Those Three Boys...

A neighbour, Rocky, called Craig to tell him about these three young geldings he had. Said they were special, and he wanted them to go to a good home. Told Craig there was a rancher interested in them, but he didn't want them going to him. Rocky practically begged Craig to take these three boys. When Craig said he'd have to think about it and "talk to my wife", Rocky's face fell. He thought he would have to send the horses to a place his gut told him wouldn't be the good, safe place he wanted for them.

The three boys just before they came home to Hideout Ranch...

Craig told me later all he could think about for a full 24-hours was those three horses - two five-year old paints, a Tobiano and an Overo, and a four-year old at-the-time bay.He went and rode all three a couple times, and just could not shake those three horses out of his head. He'd gone to ride them all, and loved them. When I got home from working, he took me to meet them. It was instant full and complete love.The dark bay Overo paint stood, resting his muzzle in my hand for an age. He was a love. The Tobiano paint was dazzling, spectacular. The at-the-time bay - a year younger than the others - was shyish, but drenched with promise. 

On impulse, the dark bay Overo became "Cholo", named for the Mexican horse trainer at Clara Allen's place in Lonesome Dove. The bay was named "Bascom" for Lt. George Bascom, US Cavalry, whose disastrous accusation against Cochise precipitated the Apache Wars. And the dazzling Tobiano paint. Well, he became Taza, in honour of one of Cochise's sons.

Bascom, Taza, and Cholo settling in...

Cholo was an early standout both on the ground and under saddle. He loved leading rides and was more alert than any of the other horses. When Cholo didn't want to go in a particular direction, there was good reason and we listened to him. He was the first to see wildlife out on trail. When leading with Craig at the Stronghold once, a trio of baby coatimundis popped up just off the trail. Cholo was brave, and continued forward, though Lozen and Cap (with Lynn and I on board, respectively) did a complete 180 on the narrow trail and headed back toward the Summit. We jokingly referred to Cholo as the "Watch Horse".

Cholo's only bad habit was rushing back to the Livery or trailer. There's a saying on the hunt field that you always walk the last mile home. One way to slow a charging horse down is to pull them into small circles. Craig, Lori, all of us riding Cholo in those early days did hundreds and hundreds and more hundreds of circles as soon as we would turn for home. Eventually, he did learn to walk "home" at a moderate pace, though we are still convinced he wants to be on the track or a steeplechaser. Cholo was the first of the three I insisted upon schooling under English tack. Everything about him screamed "Eventer" to me. His movement, willingness, flexibility, eagerness - it all told me he could be a lovely dressage horse and a lively jumper, once we got his addition to speed under control.

A gentleman came to the ranch prior to his "big" trip to Europe (he was going to gallop across Italy) so he could leg up on his loping (the Western word for "cantering"). He'd had a hip replaced, and was quite tall, so we put him on Wyatt, a gentle, very tall Quarterhorse who would give the gentleman a good ride but also take care of him. We did loads of loping that week on every trail, but it was the ride at Price which illustrates Cholo's love of running.

It was just Jeff, the gentleman, and me on the ride. He had Wyatt. I was on Cholo. When we got to Price and were getting ready to mount up, Jeff let me know he'd forgotten Wyatt's bridle. Marvelous. I did what wrangler's do and put Cholo's bridle on Wyatt, tying the lead rope around as reins. We rode along, down into the canyon to the edge of the Wilderness. Then, on our way back after the meadow gate, we started to lope along the nice, wide, sandy forest service road. As wrangler, Cholo and I were leading, still. Cholo never let anyone get ahead of him if he had a say. I could feel him stretching out underneath me, the power and effortlessness of him stride. Instinctively, I shoved my feet all the way home in the stirrups, rose just inches above the saddle, and cross-countried it through the meadow and up the hill. Fortunately, Cholo slowed to a trot, then walk, and waited a bit for Wyatt and Jeff to arrive. 

Flushed from the exertion, Jeff asked, "Was that a gallop? Not sure if I know what a gallop feels like, but was that a gallop?" 

In all fairness, I questioned whether Wyatt would bother notching it up to a full gallop, but I replied, "Sorry, I couldn't see, but Cholo certainly was running for the roses." With only a halter, no less! 

