Tom Phillips, A Newspaper Article From Our Past: Mustang And Antelope Hunt by Warren Baer

A Newspaper Article From Our Past

Contributed by Tom Phillips

This article was taken out of the Mariposa Democrat Newspaper for your enjoyment. The Mariposa Democrat was published between 1856 and 1859.  After not being awarded the County Printing Contract, the Democrat moved to Hornitos, which at that time was a growing and livley town.  In January of 1859,  William Godfrey, editor and owner, packed up the press and materials and took it with him to San Francisco ending the Mariposa Democrat in Mariposa County.

MUSTANG AND ANTELOPE HUNT

By: Warren Baer

Hornitos, July 2, 1857

Last Thursday we left Hornitos in company with the Hon. William J. Howard, on a visit to his Rancho, situated some five miles south of Hornitos, on Burns' Creek. The rancho embraces within its boundaries the very beautiful valley of Buena Vista, through which runs the Creek, and around which the graceful hills of the Pelone lift their gentle slopes.  Fronting the valley on the south appears the bold tower-like front of the Court House Rock, rising up out of the top of an oval hill, and standing prominent to view before the gaze of the admiring visitor. A capacious adobe building furnishes a pleasant retreat for the attendants on the rancho from the summers heat, while a well, at convenient distance from the house, affords water of a most pure and excellent quality to satisfy the thirst of the industrious laborer or the passing stranger. Near the road stands a very large corral built of rock taken from a neighboring sand-stone quarry, which affords most admirable slabs for building purposes.  Higher up the valley is seen the barley field, embracing within its ditched fence some two hundred acres of land, the soil of which readily produces all kinds of grain and vegetables.  Long before reaching the house we passed many cavey-yards of horses, guarded by Indians, and quietly feeding along the margin of the stream strolling towards evening to a large garden, in which every description of vegetables were growing, we reached the Indian Rancheria and saw the squaws and children busily engaged in cleaning wheat and barley in wooden, batteas.  Mr. Howard and brother Thomas have some fifty or sixty Indians in charge of his Rancho, most of whom have been reared under their immediate care, and for which it seems he should receive a compensation from the government. The males were absent attending to the various duties of the farm, and the squaws seemed to eye us with a glance of curiosity. The Indians appeared healthy and contented, and were dressed after the American fashion.

 After a pleasant night’s repose we arose next morning to witness the preparations in progress for the hunt. Shortly after breakfast, various bands of horses were driven into the corral, and then began the sport of lassooing. Old mares and young studs, colts, mules and Indians, were all huddled together in one group, until the sweeping swing or the lasso put the band in motion, and then the corral was filled with dust and noise. One after another of the animals selected for the chase were captured with the larriette, and drawn away from the throng and securely staked beyond the reach of the band of horses that were shortly to be driven out of the corral. The horses secured, and the cavey-yard again turned loose to freedom, the sport of mounting the young colts by the Indians began to attract attention. Many of the colts had never before been mounted, and we expected to behold some hefty tumbling and awful pitching--nor were we disappointed in our expectations. A belt was buckled around the backs of the horses, sufficiently loose to admit the knees of the riders and a rope halter was tightly drawn around the nose or the wild and timid animals.

 The squaws, young and old, left their quarters to witness the prowess of their ambitious sons, and stimulated the young equestrians by cheers and, praises. And well did these young bucks need encouragement, for such a pitching. such a rearing, such a biting and snorting, and a twisting, never was beheld since the formation of the kingdom of “hoss-dom”.  No sympathy was manifested by the Indians for their companions when thrown in the air by some affrighted animal—the girls laughed at their mishaps. and mocked at, their misfortunes. When cast to the ground with a force sufficient to kill an ordinary man, the Indian would quickly spring from the dust, pull the blind over the colt's eyes adjust his blanket and his strap, and then remount. when the same occurrence would again be witnessed, and as heartily laughed at by the delighted women Indians.

 All things being soon made ready for the start, the Indians set off at a gallop for the Mariposa Creek, driving the pack mules or leading extra horses for the chase.  Directing our course towards Montgomery’s Ranch, we bade the hills adieu and with hasty speed soon reached that gentleman's abode, and were regaled with some cool and delicious melons. and after witnessing some graceful feats by his noble stallion, we again turned towards the plains.

 Bear Creek was soon crossed by us and before an hour had elapsed a steaming gallop had brought us to the Lone Willow encampment on Mariposa Creek. The Indians with the pack mules and lead horses had arrived some two hours before us, and we found the colts all staked out and wood collected for the evening’s fire. We had crossed over a plain of some twelve miles in width, covered with sun-parched grass, with no trees visible to shelter man or beast from the scorching rays of a summer sun.

 Near the Lone Willow stands a solitary frame house occupied by negro Bob, a native of Missouri, and by the way a very clever fellow, having furnished us with plenty of new milk and home-made cheese. He had captured a fine mustang the day before, and felt very proud of his feat.  From his statement, it appears that the mare had wandered off from the band, and foaled a colt beside a pond of water near one of the sinks in the bed of the stream. Coming on her suddenly, the mare made battle, when he succeeded in capturing the colt, and then its mother. The old fellow was soon in busy chat with the Indians and advising them as to where they were most likely to find the wild horses.

 Among our band of Diggers was a noted Indian named Falis, an excellent marksman and a most intrepid and untiring hunter. Soon divesting himself or his fashionable habiliments, and untying his paint bags, he stood before us a brown denizen of the forest. Another Digger now advanced and rubbing the paint between his hands, he commenced to daub it over the back and thighs or Mr. Falis, and this continued until the hunter wore the appearance of an antelope walking on two legs. Tying his hair up into a standing knot, Falis placed the antelope head upon his own, and then mounting his horse he started off in pursuit or his favorite game, the Har-la-su, or Antelope. Another Indian on a mule accompanied him to bring into camp the results or the sport. 

 During his absence every preparation was made for supper, and for a comfortable night’s lodging in the open air. The twists were taken out of the lariat and the horses led to water, when Mr. Falis made his appearance, and with a broad grin spreading over his features demanded the half dollar he had bet with us upon his killing an antelope.  We cheerfully redeemed our promise, for he had brought with him a noble buck of some three summers old. The hide was soon off, and the ribs as quickly placed on a blazing fire.  The coffee and bread were then placed on a "matchea" which had been spread on the ground, when myself and friend began our repast in good earnest, and with mucho gusto.  The Indians prefer the flesh of the horse to that or the deer, antelope, or elk, because they say it is sweeter and does not make fever in the stomach, and they can eat a larger quantity without being made sick.

 Next morning we were all astir by the break of day, and after partaking of our coffee and antelope ribs, we saddled for the chase. The nights rest had not much abated the wildness or the colts, which reared and plunged at a fearful rate as soon as the Indians had placed their legs over their backs.

 Mustangs were quickly espied afar off over the plains. Falis was again painted like an antelope and started in pursuit, taking with him his unerring rifle, and when running over the parched grass at a rapid pace, he looked more like a frolicking imp than anything mortal –the antelope’s head giving him the appearance or a kind or devil incarnate. Eagerly we watched his progress.  When within three or four hundred yards of the horses he began to imitate the motions of the animal he so correctly personified. Running round in a circle, then backwards and forwards, and then feeding at leisure, then again, at times, looking with intent gaze at the hunters, he gradually approached the mustangs until within shooting distance, when he let off his fire at a roan mare which was nearest, when away went the band, and Falis stood erect upon the plain, mortified and chagrined. His over-anxiety to kill a horse had rendered his aim uncertain, and he had missed so large an object as a horse. A kind of guttural grunt passed among the Indians when they saw that Falis had failed, and well they might, for Falis never came within shooting distance of them again during the hunt.

 A smart gallop quickly brought us to his side, and when he protested that he had shot one through the paunch, the Indians went in pursuit of the band, and three others were sent off in another direction, to intercept the flight of the wild mustangs.  Away they went, heedless of the Cayote holes that everywhere appeared to the eyes of the pursuers-- away they fled, until horses and horsemen were lost to view. We continued our course towards the Chowchilla river, leaving them to their fate.

The noonday sun was pouring its beams down on the plains with tremendous force when antelope were again espied, and Falis again sent on his mission. This time everything was in his favor, the game were fat, and lazy and the heat oppressive. He resorted to the same maneuvers to advance upon the unsuspicious Har-la-su. Too well he succeeded, for he soon became entangled among the flock, and while undecided as to which he should select, an old buck advanced from behind, and with a prodigious butt on his stern quarters decided the question for him, and tumbled his false body on the ground. If Falis was startled by this mishap, not less so was his pugnacious antagonist, who fled away with the speed or the wind, followed by the flock. Falis fired by way of revenge, but it was all in vain, their active legs had placed too wide a distance between their ugly foe --the hunter was foiled --the Har-la-su were safe.

 Passing along over a clayey soil, we came to the Lone Tree, and after refreshing our beasts with dirty water, found in the bed of Mariposa Creek, we reached a few scattered knolls, and suddenly came upon a band on antelope, after which we gave chase. This sport we enjoyed exceedingly, being finely mounted and having a fair view of the chase. We were congratulating ourselves upon seeing the fun without any exertion when the Har-la-su, taking a turn passed before our horse, when away went our steed after them, as though the devil had kicked him in the stern.  Pulling and coaxing were of no avail --on. he went in the pursuit until he came up with the herd. And then, and not until then, did he stop and neigh for his less fleet companions to come up and witness his victorious flight with us, on the banks of the Chowchilla.  Here we spread our blankets and after a hearty supper retired to rest, with the stars quietly twinkling over our tired forms.

 Next morning we awoke before day, and six Indians were sent to drive the mustangs into the corral, while the rest of the party were stationed at convenient distances to aid the drivers when the mustangs should come in sight. It was the last we saw of the Indians until late that evening, when they returned, stating that the mustangs had left for the banks or the San Joaquin River.  All those placed on guard were found asleep when Mr. Howard came to the corral to announce the failure of the hunt.

 The corral has two wings, both one mile in length, widening as they extend from the circle of the corral, which is about sixty feet in diameter, and enclosed by a strong fence some ten feet in height, with two short wings running towards the center wing, to prevent a rush of the confined animals towards the entrance.

 On our return home, the Indians gave chase to a band of mustangs, and that was the last I saw of them, for leaving friend Howard awaiting their return, we hurried back to the ranch, wearied with the long and rapid ride.

 The mustang --the wild horse of the plains, is probably the fleetest, most enduring, and best winded animal or all quadrupeds. His habits are peculiar; his sight far reaching, his scent delicately acute.  Every band is controlled and protected by a hardy stallion, who has won his supremacy in a hundred battles.  When a band of these animals first espy the hunters, they become very restless and uneasy, especially the leader of the herd.  As soon as he winds the hunters, he begins snorting and neighing, evidently to warn his flock of approaching danger, and to command their attention. With head and tail erect he trots around the mares; then stopping and surveying the dangerous intruders with a scrutinizing gaze, he suddenly starts off in the direction in which he wishes the band to follow.  The mares, obedient to his neigh, follow at command and away they go over the plains at a furious pace, the stud leading and the mares and colts moving with equal swiftness at his heels.

 The mustang when captured. and exercised under the rules of domestic discipline, still retains some traits of his native wildness.  Mustang mares when crossed with the American breed of horses produce fine colts, which, when grown, are much preferred for saddle horses by the Mexicans and Rancheros. A mustang can be ridden eighty to a hundred miles in a day, and then turned loose without fear of his being injured by the long journey, while the American horse if put through the same laborious task would perhaps never recover his former strength and spirit.

 The meat of the mustang is sweet and healthy, and is readily sought after by the Indians. They are yearly becoming less numerous, and like the elk and antelope they are avoiding the haunts of the white man. He is inferior to the domestic horse in point or sagacity, but superior to him in power of endurance.  He is graceful in his motions and commanding in his flight.  When urged to his utmost fleetness, the Indians say he lashes the ground with his feet and burns the wind with his breath, and that when he falls exhausted in the chase and dies, they say his phantom form still wanders over the plain and warns the mortal mustang of the approach of danger.