly to the gray which stood waiting. Each smelled of the nostrils of the other. One scent, then another, then the sorrel quickly turned and before the gray could dodge he received a vicious kick on the breast and shoulders. However, before the sorrel could face him again or get away, the gray balanced himself lightly on his hind legs and with a mighty leap was upon the sorrel with his legs firmly across his withers and his teeth fastened in his neck. With this hold and with his weight the gray tried to bear his adversary down, but the sorrel was too big and too strong and was well able to care for himself, so when I saw him rear almost straight in the air and give a wrench which shook him free from the gray, I was not surprised. The fight was most interesting but made me feel exceedingly uncomfortable for I momentarily expected them to trample upon me and my little sagebrush shelter. I had made up my mind not to show myself unless I was actually forced to do so. The battle raged. Kicks, grunts and rushes were made, and little squeals of rage came from both of them. They were constantly getting farther away from me and I knew the battle would not last much longer. The gray was the smaller of the two and some of the vicious kicks he had received, many of them in the ribs, had weakened him. A few minutes later he retired. To make his victory complete the sorrel chased him far into the mountains.

            The followers of the gray had witnessed the battle and the rout of their leader, and stood looking toward the mountain to which he was now running. One of the band, a sleek, well-formed bay mare, trotting to the lead, went directly into the trap and began to drink. The others after considerable hesitation followed her. I then ran to the gate, closed it, locking them inside. I believed the sorrel would return, but having been up all the previous night and awake all through the day. I decided to sleep until daybreak. About four o'clock the following morning I was awakened by the distant beating of hoofs upon the ground. Cautiously looking saw two head about seventy-five yards away. At a second glance I could see them to be the sorrel stud and the gray. The sorrel was returning to his mares, also to take possession of the gray's band. The gray, I figured, was only returning with the hope that possibly one or two of his band would be loyal to him and again accept his leadership.

            Remembering how little the sorrel was scared when he saw me the day before, I stepped out in full sight, walked to the gate, opened it and returned to my place of concealment. The fact that his mares were inside the trap, together with the knowledge that he had once been inside and met no harm, led me to think that he would immediately go through the gate. In this I was disappointed, but it was only because the gray wanted to "tag." The sorrel wanted to go in, so did the gray. Rather than allow him to enter the boss would remain outside himself. True enough he attempted to drive off the gray, which now when charged would ran only to stop as soon as the sorrel gave up pursuit, and then meekly follow him back to the trap.

            Several times the victor stood directly in front of the gate, and it occurred to me that if I were to jump out and run at him when he was so placed he might jump inside before he realized where he was. If this were possible I could at the same time get rid of the gray. I did not have to wait long for an opportunity for in a few minutes after I decided to try the experiment he walked quietly toward the gate and stood directly in front of it. Watching my chance I leaped toward him, throwing handfuls of dust and shouting as loud as possible. He looked at me wonderingly and trotted away from the gate. He showed no fear now that I was quiet, stopping when less than a hundred feet away from me. Noting this I decided to try to drive him in, so endeavored to get in a position that would

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cause him to go toward the gate. I was badly handicapped, for at all times I had to be where I could instantly get to the gate myself, for the horses inside were held within only through their fear of me. Should I give them the slightest opportunity to get out I knew they would take advantage of it, and should they once start no power on earth could stop them. Until breakfast time I worked, running, walking, dodging about in my endeavor to get the sorrel inside the fence. He seemed to enjoy the situation.

            At seven o'clock I closed the gate in disgust and went to camp. There I told of the actions of the stud and directed two of the boys to come back with me and assist in corralling this most unusual wild horse. On three good horses we went to the trap. There stood the sorrel just outside with his head reaching over the woven wire. On we rode slowly but straight for the enclosure. The sorrel heard us, turned and looked. He instantly threw his head high in the air, laid his tail over his back and ran at top speed for the hills.

            I never saw him again. For over a day he had allowed a dismounted man to be near him, even to chase him about, but one sight of a man on horseback sent him to the mountains never to return again to this spring. Until snow drove us out in late November we were in camp.

            Unceasingly we worked. Good men were hard to obtain, and at this task poor ones are worse than none. Many times we had to "double" toward the last of the season, and we all worked exceptionally hard to make one delivery of seven cars on time agreed. We worked five full days of fourteen hours each and those same five nights we watched the gates of the traps—sleeping only between the arrival of the different bands of horses.

            We were never lonely. We had plenty of company. The unfortunates which met death in the corrals were dragged outside to be food for the coyotes, whose howls at night could be heard any time—yes, all the time. Often when the big moon would rise high enough above the jagged rocks that walled the cañon in which I slept and thus shed its peculiar light upon my immediate surroundings, I would creep out of my blankets to the shadow of a nearby pine, and from there many different times I watched the coyotes feed upon the carcass of some noble beast which had forfeited its life in a struggle for freedom. Their feeding was only occasionally interrupted by their snapping at each other or by their peculiar barking yell, which when started by one is taken up and continued by the band and answered from others of their kind from cañons and ridges in the far distance.