We had guests, born in Germany but living in London for years, come to Hideout Ranch multiple times. Trained in Classic Dressage, Sandra is a phenomenal rider, a gift to ride with - watching and learning as I loved to do. She and Cholo were truly poetry together. Once at Bowie, Sandra was on Cholo and I had Bascom. She was well ahead of me in the line (she was on Cholo, remember), and as I watched her ride, she was putting Cholo to some flatwork on trail, much like I was having Bascom do from our position as drag. I chucked, particularly when Sandra would look over her shoulder and smile that secret "I know what you're doing" smile only another dressage rider would recognise.She continues to refer to him as "lovely Cholo"...

Sandra and Cholo, below the E...

Isis schooling Cholo over fences...

... and on the flat

Kristen celebrating Cholo's natural jumping acumen...

Cholo, soaring over fences with his very own girl aboard...

Cholo and his girl in Horseshoe Canyon...

At four, Bascom really didn't know which foot to move after another. On the first ride we shared, heand I were so far behind the others, but he wasn't the least bit stressed. I asked him if he would like to catch up, and he said no. He was fine. It caught me of guard, this four year old was away from the other horses, but he really didn't care. Never did, really. Bascom always needed his rider to be there for him. To bolster his confidence. To believe in him believing in himself. He would get so proud of himself, it was endearing.

When we first started taking him out, he would go right in the trailer, but take forever to step out. We learned to load Bascom first, then let him take his time once we were home. Apparently, he'd had an accident getting out of a trailer early on in his life, but frequent trailering and with us bolstering his confidence, Bascom got over his hesitation.

Bascom grew into a tall, talented, sure-footed, solid ride - though a little leery of his own shadow. His coat had changed from a singed bay to a deep, velvety black which set off his three white cuffs and stripe and snip dramatically. He learned to work cattle, lead rides, and if loping was involved, Bascom was my first choice that day. His was a big, rolling, smooth canter that ate up the desert as we powered along. I remember one particular ride at Price Canyon with Jessy who was on Yaqui. They were trotting at a reasonable pace, yet Bascom was rolling along in a smooth-as-buttermilk canter, keeping even with Yaq. It was his canter which made Bascom the second candidate for schooling under English tack. We did put him over fences, though he wasn't nearly as bold as Cholo.

Catching Bascom was not always quick nor easy. He eluded me for three hours one day, forcing me to forego a trip to Bowie to continue my quest to catch him. After five minutes, it becomes principle to catch them. Once I did have him, I took him, tacked him English, and worked him in the round pen. He never told us why he didn't like to be caught. We would try various tricks and methods, but persistence and perseverance typically won the day. 

There weren't many guests who rode Bascom, it was usually me or one of the other wranglers. It takes a very special horse to have myriad different riders over the course of it's life. Bascom was a horse who needed a person - or a couple people. A lovely German family would come each year, spending two weeks riding with us. Daniella and Isis, mother and daughter, would ride Bascom on trail, and Isis would school him when we had Horsey Days. 

We were riding back to the trailer over to White Tail once, Isis on Bascom and me on Chisum, my Mustang. I looked at Isis, and said, "I think we should switch horses tomorrow."

Bascom didn't even put another foot down before she said, "I think so, too!"

It really was fine as it was never a "chore" to ride Bascom - or any of our fabulous horses...

Bascom doing flatwork with Isis...

Learning to jump can be a challenge...

... but success is rewarding

Caroline, a friend from Belgium, immediately bonded with Bascom...

Bascom with Caroline at White Tail, bringing in the horses...

Bascom and Anthony on the backside of Bowie...

Bascom and Anthony on the Hummingbird Trail in Portal...

Lunching back at the trailer...

Bascom and Anthony came to a genuine understanding,
developing quite the bond...

Because of his size and confirmation, Bascom also proved an excellent "bareback" horse, and several guests learned balance and "feel" sitting on him.Jax, a guest-become-friend (a frequent transition here), spent some time bareback on Bascom so she could get a feel for how he responded to her leg and seat. They had a great session. The connection she made registered in Jax' eyes when Bascom would respond exactly as she asked. Everything went well, and when she dismounted, she must have slid against him and Bascom spooked and moved away as she landed. She gathered herself quickly, caught Bascom, and I told her how to reconnect with him. The tears rolling down her cheeks were the best indication of her progress with him. Bascom visibly relaxed, leaned into her, and they had several moments of true connection. It was a lesson for all of us. Bascom learned he could trust. Jax learned the fragility of the link between horse and rider, how quickly it can snap and what it takes to repair it. I learned to stand back and advise, guide, and believe in knowing my horses. 

Jax in a bareback lesson with Bascom...

