Chapter VI: Horsemanship (2)

MAKING FRIENDS. There are many little kindnesses which help to ease the labour of a horse. He has just as much pride as a man in smart equipment, has vanity enough to relish a glossy coat, to show off in company, challenge for admiration with gallant carriage of his neck and tail, and prove himself much {184} swifter than his fellows. Pet him a little and he will insist upon being fussed with. Give such dainties as sugar, apples or carrots, and he will ever be nuzzling at your pockets. His low, soft love call for greeting of a morning is well worth while for any man to earn. This is not given to the man who thinks of a horse as "it."

[Sidenote: Saddling and mounting]

THE SADDLING. After throwing the saddle on, pass the hands all over the blanket under the flaps to see there is no rucking. Lift the blanket into the arch of the saddle to be sure that no pressure will rest upon the withers. Shift the saddle aft until quite sure it is free of the shoulder blades. Girth up, and be sure the horse is not holding his wind. If there is doubt the off knee in his stomach will make him relax his lungs.

MOUNTING. The weapon, be it spear or rifle, must be wielded with the right arm, so the rein is held by the left hand. To secure the rein with the left hand involves mounting on the near side of the horse. There is an advantage, however, in departing from universal practice and training the horse to be mounted from either side. One may be hurt and unable to mount on the near side when there is peril in being left afoot.

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THE FIRST MILE. Walking the first mile supples the horse and eases the harness. A horse who holds his wind can then be butted with the knee in his stomach while the girth is pulled up to the proper notch for safety.

[Sidenote: Punishment]

PUNISHMENT. If one thinks of a horse as a little child one cannot be far wrong. One does not flog a child. Discipline there must be with horses as with children, or both grow worthless, but punishment is the surest possible sign of the man's incompetence, for the horse rarely understands the motive, or understanding becomes mutinous. Nine times out of ten after punishing my horse I have found out that I had been myself in the wrong by saddling too far forward and cramping the shoulder-blades, by some defect in putting on the blanket, knotting the headrope badly, or failing to watch the farrier's work in shoeing. The seeming misconduct was due perhaps to agonizing pain, as in one instance from a hidden ulcer. So when my horse forgets his manners, loses his temper, or goes badly, I examine my conduct to find where I am to blame.

It is an outrage and disastrous to the horse's morals to strike him in front of the saddle. The exceptions to that rule are for great experts only.

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[Sidenote: The pace that saves]

PACES. Whether the wild horse trots, is not a subject in which the range horse has given me any guidance. In handling stock he usually goes on grass and prefers to canter. In travel he usually goes on a road, and distinctly prefers to trot. From careful watching I doubt if he likes trotting on grass, as the hoofs are apt to brush and may stumble against the turf. A canter on road or very hard ground jars him, and is likely to cause injury to feet and legs.

There are certain artificial gaits most variously named such as the tripple, rack, pace, and side pace adopted I think under compulsion of lazy horsemen who find them comfortable. I have known horses using such gaits to lag miserably until I persuaded them that trotting was permitted, after which they cheered up and gained in speed.

As a slow walk tires both man and horse much more than the trot or canter, it is easy, by riding on the rein and using a little persuasion, to train an average animal in fast walking.

On the whole then a steady alternation of trot and walk, making the day's gait about five miles an hour, is the best economy for journeys.

On marches exceeding fifty-five miles a day the canter, trot and walk become alternate {187} gaits, but journeys must then be broken with days for rest.

HILLS. Trotting or running a horse down hill is a matter for high-powered animals. With ordinary horses the down slopes must be reserved for walking, the level and upward slopes for trotting. The longer and steeper hills involve walking, but even in them there are dips and levels which permit one to vary the pace, nursing the horse through the march in the least possible number of hours. It is the flagging, not the brisk day's work, which causes most fatigue.

