HORSES, MULES, BURROS
[Sidenote: Mules]
A GOOD riding mule, when you can get him, and provided you intend to use
him only for trail travel in the mountains, is about the best
proposition. A mule is more sure-footed than a horse, and can subsist
where a horse would starve. On the other hand he is not much good off a
walk; never acquires the horse's interest in getting around stubborn
stock, and is apt to be mean. None of these objections, however much
they may influence your decision as to saddle animals, will have any
weight against a pack beast. For the latter purpose the mule is
unexcelled. But probably in the long run you will prefer to ride a
horse.
[Sidenote: Burros]
Burros are an aggravation; and yet in some circumstances they are hard
to beat. They are unbelievably slow, and unbelievably stubborn. When
they get tired--or think they do--they stop, and urging merely confirms
their decision to rest. You cannot hurry them. They hate water, and it
is sometimes next to impossible to force them into a deep or swift
stream. They are camp thieves, and will eat anything left within their
reach. Still, they can live on sage-bush, go incredible periods without
drinking, make their way through country impassible to any other hoofed
animals excepting goats and sheep. Certain kinds of desert travel is
impossible without them, and some sorts of high rough mountaineering is
practicable only with their aid. At times you will be driven to the use
of them. In such an emergency gird your soul with patience, and try to
buy big ones.
[Sidenote: Pack Mules]
Pack mules are almost impossible to get, and are generally very high
priced. A good pack mule does not mean any old mule that comes along.
The animal should be rather small, chunkily built, gentle as to the
heels and teeth, accustomed to carrying and taking care of a pack,
trained to follow the saddle horses, and not inclined to stray from
camp. Such perfection costs anywhere from seventy-five to one hundred
and fifty dollars. It is worth the price to one who does much packing;
but as perfectly adequate pack horses can be had for from twenty to
forty dollars, and are easy to find, you will in all likelihood choose
them.
[Sidenote: Choosing a Horse]
Now I know perfectly well that I can tell you nothing about choosing a
horse. If you are a New Englander you will know all about the trade; if
you are a New Yorker, you could give me points on every horse in the
ring; if you are Middle West, you probably have read or worked or traded
or raised more horses than I will ever ride. But in selecting a mountain
horse, his mere points as a physical specimen are often little in his
favor, while glaring defects may concern his usefulness hardly at all.
[Sidenote: Western Horses]
Never mind at first how the horse offered for your inspection looks.
Examine him for blemishes later. You must first discover if he is
sure-footed and courageous. An eastern horse would not last five minutes
on a western trail. A western horse, no matter how accustomed to
mountain work, is worse than useless if subject to ordinary horse-panics
at suddenly rustling leaves, unexpected black stubs, and the like. He
must attend to his footing, keep his eyes for the trail, and _be wise_.
Next you must inquire if this steadiness carries over into other things.
He must stand when left without hitching, and must be easy to catch.
Often you will have to dismount for the purpose of clearing trail,
helping the pack train, tightening ropes, or reconnoitering. At such
junctures iron hitching posts are not always at hand. Nothing is more
aggravating than the necessity of searching everywhere for a place to
tie, or worse, to be forced to chase down and coax quiet a horse that
has promptly decamped when left for a moment to himself. Nor does it add
to your joy to get up at four for the purpose of making an early start,
only to spend the extra hour filched from sleep in an attempt to catch
some snorting fool horse.
The picture I have sketched looks to you somewhat like what is known as
an "old cow," doesn't it? But in reality good horses of the quality
named are not difficult to find. Equine intelligence is of a higher
grade West than East, mainly because a western horse is all his life
thrown on his own resources. It is perfectly possible to find a horse
both handsome and spirited, which will nevertheless permit himself to be
directly approached in pasture, and will stand until further orders on
the trail.
[Sidenote: An "Old Cow" of a Horse]
But the point is that it is much better, oh, infinitely! to get an "old
cow" than a horse without these qualities. The "old cow" will carry you,
and will be there when wanted. That is the main thing in the mountains.
While as for the other horse, no matter how well bred he is, how
spirited, how well gaited, how handsome, how appealing in every way to a
horseman's eye--he will be worse than no horse if you have to keep your
hands on him, if he must be picketed at night, if he is likely to shy on
a bad trail, if he may refuse to tackle a rough place or to swim a
river.