Bascom did have a most remarkable experience. We had a guy apply to be a ranch hand. Said he was good with horses, could shoe, knew cattle. All the qualifications we needed. He had to be picked up at the bus station (he'd sold his farrier tools so he could buy the ticket) in Lordsburg, NM. There were red flags waving all around this guy from the moment he arrived (like my having to buy him socks because he didn't have any?), but we agreed to give him a chance. 

He started asking about finding "day work" right after we told him the ranch responsibilities came first. He rode fairly well, but his approach to horses was well, let's just say a little rougher than mine. We rode together along the ranch roads one day - he was on Echo and I was on Orrin who, remarkably, was being Orrin and spewing fabulousness. John looked at me and growled, "That behaviour is just not acceptable."

I looked at him, eyebrows arched, and said, "I am not having a bad time here." And I wasn't. Craig believed "You want a broke horse, not a broKEN horse." And Lord knows Orrin is not "broken".

I think he harrumphed at me, but I patted Orrin and we continued our way back to the Livery.

Not exactly sure how or when it happened, but he decided Bascom was the ultimate cowboy horse. We had a Canadian family of three with us that week, and the father, Kevin, was "assigned" Chisum as his trail companion. Well, one particular morning, Chisum decided he would rather stay in the pasture with his friend, Cholo, and lead us a merry chase for way too long a time. John tacked up Bascom and actually rode into the pasture to rope Chisum. My Mustang who had been "tame" not even three years. I took a bucket with some grain and a halter into the pasture and lured Cholo to me, haltered him, and led him into the open pen, with Chisum following right along. As I haltered Chisum, John looked down on my from Bascom's back and snarled, "So. That's how we do it around here."

I looked squarely at him and replied cooly, "Yes. That's how we do it around here."

The very idea of his even thinking riding down and throwing a rope around my precious Chisum was an actual good idea set my hair on fire.

One day, we rode out on the cattle range, and my phone rang - a dear friend was calling from Florida. Her message was a little offputting in that she knew about our new ranch hand, telling me someone in the valley had called her to let her know he was bad news and to urge me to get him off the ranch before there was a problem. I told her I would certainly find out what I could and be careful at the same time.

I believe it was the next day, a Tuesday, when he had secured some day work off the ranch, and the family and I decided to visit Tombstone. About the time we got down to Rucker Canyon, we were pulled over by three unmarked and one Sheriff's truck. Four armed officers literally surrounded the truck, telling Kevin, the father, and Mason, the 10 year old son, to put their hands over their heads. I was asked to get out of the vehicle. Three bearded men fully rigged out and heavily armed escorted me over to the shoulder of the road. They showed me a photo and asked if I recognised the man as John Frazier, the recently-arrived ranch hand. 

"Yes sir, that's him."

Come to find out, he had outstanding warrants for his arrest on three different charges - which he never bothered to disclose to us, imagine. Between the three special ranch deputies and me, we devised a plan for us to trailer off the ranch for a ride and they would meet us out on the highway where they could [finally] apprehend him. It should go without saying I was highly trepidatious about the entire episode, but I could not keep him on my ranch. 

When we got back from Tombstone, he wasn't yet back from helping our farrier shoe horses, but showed up sometime later. At dinner, we told him about the plans for the next day. He retired to the Line Shack early. At 7:00am, Kevin knocked on my door and told me John had taken the Tahoe down below and, "He stole your horse!"

I immediately called the deputy in charge of the covert opeartion we were staging, and practically screamed at him, "HE STOLE MY HORSE!" We figured out John had gone down, caught Bascom, and Kevin had watched him race my horse across the desert. He cut three fences between Hideout Ranch and the neighbour's. Of course, all the horses were upset and racing around. We fed and I continued to fume. I had no idea where Bascom was, if he was hurt, if he was even alive! 

My phone rang and it was Jennifer. She let me know Bascom was fine and down at the next ranch. Kevin and I took the trailer and headed to pick up my poor boy who was very happy to see his Mommy. We loaded him up and headed home. 

While he was thrilled to be home and I was more thrilled for him to be in one piece - no cuts, blood, or chunks of flesh missing. In fact, no shoes were missing, either. 

And yes. The intrepid deputies apprehended the Fugitive at a neighbour's ranch. The ruse we had designed was quickly updated when he fled the ranch. LEO were able to get the rancher to have the Fugitive help with cattlework, and when they came in, he looked at the three unmarked and apparently said, "Do you know who that is?"

The neighbour said, "No idea."