[Sidenote: Seat]

SEAT. I have seen horses prosper under all the different and possible methods of decent horsemen, and do not believe that form makes any difference. From the Red Indians of the plains I learned to sit skin tight and upright at the trot and canter.

Having no voice to boast of, I test my seat at the various gaits by singing, and if there is any sign of quivering in the notes, look well to my grip and balance, lest I jar the horse. His ears express horror, but his kidneys seem at peace; and I have usually fattened thin horses on my journeys. The skin-tight seat is that which is practised and recommended by all range horsemen.

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[Sidenote: Ease]

EASE. General Sir Robert Baden-Powell kindly advised me as follows:--

"Letting men sit side-saddle on a tired horse is the easiest way of giving it a sore back. At walking gait it is far better for the rider to dismount and walk. The loup or lobbing canter is the easiest pace for man and horse. Except a continuous walk, the round trot is the most tiring. Frequent cantering and walking alternately--the rider then going on foot--is the way to get over the ground in going a long distance."

The above note is one of high authority as applying to English equipment; but I found it received with a certain lack of respect by men using a weight-distributing saddle. We all sit side-saddle when we please, or more often ride on one thigh or the other. None of us have seen sore back except with lean or exhausted horses, worn out saddlery, or in cases of gross neglect.

The range man does not look upon riding as a formal parade, but likes to practise circus tricks, or lounge at ease while he smokes, reads a book, sings, or plays some musical instrument. I have seen the cowhand wile away the time by eating a quart of pickles. For my part, a luncheon from the wallets is part of the {189} procedure of every pack drive, followed by a comfortable nap in the saddle. Horses often doze at a walk, even, I suspect, at the trot, and a nap for man and horse adds a great deal to the endurance of both.

As to going afoot, it takes a very steep down hill track to enforce such a thing upon me. Rumour says that we will walk half a mile to get a pony from pasture in order to ride a hundred yards on an errand. But to be afoot is for the range horseman the last depth of calamity and degradation.

My last experience of this was a traverse of the Canadian Rockies, when my partner and I rode along the bed and bars of a river until we were washed away. After that we took to the bush, a wonderful labyrinth of deadfall, beaver swamp and snowslides, which we managed to climb through by following the tracks of some wapiti. We had to work about twenty hours a day, and the four days reduced our clothes and boots to rags, but our luck was better than that of another party of four men who tried the same pass that season and were not heard of afterwards. I will not tempt young travellers by giving them the name of that pass.

GUIDANCE. While the range man never walks, but makes the saddle his home, and {190} lives at ease, it would be an error to suppose him unobservant. In wild countries one's life depends on alertness.

[Sidenote: Scouting]

Few range men trust a compass, which may be lost or broken, is hard to read at night, difficult to steady at any time, and apt to point at one's gun. Point the hour hand of your watch at the sun, and half way to XII is south (for the northern hemisphere). If the sky is overcast polish a coin or finger nail and hold a match or a pin upon it vertically. The upright match will cast a shadow made by the unseen sun.

So much for the rule of thumb, but one's real reliance is on the indications of the landscape: the reading of trees and bushes as shaped by the prevalent wind; the reading of rocks or tree trunks for any mosses or lichens which grow on the side (north for northern hemisphere) on which the sun does not shine; and sundry other signs local to different regions.

The constant habit of locating north grows to an instinct. In Petrograd, as a stranger unable to ask questions or read signs in Russian, on level alluvial land, in a thick winter night, without having seen one inch of the route before, I was able to walk by the shortest {191} cut three and a half miles directly to my hotel.

If it is vital to know north, it is equally important to read country; to see by the slopes of the ground the direction of streams and watersheds, and to observe the phenomena of crossing or converging routes. One learns in time to forecast the nature of the country beyond the horizon.

[Sidenote: Trail appearances]

Most important of all is the difficult reading of tracks and the glints on grass, also the movements of birds and animals which in an arid country are signs for finding water.

For the rest, it is useful to note the tracks on the trail showing who passed and when.

It is wise, on meeting a man, to observe his horse brands, equipment, and all the many clues which show who and what he is as distinguished from what he says. It is a gross breach of taste to ask him a personal question; but by knowing all about him one may gauge the value of his trail directions. There is indeed a need for cautiousness, for not one man in a hundred gives accurate directions which can be safely followed. In central Colorado there used to be a lady rancher whose copious trail directions had endangered so many travellers that, for a radius of two {192} hundred miles, approaching horsemen were always warned by the neighbours to be deaf to her siren voice.

GUIDES. Much as I like the savage as a man, I am cautious in engaging him as guide. On two occasions I arranged that my guide was to be shot if he showed up at home without my written release. Knowing that detail, my first guide was a success, but the second left me to die, and went home without my certificate.

Rather than put one's trust in guides, maps, trail directions, the compass or any other form of vanity and vexation, it is wiser to rely on common sense in scouting. And there the indications given by one's horse are always valuable.

[Sidenote: Scent, sight and sound]

SCENT. It is doubtful if man or horse is ever perfectly healthy in civilization. Both suffer from chronic catarrh, so that the smaller animal has to carry and use a handkerchief. Under range conditions the kerchief is more useful round one's neck, for the nostrils are dry, and, both in horse and man, the senses are more active. At half a mile I have smelt a mountain river--like a wet knife. Once, at about five miles on a windless day my two horses snuffed a fresh pool and bolted for it at {193} full gallop despite my frantic protests at their apparent madness. Considering that we were lost in sand-rock desert, all three of us owed our lives to that small distant smell.

The more vivid perfume of cattle I have caught up easily at four-and-a-half miles on the wind, but by their conduct I think my horses had that savour some miles before it reached my duller senses. I think the scenting powers of a horse are about ten times as strong as mine.

SIGHT. Although short-sighted, I have, with the aid of eyeglasses, bringing my vision up to normal, seen waggon dust at sixteen miles, a colliery smoke at twenty-three miles, and detail of a mountain scarp at seventy miles in the clear prairie air. So far as I could get any direct evidence, I never knew a horse to see anything at much more than a couple of hundred yards. It seems to be only in civilization where the smells and sounds are bewildering, that the horse becomes long-sighted up to perhaps a mile.

HEARING. The value of a horse's sense of hearing as compared with that of a man is very difficult to judge. On a still night I have heard men's calls from behind double windows at one and a half miles; and am not at all sure {194} that an average horse beats that. And yet, judging by the constant signalling of a horse's ears which point at every sound, I think his sense of hearing catches vibrations above the register of human ears, and many notes at close range too faint to impress our senses.

Whatever a horse may smell, hear or see, he points out with nice gestures of the ears and nostrils which are of infinite value for a man to read and understand. They convey to the practised eye all sorts of warnings and useful little hints. It is the training in peace of the habit of observation which makes the scout for war.

[Sidenote: The fear of shadows]

THE FEAR OF SHADOWS. Once I took a range horse into a forest where there were flocks of sheep, herded a good deal of nights by cougars (_Felix concolor_) who prospered on their mutton. These cougars used to come round my camp, liked it, I think, because there was no gun-smell, and sang most wonderfully, sitting so near that I could see the gleam of firelight on their eyes. I liked them, but my horse would stand astride the fire trembling. I tried to explain to him that this was vanity, because he was really far too thin to be edible. While the cougars had nice fat sheep for the asking, why should they care for horse bones! But all the signs he gave of loneliness and fear {195} I have seen many a time since then when I have taken range horses far into the woods.

[Sidenote: Halts]

HALTS. If only to give my horses a chance to stale and, with a gelding, to make sure that the sheath is clean, I make a short halt after each two hours. At every halt the genuine horseman throws his rein to the ground so that a horse will be tripped if he attempts to break away. Range horses are trained to stand to a thrown rein, and if necessary are given a sack of earth to drag until they learn the wisdom in obedience. If one has to tie the horse to anything, a supple bush is better than a rigid tree, lest he pull back with his whole weight for the purpose of breaking the rein or rope by which he has been fastened.

