Chapter 5 ~ Page 67
Daylight made me feel even more certain that we were sharing a secret. We continued towards El Cajon Pass, following the natural way of going through the hills, rather than returning to the road. This led to a deep canyon, which later was proven to be the only possible route for us across the east to west pass.
Our only problems were heavy brush, and Missy. To help her travel easier, we had turned her loose to pick her own route and pace. Because of this, she sometimes ended up in difficult situations. Once Missy managed to travel parallel with us, 30 feet up
the face of a cliff wall. When she got stuck I called to her to go back, around, and down. Instead, this horse came right over the sheer drop off like a faithful dog.
Later that same day she trapped herself in a dead end, head high, clump of mesquite. We had ridden on a fair ways when her desperate cry reached us. Turning in the saddle, I could see nothing but desolate landscape. Another cry, and this time a head bobbed above the brush for a few seconds. Missy must have been standing on her hind legs to call out, "Here I am, come and save me."
Once into Horsethief Canyon, the walls closed in, and in places the horses had to jump from rock to rock as a person does when crossing a creek to keep his boots dry. Missy, full of mischief, was impossible. After a mile or two I began to wonder if I had made a mistake in direction. How could anybody have pushed a herd of stolen horses through here?
I thought that was a good question, until we rounded a bend and ran smack into a problem old Walkara never had to solve. A six lane freeway. And, a chain link fence barring dumb cows, dumb horses, and desperate horsemen from making a dash to certain death.
Cars zipped past in such a hurry, I am sure none of the occupants noticed us standing there, wondering how to get across. I also doubt that any of the drivers gave a second thought how difficult travel through this pass was before man leveled, filled, and paved the way.
I was considering, 1) filing a grievance petition and camping until the state got around to building an overpass just for us, 2) or, returning to Mexico and heading south instead of north—when Missy found a way for us to go. She disappeared into a culvert, snorted—which sounded like Rip Van Winkle snoring—and backed out as if to say, "You first."
Our only problems were heavy brush, and Missy. To help her travel easier, we had turned her loose to pick her own route and pace. Because of this, she sometimes ended up in difficult situations. Once Missy managed to travel parallel with us, 30 feet up
the face of a cliff wall. When she got stuck I called to her to go back, around, and down. Instead, this horse came right over the sheer drop off like a faithful dog.Later that same day she trapped herself in a dead end, head high, clump of mesquite. We had ridden on a fair ways when her desperate cry reached us. Turning in the saddle, I could see nothing but desolate landscape. Another cry, and this time a head bobbed above the brush for a few seconds. Missy must have been standing on her hind legs to call out, "Here I am, come and save me."
Once into Horsethief Canyon, the walls closed in, and in places the horses had to jump from rock to rock as a person does when crossing a creek to keep his boots dry. Missy, full of mischief, was impossible. After a mile or two I began to wonder if I had made a mistake in direction. How could anybody have pushed a herd of stolen horses through here?
I thought that was a good question, until we rounded a bend and ran smack into a problem old Walkara never had to solve. A six lane freeway. And, a chain link fence barring dumb cows, dumb horses, and desperate horsemen from making a dash to certain death.
Cars zipped past in such a hurry, I am sure none of the occupants noticed us standing there, wondering how to get across. I also doubt that any of the drivers gave a second thought how difficult travel through this pass was before man leveled, filled, and paved the way.
I was considering, 1) filing a grievance petition and camping until the state got around to building an overpass just for us, 2) or, returning to Mexico and heading south instead of north—when Missy found a way for us to go. She disappeared into a culvert, snorted—which sounded like Rip Van Winkle snoring—and backed out as if to say, "You first."
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia