Pacific Crest Trail Stories ~ Chapter Interludes |
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Contents |
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Story 4 ~ Pegleg Smith's Grand Deception ~ Page 64 |
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Just as the last rays of sun flickered through the deep rock canyon known as El Cajon Pass, Pegleg Smith caught a moment of movement in the distance. He climbed a bit higher to make certain. The sky behind him was turning a deep purple, but he was cautious about exposing himself against the outline of the ridge. His timing had to be perfect. This child wasn't about to let the Californios catch him, nor foil what had to be the biggest, the greatest, horse theft of all time.
Pegleg had seen, while on a friendly scouting trip with Jim Beckworth down to the Rancho del Chino, how a bunch of the vaqueros could drop a long braided rawhide rope over a big grizz, and plain drag the poor critter plain to ribbons. Man, could they ride. Pegleg was planning on that.
The idea had started as a demon rum dream at a rendezvous, when a bunch of the free trappers were spinning a yarn about Jed Smith, and the trouble he had experienced with the Californio ranchers a few years earlier. These stories always included preposterous numbers on the size of their horse herds.
Well one thing led to another and here he was, an ally of Chief Walkara's band of Ute Indians, and part owner of 5,000 stolen horses. Now the question was how to keep them? And would Walkara's little trade-off work?
Maybe so. Pegleg had to hand it to the Utes. Beckworth and he were in this for the laughs. Walkara was deadly serious. Some of the braves riding with him had been known to barter their own children for additional horses. And whereas the mountainmen would have been happy to collect a few mounts for their own use. Walkara had organized simultaneous raids on every damm ranchero in the San Fernando Valley.
He could see the vaqueros quite plainly now, riding at a lope. They didn't have to search for tracks. Twenty thousand hooves made one hell of a trail, just as Walkara had predicted. When the chief had heard, his comment was that, "We will be like coyote."
It hadn't taken that much effort, while escaping from the valley, to divide the herd into keepers and losers, and when they reached the rock floor of the pass, to turn 3,000 of the best of the horses into a hidden box canyon. The leftovers were to be driven off into the desert to make a false trail.
This is how it happened, at just the right moment. Pegleg Smith, acting totally surprised, dashed in front of the pursuing Californios, fired a warning shot. It took the vaqueros several days to figure out why that wild looking American they thought they had chased for miles was laughing so hard when he accidentally stampeded the cull herd on into the desert.
Pegleg had seen, while on a friendly scouting trip with Jim Beckworth down to the Rancho del Chino, how a bunch of the vaqueros could drop a long braided rawhide rope over a big grizz, and plain drag the poor critter plain to ribbons. Man, could they ride. Pegleg was planning on that.
The idea had started as a demon rum dream at a rendezvous, when a bunch of the free trappers were spinning a yarn about Jed Smith, and the trouble he had experienced with the Californio ranchers a few years earlier. These stories always included preposterous numbers on the size of their horse herds.
Well one thing led to another and here he was, an ally of Chief Walkara's band of Ute Indians, and part owner of 5,000 stolen horses. Now the question was how to keep them? And would Walkara's little trade-off work?
Maybe so. Pegleg had to hand it to the Utes. Beckworth and he were in this for the laughs. Walkara was deadly serious. Some of the braves riding with him had been known to barter their own children for additional horses. And whereas the mountainmen would have been happy to collect a few mounts for their own use. Walkara had organized simultaneous raids on every damm ranchero in the San Fernando Valley.
He could see the vaqueros quite plainly now, riding at a lope. They didn't have to search for tracks. Twenty thousand hooves made one hell of a trail, just as Walkara had predicted. When the chief had heard, his comment was that, "We will be like coyote."
It hadn't taken that much effort, while escaping from the valley, to divide the herd into keepers and losers, and when they reached the rock floor of the pass, to turn 3,000 of the best of the horses into a hidden box canyon. The leftovers were to be driven off into the desert to make a false trail.
This is how it happened, at just the right moment. Pegleg Smith, acting totally surprised, dashed in front of the pursuing Californios, fired a warning shot. It took the vaqueros several days to figure out why that wild looking American they thought they had chased for miles was laughing so hard when he accidentally stampeded the cull herd on into the desert.
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia