Chapter 5 ~ Page 66
Having stumbled upon the magic words—ranch, alfalfa, and coffee—we accepted in the hopes of being invited to spend the night in a lush, irrigated, pasture, for the surrounding countryside was barren.
Our visit started out well. The horses were tied to a decorative, white, hitch rail, the first time it had ever been used. Coffee, also meant milk and cookies and ice cream.
But then the questions started again. We tried to answer each, "but why," with a hint that we needed a camping spot. So the conversation deteriorated to something as this:
"Are these really your children (meaning: or did you kidnap them)?"
"Yes, and the poor little darlings are tired, so we have to leave soon to find a place they can lay upon the cold hard ground."
"Do you own all of those horses (meaning: or are you a horse thief?")
"Yes, and we have to leave soon to find a camping spot that has some grass, so they don't starve to death."
After saying we had to leave soon to find a place to spend the night so many times, we finally, really, had to go. I'm still not sure if this woman understood our problem, or if she still wasn't convinced we weren't horse thieves. Anyway, after stepping outside before making the last hint about setting up our tents over yonder, we found that the horses had blown whatever chance we may have had hoping for sympathy. They had pulled the fancy hitch post out of the ground, and stomped it into splinters.
That was the closest we came to out-and-out begging on the whole journey. Perhaps our situation warranted our rude behavior, perhaps not. None of us felt like asking for help at the next ranch along our way.
Moving on fenced in along the road into twilight, I had been eyeing some rolling, dry, deserted, hills off to the left for some time. From a distance there didn't seem to be enough vegetation to support a jack rabbit. I didn't think it was worth the gamble to ride over and take a closer look, until bright Bernice exclaimed, "Well it seems to me that if the Pegleg Smith hid a herds of horses from the vaqueros, he must have a hideout."
Of course! I pulled out the maps to look for any water that was hidden from view. What decent, respectable horse thief would camp out in the open anyhow? As it happened, the first little canyon we tried, after cutting cross country, had a spring, with green grass, and cliff walls that formed an almost natural corral. Could this have been Pegleg's hiding place? I say it was, for all of us felt that somebody was up there on the rocks guarding our camp well that night.
Our visit started out well. The horses were tied to a decorative, white, hitch rail, the first time it had ever been used. Coffee, also meant milk and cookies and ice cream.
But then the questions started again. We tried to answer each, "but why," with a hint that we needed a camping spot. So the conversation deteriorated to something as this:
"Are these really your children (meaning: or did you kidnap them)?"
"Yes, and the poor little darlings are tired, so we have to leave soon to find a place they can lay upon the cold hard ground."
"Do you own all of those horses (meaning: or are you a horse thief?")
"Yes, and we have to leave soon to find a camping spot that has some grass, so they don't starve to death."
After saying we had to leave soon to find a place to spend the night so many times, we finally, really, had to go. I'm still not sure if this woman understood our problem, or if she still wasn't convinced we weren't horse thieves. Anyway, after stepping outside before making the last hint about setting up our tents over yonder, we found that the horses had blown whatever chance we may have had hoping for sympathy. They had pulled the fancy hitch post out of the ground, and stomped it into splinters.
That was the closest we came to out-and-out begging on the whole journey. Perhaps our situation warranted our rude behavior, perhaps not. None of us felt like asking for help at the next ranch along our way.
Moving on fenced in along the road into twilight, I had been eyeing some rolling, dry, deserted, hills off to the left for some time. From a distance there didn't seem to be enough vegetation to support a jack rabbit. I didn't think it was worth the gamble to ride over and take a closer look, until bright Bernice exclaimed, "Well it seems to me that if the Pegleg Smith hid a herds of horses from the vaqueros, he must have a hideout."
Of course! I pulled out the maps to look for any water that was hidden from view. What decent, respectable horse thief would camp out in the open anyhow? As it happened, the first little canyon we tried, after cutting cross country, had a spring, with green grass, and cliff walls that formed an almost natural corral. Could this have been Pegleg's hiding place? I say it was, for all of us felt that somebody was up there on the rocks guarding our camp well that night.
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia