Eric Schwennesen: Seago

Don't let the name fool you; that's the name we tagged onto an untried saddle horse some years back. About the only thing we knew about her was that she came from country just as rough and rocky as our own. It takes a special kind of caballo to consider running from canyon bottoms to ridgetops not only possible, but necessary; and we have spent a lot of time interviewing new candidates for these jobs. Over the years, about one horse out of eight has made the grade.

So: big gather, a chance to try her out in real conditions, with friends and family aboard everything else we had (including my saddle, leaving me to do my best with a nearly discarded old kack without a breast collar.). We drew the rim ride. I was watching ears and footing; the trail was less than a foot wide. Cattle were being choused out of the canyon down below. My newbie seemed tense but alert. Just ahead a juniper reached over our trail; very low, but no place to dismount, so we applied the hug-a- neck-and-pray formula and moved ahead.

That's when the old saddle started to turn, rotating me over into the canyon as my horse expressed her discomfiture by trying hard to shake loose of everything aboard and heading for solid ground. Quick as a wink I cleverly rotated in midair, saving my body from damage by landing on my head. I was just in time to see her disappearing across the ridge above with one stirrup already snagged by her foot.

It took a while to sort things out. We eventually caught up with her on a flat down below, standing quietly, the left stirrup leather entirely gone. Bad start, but we stayed with the herd and helped finish the move the rest of the day. Riding mountain country with only one stirrup is hard work.

A few days later, another try, between the hills instead of on top of them. Working alone, I had gathered a bunch and was sorting off pairs against a fence when a cranky single cow decided to steal the show and broke away. Working alone, this can sure make trouble, but this horse had already read the scene and broke so fast in pursuit that my hat spun on my head and it was all I could do to hang on. The cow was as surprised as I was; it was over before she ever got a start. For the next hour this Seago demonstrated cow sense and solid speed that left the cattle gaping and very much intimidated.

Over the following weeks she made her influence known: rank cows watched in amazement as she vaulted prickly pear to cut them off; an escapee in an arroyo was sure to find her waiting at the top to turn her back; free-running calves found their sprints cut short by a blur.

Gradually I began to see that she was also teaching me. With patience she got me to give her free rein. She showed me a special set to her ears when she was in range of a lion or bear: no panic, just sayin' it's there. And she has showed the world the exaltation of a true wild-horse full-blown gallop: to this day she has made a point to outrun anything with a notion of passing her.

Sure makes the cowboy life worthwhile.

Eric Schwennesen is a commercial beef rancher in the Mogollon Rim country. He grew up in Belgium, cowboyed in Nevada, and helped Navajos and many African peoples with rangeland conflicts for over 35 years. He recently published "The Field Journals: Adventures in Pastoralism" about his experiences.