[Illustration: In mid-day the shade of the pines is inviting]
[Sidenote: A Handsome Horse Not Necessary]
Of course it is nice to ride a good-looking horse; but in the mountains
most emphatically "handsome is what handsome does." The horses I now own
are fine animals and fine mountain ponies; but some of the best I have
ever ridden, a horseman would not look at twice. On a time, being under
the absolute necessity of getting a pack quickly, I purchased a bay that
I promptly named Methuselah. He was some sixteen years old, badly stove
forward by hard riding, and not much of a horse anyway. For three months
he carried a pack. Then one day I threw a saddle on him to go a short
distance on some little errand. Methuselah, overjoyed, did his best. The
old horse was one of the best mountain saddlers in the outfit. He
climbed surely and well; he used his head in negotiating bad places;
would stay where he was put. The fact that he was not sound was
utterly unimportant, for not once in a week was he required to go faster
than a walk.
On the other hand I once owned a Bill-horse, mountain-bred and raised.
He was a beautiful beast, proud, high-stepping--one you would be glad to
be seen on. He would have been worth considerable money, and would have
afforded much solid satisfaction if I had wanted him for cow work, or
pleasure riding in the lower country. But it was absolutely impossible
to catch him, even hobbled, without a corral. One day I saw him leap
from a stand and with hobbles over a fence and feed trough. So I traded
him for another, not near so much of a horse, as a horse, but worth two
dozen Bill-horses.
[Sidenote: Gun Shyness]
[Sidenote: What One "Sam Fat" Did]
One other thing you must notice, and that is whether or not the beast is
gun shy. A great many stampede wildly at the report of firearms. I once
owned a pack horse named Sam Fat, on which for some time I
congratulated myself. He was a heavy animal, and could carry a
tremendous load; and yet he was sure-footed and handled himself well on
rough country. He was gentle and friendly. He took excellent care of his
pack, and he followed perfectly. No one needed to ride behind him to
keep Sam Fat coming. I used to turn him loose when I started, and pay no
more attention to him until I stopped. No matter how rich the feed
through which we passed, Sam Fat was always on hand when the halt was
called. And, very important point, he was a good rustler--he kept fat
and sleek on poor food where other horses gaunted. Altogether Sam Fat
was a find. Then one day one of the party shot off a harmless little
twenty-two caliber popgun. Sam Fat went crazy. He squatted flat, uttered
a terrified squeal, and departed through the woods, banging his pack
against trees and hanging limbs. We chased him a mile, and finally
brought him back, but all the rest of the day he was panicky. I tried to
get him accustomed to shooting by tying him near our target practice,
but it was no use. Finally, though reluctantly, I sold him.
So when the natives bring in their horses for your selection blind your
eyes to the question of looks and points until you have divided the
offering into two parts--those that are sure-footed, courageous, gentle,
tractable, easy to catch, good grub rustlers, and if pack horses, those
that will follow and will take care of their packs, and those that lack
one or more of these qualifications. Discard the second group. Then if
the first group contains nothing but blemished or homely horses, make
the best of it, perfectly sure that the others might as well not exist.
[Sidenote: Qualifications]
In general, a horse just from pasture should have a big belly. A
small-bellied horse will prove to be a poor feeder, and will probably
weaken down on a long hike. The best horse stands from fourteen hands to
fourteen two, and is chunkily built. There are exceptions, both ways, to
this rule. A pack horse is better with low withers on account of the
possibility of sore backs. Avoid a horse whose ears hang sidewise from
his head; he is apt to be stubborn. As for the rest, horse sense is the
same everywhere.
[Sidenote: What a Horse Should Carry]
[Sidenote: Sore Backs]
A pack horse can carry two hundred pounds--not more. Of course more can
be piled on him, and he will stand up under it, but on a long trip he
will deteriorate. Greater weights are carried only in text books, in
camp-fire lies, and where a regular pack route permits of grain feeding.
A good animal, with care, will take two hundred successfully enough, but
I personally always pack much lighter. Feed costs nothing, so it is
every bit as cheap to take three horses as two. The only expense is the
slight bother of packing an extra animal. In return you can travel
farther and more steadily, the chances of sore backs are minimized, your
animals keep fat and strong, and in case one meets with an accident, you
can still save all your effects on the other. For the last three years
I have made it a practice to pack only about a hundred to a hundred and
twenty-five pounds when off for a very long trip. My animals have always
come out fat and hearty, sometimes in marked contrast to those of my
companions, and I have not had a single case of sore back.
The latter are best treated by Bickmore's Gall Cure. Its use does not
interfere in the least with packing; and I have never seen a case it did
not cure inside ten days or two weeks if applied at the beginning of the
trouble.
[Sidenote: How Far a Horse Should Travel]
In the mountains and on grass-feed twenty miles a day is big travel. If
you push more than that you are living beyond your income. It is much
better, if you are moving every day, to confine yourself to jaunts of
from twelve to fifteen miles on an average. Then if necessity arises,
you have something to fall back on, and are able to make a forced march.
[Sidenote: Mountain Travel]
The distance may seem very short to you if you have never traveled in
the mountains; but as a matter of fact you will probably find it quite
sufficient, both in length of time and in variety of scenery. To cover
it you will travel steadily for from six to eight hours; and in the
diversity of country will be interested every step of the way. Indeed so
varied will be the details that it will probably be difficult to believe
you have made so small a mileage, until you stop to reflect that,
climbing and resting, no horse can go faster than two or two and
one-half miles an hour.
[Sidenote: Desert Travel]
On the desert or the plains the length of your journey must depend
entirely on the sort of feed you can get. Thirty miles a day for a long
period is all a fed-horse can do, while twenty is plenty enough for an
animal depending on his own foraging. Longer rides are not to be
considered in the course of regular travel. I once did one hundred and
eighty miles in two days--and then took a rest.
[Sidenote: Time to Travel]
In the mountains you must keep in mind that a horse must both eat and
rest; and that he will not graze when frost is on the meadows. Many
otherwise skillful mountaineers ride until nearly dark, and are up and
off soon after daylight. They wonder why their horses lose flesh and
strength. The truth is the poor beasts must compress their twenty-four
hours of sustenance into the short noon stop, and the shorter evening
before the frost falls. It is often much wiser to get a very early
start, to travel until the middle of the afternoon, and then to go into
camp. Whatever inconvenience and discomfort you may suffer is more than
made up for by the opportunities to hunt, fish, or cook afforded by the
early stop; and the time you imagine you lose is regained in the long
run by the regularity of your days' journeys.
[Sidenote: Desert Journeying]
On the desert or the plains where it is hot, to the contrary, you will
have better luck by traveling early and late. Desert journeying is
uncomfortable anyway, but has its compensations. We ordinarily get under
way by three in the morning; keep going until nine; start about six
again--after supper--and travel until nine of the evening. Thus we take
advantage of whatever coolness is possible, and see the rising and the
falling of the day, which is the most wonderful and beautiful of the
desert's gifts.
[Sidenote: Climbing]
Going up steep hills in high altitudes you must breathe your horse every
fifty feet or so. It need not be a long rest. Merely rein him in for
eight or ten seconds. Do the same thing _always_ before entering the
negotiation of a bad place in the trail. Do this, no matter how fresh
and eager your animal may seem. Often it spells the difference between a
stumble and a good clean climb. An experienced pack horse will take
these rests on his own initiative, stopping and also starting again with
the regularity of clockwork.
It does not hurt a horse to sweat, but if ever he begins to drip
heavily, and to tremble in the legs, it is getting time to hunt the
shade for a rest. I realize that such minor points as these may be
perfectly well known to every one likely to read this book, and yet I
have seen so many cases of ignorance of them on the trail that I risk
their inclusion here.
[Sidenote: Unsaddling]
Every hour or so loosen the cinches of your saddle horse and raise the
saddle and blankets an inch or so to permit a current of air to pass
through. Steaming makes the back tender. When you unsaddle him or the
pack animals, if they are very hot, leave the blankets across them for a
few moments. A hot sun shining on a sweaty back causes small pimples,
which may develop into sores. It is better to bathe with cold water the
backs of green horses; but such a trouble is not necessary after they
are hardened.
[Sidenote: To Pick Up a Horse's Feet]
Two more things I will mention, though strictly speaking, they do not
fall in the province of equipment. When you pick up a horse's hind foot,
face to the rear, put the hand nearest the horse firmly against his
flank, and use the other to raise the hoof. Then if he tries to kick,
you can hold him off sufficiently to get out of the way. Indeed the
very force of his movement toward you will thrust against the hand on
his flank and tend to throw you to one side.
[Sidenote: To Mount a Bad Horse]
If you are called upon to mount a bad horse, seize the check piece of
his bridle in your left hand and twist his head sharply toward you. At
the same time grasp the pommel in your right hand, thrust your foot in
the stirrup and swing aboard. Never get on any western horse as an
easterner mounts--left hand on pommel and right hand on cantle. If a
horse plunges forward to buck while you are in this position, you will
inevitably land back of the saddle. Then he has a fine leverage to throw
you about forty feet. A bad pack horse you can handle by blindfolding.
Anchor things for a storm, take off the bandage, and stand one side.