He said, "Well, then I guess they're here for me."

As they cuffed him, the officer called me to tell me the saga had ended. He asked me if I wanted the Fugitive to return to the ranch and claim his property. Of course I said no. In front of the officers and the others, he told me to keep all his worldly goods - a bag of ratty clothes, the most uncomfortable saddle imaginable, and a tattered coat. Fortunately, he is paying his debt to society and we have an incredible tale to tell.

The only repercussion from Bascom's little adventure was his insistence upon being called, "The Outlaw"...

Just Bascom and me, being together in the round pen...

The third in this trio of incredible horses is Taza, easily the handsomest paint every born. When Taza was created, God said, "Y'know, I think I'm gonna turn it up in this one." And He cranked the knob, turning "it" up and up until, "Whoops! Broke that off! Wonder what he'll be like?" Taza is sensitive, has some trust issues, has confidence but needs his rider's support. Like Bascom, Taza was a little difficult to catch. There was an entire year where we could not put a hand on him. Then, one evening, I was out by the Brats' gate (there were seven geldings in one of the pastures which we dubbed The Brat Pack), and Taza was standing close enough for me to reach up and touch him. We spent half an hour or more standing close yet separated by the fencing. Acting on instinct, I talked to him as I quietly slipped through the gate and went to him. 

We stood for an even longer time, me talking, him listening, running my hands over his face and neck, around his ears (he was touchy about his ears), his neck and back. I would take a couple steps away, and he would move toward me. It was a breakthrough. He still presented a challenge to catch, but it wasn't as bad as he had been. 

This experience proved itself eminently useful, as a Susan, a guest and I would soon realise. Guests would often help us feed, and we were always grateful for both the help and the company. It was an opportunity for guests to spend time with the horses in a more casual (as casual as feeding time can be) setting and see them interact with each other and us in a more relaxed circumstance. Craig had set up a "catch pen" which, bless him, never functioned as he hoped it would. Fortunately, the wire he used was smooth. Susan and I were down to feed, and I noticed Taza a) standing somewhere he usually didn't stand and b) standing very still with an odd look on his face. We hurried over to him, discovering he was straddling the bottom wire with the top wire across his back. Instantly panicked, I asked Susan to stay with him, talk to and soothe him while I tried to find something to free him from the wire. A rummage through some tools in the shop was successful, and I hurried back out to where Susan was doing an amazing job of keeping Taza quiet and comforted. Telling him everything I was doing, I was able to cut the wire and pull it through his legs and away from him. Susan kept him occupied while I finished getting the wires down, and he stayed with us for a few moments even after he was free. In fact, the few other times I found him in the fence, he stood and trusted me to free him. So grateful.

Over the years, one or two guests - maybe - may have ridden Taza. I did. A young woman from France who spent some months here did. Josh and Lori did. Caroline did. Everyone wanted to, like everyone wants to ride the "pretty yellow horse" (Kachina - more on her later...), but, Taza is too sensitive, too finely tuned for just anyone. 

I always felt more "Western" riding Taza. I mean, riding a dazzling paint through the high desert on trails Cochise walked in the bright blue Arizona sunshine - isn't that the definition of West? 

Jeromy, who brought his two young daughters here several times, always wanted to ride Taza. The Christmas they were here, we had a Horsey Day and I put them each on different horses. Got Taza tacked up and into the round pen where Jeromy put his left foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over. Three steps into the ride, eyes wide, Jeromy said, "Wow. This is a horse!"

It was a successful day all around, and I was inordinately proud of Taza.

Jeromy gets Taza ready for their session in the round pen...

Lori, our first wrangler, and Taza in what became the design for
our first Hideout Ranch t-shirt...

Taza and Anne, ready for a stroll around the lower pastures...

Pretty paint horse in the bright desert blooms...

Taza spending some time with Claire in the round pen under Caroline's guidance...

Caro in a lesson session on the best footing ever...

Taza loves water...

The angle is deceiving, but he is big...

Taza and his own girl at Granite Gap...

Taza with his bromance, Thomas...

Cholo, Bascom, and Taza - three of the most amazing horses ever to wear tack. At $1,000 each, Craig figured if we got one good one out of the three, we were good. Well. We were blessed and gifted with three incredible horses. All talented. All athletic. All exceptional. Cholo and Taza are living the good life with their own young lady, a phenomenal rider who literally grew up with them. Bascom, sadly, is on the Other Side with Craig - but we remember him each and every day...

Bascom, our Outlaw...