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Date: Thu, 30 Jul 1998 23:30:38 EDT
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Subject: Aunt Charlotte's book (Mexican Joe)
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"Spanish Joe" was a Mexican, a saddle maker, and an expert at anything that
he undertook. He was very, very small in size and was extremely sensitive
about it, so to appear as large as he could, he wore several suits of clothes
at once and he got them as big as ever he could and still keep them on. He
always looked so funny in the wind with his loose clothes flapping and
fluttering about him.
He was the best rider that I ever saw and everyone far and near said that
"no one in all the Northwest, was so good with a rope." He made his ropes
himself, of rawhide or horsehair, and there were no rough places on ropes that
Joe made, so soft and pliable and smooth they were. He would knot his rope
into a big loop, then swing it slowly round and round his head. The loop would
open and widen as he swung it faster and faster, then a quick turn of his
wrist and the loop, released as though from a spring, would sail out over a
herd of wild horses, to settle with a jerk around the neck of the horse that
he meant to catch. Another twist of his wrist and a loop would follow along
the rope to the forefeet of the plunging horse and it would go to its knees. A
final turn or two and the helpless animal would lie trussed like a
Thanksgiving turkey, ready for the roaster. Most people, in breaking a wild
horse, prefer to do it in a high corral or stockade. Spanish Joe kept to the
open prairie. When the roped and helpless horse had been bridled and
blindfolded, it was allowed to get on its feet, then it was saddled. When Joe
was firmly settled in the saddle, the blinder would be taken off, and the
quivering, maddened animal would concentrate upon the thing uppermost in its
mind, to get rid of the terrifying, clinging something upon its back.
I have seen bucking horses at "roundup" and tournaments, but they are not
the kind that we had. I've seen Joe stay on a horse, it seemed to me, for
hours before it would give up to stand with its head down and suffer without
protest whatever indignity might be put upon it. Sometimes a horse would bawl
like a branded steer and throw itself on its back in its mad effort to get rid
of its burden, but Joe, jumping clear, would be in the saddle again by the
time the horse had regained its feet. It was a thrilling thing to see him on a
pitching twisting, bucking horse, bucking as though it never intended to quit,
but it would finally quit, there was never any question about that in Joe's
mind, or in the minds of anyone, who had seen him ride before. And when the
horse, too exhausted to lift its head, at last stood motionless and completely
conquered, he was always in the saddle. He may have been thrown, but I never
heard of it. The horse that rears and kicks and plunges is not the type that
is hardest to ride, though it is the most exciting to the spectator. A horse
that pitches slowly with a twisting, corkscrew motion and keeps it up without
variation is the type that breaks a rider. I once saw a young man bleed for a
day and night at his nose and mouth and ears, he had ridden such a horse and
it took him several hours to finally conquer it. The young man was my own son.
That terrible heartbreaking ordeal left an indelible mark upon him.
Joe loved bright, pretty things and once I made him a quilt, he was always
good and kind to children and I was glad to make it for him. I pieced it into
a "flying cloud" pattern and the calico patches were many colored and very
bright. I quilted it just as carefully as I possibly could and Joe was
pleased. I know that he was for when Christmas came again, I had a present
from Joe. It was the finest saddle in all the country. He must have worked at
it for weeks. There was not a space of plain leather as large as a ten cent
piece, but was covered by intermingling, graceful patterns carved and stamped
and burnished till the whole surface glistened. The seat of the saddle was of
fine black leather and was stitched in white to look like big, white feathers
had been scattered over it. The saddle skirts were so big that they covered
the sides of the horse and the wonderful leather work that was done on them
made everyone look upon it with envy. One never sees such work now. I kept the
saddle until quite recently, so I had a chance to compare it with other
saddles that are considered fine these days. Joe was an artist. He made a
horse hair bridle to go with it, made it of black and white and sorrel. The
long double reins were tasseled and had braided "Turks heads" every few
inches.
When he gave them to me he said: "Folks here don't know fine saddles, but if
you were in Mexico, everybody'd say 'Who's 'at?'" And he squinted between his
fingers to show me how they would do: "Guess 'at's somebody purty fine.'"
"Then somebody else'd say: 'Oh yes, that's Miss Charlotte Matheny with her new
saddle 'at Joe made.'" There may have been other saddle makers in Mexico as
good as Joe was, but I doubt it. I know that there were none so good in our
country.
Walt Davies
Monmouth, OR
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