In my short halts I always hold the rein while the horse gets a bite of grass or a little water. The reason for this is that he may be suddenly frightened by a snake or a bustling squirrel, and if he breaks away it might be awkward to be left afoot: so many men have been left afoot and perished.

In the greatest heat one may water horses fully if they stand knee deep in pool or stream; but if they drink their fill they go sluggishly afterwards and need to drink the more. For a man a sip of cold tea allays thirst better than {196} a pint of water, and for neither the horse nor the rider is it wise to drink to repletion until after the day's work.

In lone travelling with a pack horse I always make the day's work in a single drive rather than waste time unloading and loading the pack in a day which may prove too brief for the finding of a camp before dark. The earliest rising, the most urgent driving are needed to make sure against a dry camp, or being caught in bad ground by the fall of night.

[Sidenote: The night halt]

THE NIGHT HALT. In country where the grass is eaten for miles surrounding watering places, or where there is danger from hostile savages, I always drive on from the evening water until I can camp in safety on good pasture. Also one needs a margin of time to walk the last mile or two, bringing the horses in cool at the end of the day's work.

[Sidenote: For horse-comfort]

Rather than let horses stand shivering in a wet or cold gale, it is better to march, and keep travelling until shelter can be found.

In great heat it is better to travel at night, but one should be in camp from about 12.30 to 3.30 a.m., the usual sleeping hours.

As to horses in camp, one must throw them to pasture beyond the camping place, so as to hear them passing if they attempt to break {197} back. It may be necessary to hobble or even picket one of them as a precaution, or if they lack water to hobble all who cannot be picketed. If any animal is to be hobbled or tied up, the mare comes first.

In forest, where horses are ill at ease, especially if pasture is scanty, I hang a bell to the neck of every horse, and camp at some spot where the back trail can be fenced, then sleep against the gate. On some occasions I have watched all night.

Where flies are bad, it is kindly to bank a fire with damp herbage which makes a smoke in which the horses can shelter. It is in forest and fly country that one has greatest need of a few feeds of oats in the pack, or even slung to the saddles.

If a horse is sweating and exhausted, I rub him down with whiskey or any other form of alcohol, because its rapid evaporation cools and refreshes him. A little alcohol rubbed on the part heated by the saddle enables one to feed grain even in short halts.

For cold and exhaustion I give sugar, if possible in the water. The carbon is fuel which enters the blood, and so becomes exposed to oxygen in the lungs, where its burning produces the heat which warms the body.

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In hot weather, oatmeal and sugar in water make a refreshing drink useful to horses as to working humans.

If a horse is leg-weary and stiff, a rub down or massage with liniment slacks the strung tendons.

[Sidenote: Sores]

SORES. I never unsaddle without making a careful search for water blisters or any sign of chafing. These found in time can be marked with axle grease, which registers a black spot on the sweat pad or the blanket. The blanket can then be folded in such a way as to relieve the pressure, or a bit of sacking shaped into a ring to enclose the threatened spot beneath or between the foldings of the blanket. The same kind of padding can be made under the girth for the relief of girth galls.

Despite the utmost care, horses in soft condition or when underfed, or wearing harness which has hardened or warped after long spells of wet, are liable to sores. I have cured most terrible cases by a daily practice of riding the patient to sweating heat, then suddenly unsaddling, and lashing on cold salt water. The various copper ointments known as gall cures are worth their weight in gold so long as one works the horse, but have the defect of forming a hard scab which breaks away before {199} the wound is ready. One abscess caused by a warped saddle tree defeated me altogether and put the animal out of action for four months. As to sores in the starvation of the northern forest, the story would be too terrible to tell.

