Alameda High School - Acorn Yearbook (Alameda, CA)

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he ran. He was almost perfect. We drove the horses up to the Park, and then on into the Kings River Canyon. 'Pache and his mother we turned loose to graze up and down the Canyon. One evening around the camp-fire, when we were talking about 'Pache-he was invariably a topic-some tourist-one of those know-it-all kind, started to talk on 'Pache's possibilities after he was broken. 0ld Bill just grunted and looked sour. He didn't like to be told. That horse'll never be broke, he said, and walked away. Bill's tones had carried conviction, but I don't think anyone believed him. The talkative tourist laughed, and some of the others smiled a sort of a hopeless smile as they watched Bill walk slowly away. I didn't believe him myself, but I have since learned to believe him. When it comes to horses, Bill knows. When we brought the horses up next summer, 'Pache was a three year old, and full grown. He was now old enough to break, so one of the packers, named Hugh Traweek, volunteered. Bill and I went down to the meadow with him. We drove 'Pache into the corral and tried to catch him. We talked, coaxed, did everything for over an hour, but couldn't get near him. I'll swear I never saw such a snorting, rag- ing, lighting devil in my life. He was sure playful, as Bill put it, just wanted to shake hands with somebody. Finally Bill roped and threw him for us. We blind-folded him, and put a saddle and hackamore on him. Then we let him up, still blind-folded. Hugh gave another pull at the latigo, and with that, 'Pache went up in the air. Roy Work, another puncher, was holding his head. When he came down he pawed Roy, but only hit him a glancing blow on the thigh. It gave us a good scare tho'. Well, he cooled otl' and Hugh got on. He didn't look over anxious, but he was game. Roy pulled the blind, and 'Pache just stood and quivered, scared stiff. Then Hugh raked him, and man alivel The air was full of horses and men for a minute or so. The way he bucked, pitched and lunged-say, you couldn't follow him, he was so fast. lt couldn't last, and after a minute or so he dumped Hugh. Hugh hit a rock when he came down and was pretty, badly hurt. The last thing we saw when we packed him to camp was that horse, still jumping, trying to ditch the saddle. e When we came out again, 'Pache was standing in the far end ofthe field, pawing and snorting. He'd gone over backwards and broken the cinch. Meanwhile 'Pache's fame spread far and wide. Men came from everywhere to try to ride him, and always went away disappointed. All this time 'Pache was getting fiercer. He was never really mean, yet several men had been badly injured while handling him. One day when he was a seven year old, we tried to pack him. We went through the usual battle saddling him. Then we hung packs on him and he threw them. We hung packs on him seven other times and he piled 'em as fast as we hung 'em on. Boy! You should have heard Bill swear. Then one day a man came into the canyon on a big black horse. He was tall and sinewy, with a sunburned complexion. His hair was brown and slightly wavy. He had steady, but very kind grey eyes, a thin nose with delicate nostrils, and a strong straight mouth. He couldn't have been called good looking, yet there was .something attractive-sort of real man look-about him. We didn't know who he was or what he was, and we didn't care. He was sure O. K., and that's about all that counts anyway. Later he told us he was from Montana, so we nicknamed him Mon- tana. After Montana had been around about three days, Pete Houcks came through from Independence. Pete had heard about 'Pache and had come over to ride him. Bill, Montana and I went down to the meadow to help him, and after the usual fuss, cbs gfnfn PageFiw

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1 lx- if , Q I Z-gm H T,c,.k,.X ., e-2. -riff 9 X--1 '- -.as f 9 ,V K ffrkii X, ,X-. in f...ig,fZX A f .sr ft I . 1 ,X , was -Q V 1' ,fi .h I if ' -if I in S iq I ix. H 4, . P , , N f' frm: srony OPARBAL H Kkctgii al X- A 7,6421 g wp UESS that'll stick, announced Montana with an air of finality, after he had given the cinch a last, extra hard pull. Probably stick longer'n I will, he added, with a slow smile. ' This I heard as I walked up to where four brown, wiry and very bow- legged cowboys had just finished saddling a horse. Two of them still held the horse's head, while Montana was preparing to mount. The fourth, an older man, walked over to where I stood. Stick with 'im, boy, he said, as Montana swung into the saddle, Good luck to yuh! And he was going to need luck, this tall, bronzed Knight of the Prairie. He was trying for the second time to ride Apache, the unconquerable, who for the eight years of his life had never been ridden. How well I remember the first time I saw Apache. It-was up on the summer range in the Goat Mountain country. Old Bill Lane, chief packer, who is at my side now, was with me. What a picture that colt made! He was less than a week old, tall and ungainly, with a large white diamond on his forehead, and white stockings on both hind feet. He stamped and snorted as he glared at us through wildly defiant eyes. Old Bill's eyes just shone. - Ain't he the wild-eyed little 'Pache tho? Just lookit him! By golly, 'Pache's goin' to be his name! Ain't he a hum-dinger tho?, It was early June of the next year when we again saw Apache. Bill and I rode down to the Rancheree, and rounded up the stock. When Apache caught sight of us he turned and galloped, head high in the air, and swinging from side to side, mane and tail up and flying, a glorious picture of life, vitality and defiance. Old Bill just beamed when he saw him. He fairly raved over him. 'Pache was not the long-legged, awkward colt we had left there a year ago. He was now bigger than his mother. He had grown up to his legs, and had filled out all over. He had a fine head with flashing wild eyes that seemed to defy everything. The bedraggled coat we had left him in was now a wonderful bright bay that shone in the sun. He had a long, thick, black tail and mane that flew in the wind when PageFour gfgtn

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we got 'Pache saddled. Pete climbed on, and that's about all. 'Pache hardly got started before Pete was off, and Pete's considered a pretty good rider, too. He looked sort of foolish and surprised when he walked over to us. Then Montana spoke for the first time since we saddled 'Pache. You boys mind if I try to ride that horse? he asked. Nope, nobody cared, so we caught him and blinded him again. Let'er buck, he yelled, and scratched 'Pache as Pete pulled the blind. 'Pache went off like a steel trap. If any of us had expected to see Montana piled in those first few bucks, he was disappointed. Montana stuck! Talk about ride-that man could ride circles around anything I ever saw. And buck? That horse did everything any horse ever did before, and then some. And the way we yelled. Old Bill was just a whoopin,' and the rest of us were not far behind. It lasted about five minutes. Then the yelling suddenly stopped. 'Pache had reared and gone over backwards, crushing Montana under him. It is now a year since we carried Montana into camp, a horribly broken man. But he was only broken, not beaten. For here he was, the same tall, brown, quiet old Montana, with the slow, rare smile, preparing to again ride the hoofed demon that had so narrowly missed his life a year ago. He was in the saddle now. 'Pache just stood still and quivered when the blind was pulled, only this time it was rage, not fright, that made him quiver. Boys, Pm going to break him, or else he'll break me said Montana, and then he raked 'Pache. The horse started harder than ever before, but Montana stuck. We were all yelling at the top of our voices. Ten minutes passed. It seemed like hours had gone by. Our yelling had slowly died out. There was something too ominous-too deadly-about this heart-breaking battle between that hoofed Satan and the big, quiet man, to permit yelling. They were going faster. 'Pache's first efforts to throw this man, who seemed to have grown to his back, were doubled. Twice in the next few minutes he reared up as if to go over backwards, only to turn like a cat and land on his feet, pitching and spinnifng harder than ever. He was bucking as he never did before. Three-quarters of an hour passed. -God-would he never stop? Then, as quickly as it had started, it ended. 'Pache seemed to throw everything into a last, mighty jump. He went high into the air with a heart-rending scream, and came down with his legs apart. He stood quivering, and as he stood, Montana slowly reeled and fell from the saddle, never to move again. Even as he fell, 'Pache's knees doubled under him, and he fell over on his side. He gave a last defiant, convulsive struggle, and was still. An hour later Bill and I walked over to where 'Pache lay. There he was, a great dead mass, that only an hour before had been an erupting volcano of live and un- conquerable spirit. I looked at Old Bill. I think his eyes were wet, but I'm not sure, because I looked through a considerable mist myself. Anyhow, his voice sounded husky. God-But wasn't he a real horse tho? was all his said. We looked again. He lay with head thrown back and one front foot raised, un- conquerable and defiant even in death. HENRY GUTTE, June '20. Pf14fSix the Qlnznrn