Montana farmer-stockman. [volume], December 01, 1949, Page 7, Image 7

About Montana farmer-stockman. [volume] (Great Falls, Mont.) 1947-1993

Image provided by: Montana Historical Society; Helena, MT

                
Pink Loses Horse,
Horse Loses Me
By H. GRICE
This is the fourth of a series in
which the author relates his ex
periences with an outfit that was
rounding up horses on Peoples
creek for the Circle Bar in the
spring of 1899. At the close of
the previous installment the cook
wagon had just overturned and
cook and wagon had disappeared
over a draw.
When we got to the outfit which
had stopped a few yards after the
wagon turned over, one of the wheel
ers was down on his back in a little
wash. The other three were stand
ing waiting for the next move.
After we saw the horses didn't need
help we went to see if Pink needed
any. He was sitting on the ground
holding his head. The sage brush
had broken his fall and falling on
his head wouldn't hurt him.
Baking Powder?
The other boys were making a
circle, so we three had to pick up
the mess. The top of the mess box
had hit a bump and tom it up
bad. Everything scattered around.
Pink got a spoon and was putting
baking powder into an empty can.
Tex told him there were a dozen
cans in the wagon, but Pink said
it wasn't baking powder; it was
strychnine sulphate he poisoned
wolves with. He kept it in the mess
box and knew it from the baking
powder because he had tom the
label from the can.
That evening John got the whole
story, so he made more medicine.
Pink wasn't cook anymore, just one
of the riders. It was Tex's turn to
cook. Pink wouldn't have a turn.
JOHN TOOK TWO horses from
each of us, the ones we'd sooner not
have and gave them to Pink. Pink
wore moccasins and when riding he
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fastened on badger hides for tops.
When a horse didn't rein good, he
slapped him on the side of the head
with his foot; if he didn't rein he
biicked.
We were making a circle of Tele
graph creek and Freight Bottom
which was a river port in the old
steamboat days. I was riding along
the bottom where a rimrock jutted
to a point of high sand rock walls
when I came upon a pile of antelope
carcasses. I think it was the most
thought-provoking sight I had ever
seen. It was plain to see that a
blinding blizzard had pushed them
over the rim into a mangled mass.
200 Antelope—Dead
There were a few coyotes and
wolves slinking into the tall sage
Song of the Lazy Farmer
There was a time when I was
young I would have more than
gladly wrung the neck of ev'ry
dog-goned hen out in Mirandy's
chicken pen. Each bunch of birds
she got, you see, meant lots of ex
tra work for me; 'twas I who paid
the bill for chicks and struggled
with the brooder's tricks, 'twas I
who left my bed at night to see
that heat was still all right, 'twas
I who furnished all the feed to
satisfy each pullet's greed, 'twas I
who weekly had to scoop a ton of
litter from the coop; and if, by
chance, some eggs were laid, Mi
randy got what cash they made.
But nowadays the system's
changed, the whole routine's been
rearranged. Electric brooders
purr along, it's seldom anything
goes wrong; the house gets
cleaned just once a year, there's
nothing 'bout the chores to fear,
'cuz feeders hold a week's supply,
the pipe-fed fountains can't run
dry. Each high-producing pullet
lays so well Mirandy gladly pays
for her own chicks and for the
feed, and there's no longer any
need for me to sit up with the
whS sows or struggle with a bunch of
j.
cows; now I can rest my back and
legs, and live off of Mirandy's
eggs.
brush as I circled the decaying pile
of what had been a short time be
fore, a band of North America's
most beautiful wild animals. I took
a quick estimate of the number of
antelope that had fallen as I hur
ried away. I thought that at least
200 lay there while the noisy mag
pies surveyed them from the rocks
above.
I had made a wide circle, the sun
was getting low and I was hungry.
As you know, a horse outfit has
two meals a day except when you
might slip a flap-jack into your hip
pocket to eat on circle. I was about
10 miles from the wagon when I
met Pink and one of the boys.
Pink's pinheaded bay he had been
riding when he left the wagon in
the morning had taken a bucking
spell when he found a nice steep
hill to go down among some badland
washouts. He had landed in one
that was too deep and narrow to
let his feet touch the ground and
he hung suspended by his sides with
his feet about three feet from the
bottom.
All he could do was wiggle his
toes and throw his head, after pull
ing and jerking for about twenty
minutes. With a rope around the
saddle and another on his heels we
pulled him down the coulee until
his feet touched the ground. When
we got him on the level he didn't
look like a horse that would buck.
Pink dug out some buckskin that
night. The 10-mile walk had almost
ruined his moccasins. He had stuffed
them with grass to shield his feet
from the prickly pears.
Telegraph Pole for Fuel
The wrangler had cut down a tel
egraph pole which made a good fire,
while I took my first lesson in moc
casin construction, Crow fashion.
The telegraph pole I just mentioned
was part of the old Freight-Bottom
Fort Assiniboine line, long since
abandoned. We were getting into
Circle Bar horse country now up
along Rock creek between the Mis
souri and the Little Rockies, not far
from where the herd had been forded
at Rocky Point the year before. This
country looked like the Rocky Hill
of Beaverhead.
We pulled into Jim Thornhill's one
evening with the cold rain trickling
down the spines of the boys who
didn't have slickers, which included
me. We made Jim Thornhill's our
headquarters for several days. He
had quite a few horses.
Jim and his tiger, and two Pike
Landusky girls who also had horses
that were hard to handle, joined up
with us to make a pool. Any of the
boys that thought them Landusky
girls were not top hands changed
their minds.
In about 10 days we had all the
country cleaned that we could reach
from Jim's place. When John told
us we would have to move, I felt
terrible. I didn't eat for three days
when I learned that we were to leave
the wagon and take a pack outfit.
John made that medicine to get rid
of our two top hands. Tex wanted
to quit.
Dry-Cured Snake
The next morning we were shap
ing our bed to throw the S hitch
when Tex shook a rattler from our
blankets. It was dry cured. Tex said
he remembered killing him away
back there on Willow creek a month
ago. Sometimes Tex slept with his
boots on when he had to stand cm
early guard. He said he felt some
thing crawling over his ankles and
thought it was a pack rat so he
stamped it a few times and went
back to sleep.
John left Ed Shuefeldt and the
wrangler to herd what horses we
had. We were headed for Peoples
creek by way of the south side of the
Little Rockies. Jim had a rawhide
pair of hobbles around each of his
saddle horses' necks. Someone said
hobbling makes a horse stiff in front.
Jim said he'd sooner have a stiff
horse than a horse track.
We had picked up a few more
horses by the time we reached Peo
ples creek. John decided to make
camp there a few days. Tex and I
were riding circle between the prongs
one day on an open flat country
strewn with reddish brown rocks and
small bunches of grass here and
there.
What Happened?
It was a nice hot day and we had
seen a rattler or two but when we
went onto the rocky flat rattlers
seemed to be everywhere. We could
see them and hear them in e v e ; y di
rection. We stopped to listen and roll
a cigaret. I was riding Sleepy, the
wall-eyed sorrel. I twisted the end
of my lines around the saddle horn
to roll my smoke and Sleepy went to
chewing on a bunch of grass.
I'd just got my cigaret lit when
Sleepy exploded. My reins were
gone, I pulled the strings off my sad
dle. My head was popping like the
silk on a stage coach whip until I
found myself sitting on a rock with
a dead rattler in my hand.
I asked Tex what happened, and
he said, "That rattler you got was
hanging on Sleepy's nose." Sleepy
took me into camp but he was a sick
pony next morning. You couldn't
have got his head in two wash tubs.
Taylor Resigns After
36 Years Service
AFTER NEARLY 30 years of con
tinuous service to Montana agricul
ture, J. C. Taylor, director emeri
tus of the Montana extension serv
ice since 1946 and prior to that ex
tension director for 20 years, retired
Nov. 30, it was announced by Presi
dent R. R. Renne of Montana State
college.
A native Montanan. Taylor began
his extension career April 1, 1914,
as district agent for Dawson and Fal
lon counties and was one of the first
three county agents to pioneer ex
tension work in the state.
Taylor's rise in extension was
rapid and a year after beginning
work he was named Custer county
agent. In 1917 he was made assist
ant county agent leader, advancing
to acting leader in 1921 and to leader
in 1923. In 1924 Taylor was named
acting director and a year later he
became director, a position he held
until Dec. 31, 1945, when at his own
request he was relieved of adminis
trative responsibilities. He was suc
ceeded by R. B. Tootell, present di
rector.
To his extension work Taylor
brought the practical experience
gained on a farm. He was bom and
/
*
raised near Utica, Mont., and after
graduation from Chinook high school
he enrolled at Montana State col
lege, graduating in 1912.
While director of extension Taylor
was prominent in the activities of a
J. C. Taylor
number of committees and organiza
tions concerned with agriculture in
cluding the Association of Land
Grant Colleges and Universities.
State Soil Conservation committee.
State War board, State Agricultural
Planning committee and others.