[Sidenote: Cracked heels]

CRACKED HEELS. In cold weather, if we do not dry our hands before a fire after we have washed them, we are liable to chapped skin. Wet followed by cold, especially from muddy ground, causes cracked heels. The prevention by thorough drying after every wetting may be impossible and this form of lameness is difficult to cure. A washing with soft soap, and a thorough drying, followed by packing in grease is the best range practice I know of, but does not always succeed.

[Sidenote: Feeding]

FEEDING. In making the feed as varied as possible I have fallen into error more than once. A bran mash, for example, is best when there is no march on the following day. I made a horse dangerously ill with scouring by turning him into an abandoned field of green and standing maize. On another occasion, turning hot, wet, exhausted horses into a shed for shelter from a storm, I found out too late that a sack of oats had been spilt upon the floor. The result was colic.

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Feeding horses to perfection needs a touch of artistry. Small feeds of grain, for instance, by making the animal ravenous for more, enable one to double his allowance without stalling him. Salt, sugar, carrots, apples, help to keep up his interest in life, as rewards to be earned, and tokens that one really cares for him. If a horse is scoured a dose of salt water will help him. For colic one has to lead him about while the pain lasts, and above all things prevent him from rolling, which is sometimes fatal.

It is long now since I had to dispense with a fire for fear of advertising my camp to hostile savages, and the old glorious range in North America is woefully shrinking before the advance of settlement. The rancher who made the traveller welcome as a guest is replaced by a surly farmer who takes money for rental of his barn-yard. The range horseman who used to own the town when he rolled in from the plains is now considered, as Europe views the gypsy, with suspicion.

One trait of the range rider recalls the past. No man lays a hand on our horses unless he wants a fight. It is a rule that the horseman tends his own stock so long as he is able to stand. He must be very ill or badly hurt before he surrenders that.

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At range stables where there is a dust bath one unsaddles on arrival to let the horses roll. At town stables where there is no dust bath one slacks the girths, removes the bitts, gives half a drink, and some hay. An hour later when the rider is fed he comes back to cool horses who can be unsaddled without fear of any blisters which might turn into sores. Then comes full watering, and grain. While the horse is busy eating, pick out his feet, dry out wet heels, scrape off mud, and wisp down. After the stall is cleaned, and bedded, and the manger filled with hay for the night, the horseman is off duty; but a range man prefers to sleep in the barn loft in order to save his horses in the event of fire, and be up early with the morning grain.

IV. RECORDS.

[Sidenote: Records]

Writing without notes or books, it is difficult to recall the records of long distance riding which form the best tests of endurance, and so give one a standard of value for man, equipment and horse. Driven to rely on memory I note first that the historic records are vague, giving but scanty data. Everybody knows for example that Bucephalus (Ox-head) the Thessalian charger of Alexander the Great was a horse of notable endurance, but the question {202} is--what could he do on continuous journeys? Charles XII. of Sweden rode in a hurry from Constantinople to Dantzic, but what was the time for that distance, and was it done by one horse or by reliefs? Dick King, a despatch rider, made good time on one horse from Port Elizabeth to Port Natal, but I do not remember his gait for the six hundred miles. Somebody who was not Dick Turpin, but possibly another rogue of the same name, made a single march from London to York on a mare called Black Bess, but that was a horse-killing feat, as much disqualified by decent men as the Inter-Army horse-killing rides which disgusted the horsemen of Europe not many years ago.

[Sidenote: Records in civilization]

In the nineties Lieutenant Peschkov, a Cossack officer, rode a Dun pony from Vladivostock to Petrograd. This at any decent gait is a world record for a road ride, on a route with hotels at every stage. But legend makes the gait thirty-eight miles a day for six thousand miles, and on that I have my doubts. Working across country I found that my best horse did one thousand three hundred and seventy miles at twenty-one miles a day; and the next best one thousand and forty at the same pace; but on the whole trip, made with four successive {203} mounts, the three thousand six hundred miles took two hundred days. This works out at the very poor average of eighteen miles a day But for delays in buying horses the average would have been twenty-one miles, and I doubt if any horse outside of fairy tales can do much more on a six thousand mile journey.

Apart from the vagueness and doubtfulness of the stories, the standard which they set up for comparison seems to be very low as compared with the annals of range horsemanship. The following records were made for the most part with half or three-quarter bred range raised horses, and all with weight-distributing saddles.

[Sidenote: One day rides]

ONE DAY RIDES. A friend of mine, an Australian stockman, with a weight-distributing saddle, and leading a pack animal, crossed the state of Victoria from the Murray to Melbourne, one hundred and forty-three miles by the route taken, covered in twenty-six hours.

A constable of the Royal North-West Mounted Police of Canada with a forty-two pound stock-saddle on a buckskin gelding, rode from Regina to Wood Mountain Post, one hundred and thirty-two miles by sunlight, and the horse bucked him off at the finish.

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On enquiry I found that the trail between Forts Macleod and Calgary, Alberta, one hundred and eight miles, had been ridden in a day by most of the Mounted Police and cowboys who happened to go that way.

[Sidenote: Records on the range]

SIX-DAY RIDES. Kit Carson carried military despatches from Omaha to Los Angeles and back (circa 1841), a lone ride through hostile tribes of four thousand four hundred miles. When he was resting at Los Angeles he joined a party of Mexican gentlemen each taking one saddle horse. The six men rode along the California coast from Los Angeles to San Francisco, six hundred miles in six days. Only two of the party changed horses.

Among the Robbers' Roost, and affiliated gangs of Rocky Mountain outlaws, I found that it was their custom to plant little bunches of ponies here and there in pasture. When they happened to be in a hurry they would travel from pasture to pasture, and at each of these take a fresh mount. Six hundred miles in six days was not unusual they told me, and, from what the sheriffs said who tried to catch them, I think that the robbers spoke in moderation. They were much the most truthful men I have met on the stock range.

[Sidenote: Long marches]

MARCHES WITHOUT REMOUNTS. In the {205} North-West Mounted Police we reckoned a day's march at forty-two miles for saddle horses. On Colonel Irvine's three hundred mile march to prevent the North-West Rebellion of 1885 we carried all fuel, forage and supplies in sleighs so that the speed was reduced to that of a convoy, but it worked out at forty-two miles average, ending with sixty-two miles on the last day.

A two thousand two hundred mile Viceregal tour is said to have worked out at forty miles a day; but one patrol I rode in of seven hundred miles only gave thirty-four miles a day for average, even with occasional change of horses. It was bad, shocking bad, but has it been equalled by any mounted troops of Europe?

MARCHES WITH REMOUNTS. On the cattle industry a Roundup Outfit is commanded by the owner or by his foreman. Under him are three separate departments: (1) The cook, who drives a waggon which carries the men's bedding and is fitted up as a kitchen. The waggon forms a moving base to the expedition, and travels about ten miles a day. (2) The horse wrangler is a herder in charge of the herd of ponies used as remounts. (3) The working force of cowboys.

Each rider has his own string of ponies {206} usually seven in number running with the herd.

[Sidenote: Mobility of stockmen]

ROUTINE. Long before dawn the wrangler drives the herd home to the camp, where two men hold ropes outward from the waggon, making a rough enclosure in which the ponies are handled. Each rider selects from his own string the pony he needs for the morning's work. At noon the herd is run in and he picks out his afternoon horse. At supper time the herd is run in and he selects his horse for night duty.

The rider uses his first three horses and his second three horses on alternate days, keeping the seventh in reserve. These animals are not fed with grain, but live entirely on the range grass. By changing his mount six times in each two days he is able to ride on grass-fed ponies at an average rate of fifty miles a day for a period of eight months. The distance ridden in this season is 11,150 miles.

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