E.L Pond on one of the horses he broke at the San Pedro Ranch. This article is found on page 11 in the Winter 2005 issue. In 1942 E.L. "Slim" Pond lost his right arm in a tragic accident and almost bled to death. When he arrived at the hospital, a doctor told his father there was no point in trying to save his life. But 16-year-old Slim barely survived, saved only by emergency blood transfusions from his father and uncle. He recovered but withdrew from his family and thought about killing himself. His father sent him to work on the San Pedro Ranch in south Texas where he became a top cowboy and ended up running the ranch.
That was the beginning of a journey that took Slim Pond to ranches in Oklahoma and New Mexico, where cattle rustlers put a price on his head. Tall and outspoken, like a Louis L'Amour character, Slim never backed down from a fight or went back on his word. He reminisces about learning to rope with one arm:
The first morning, about daylight, I went out to the corral, and the horses come in. Bob Grissom, the ranch manager, said, "I'm assignin' you the 'Gotchy string.'" He says, "Your string is fat and hasn't nobody ridden 'em in three months." He said, "They ought to be well rested up." I recall to this day I had ol' Black Hawk, a little ol' Mexico horse, ol' Sardines, Sugar, Red Bird, Gotchy, and Sleepy in my string of horses.
So I was standin' out there at the gate with my bridle in my hand. August Linnartz, the wagon boss, looked around and said, "Hey, you know you can't catch none of your horses with a bridle. You got to rope 'em. Didn't you get a rope?" He said, "I'll rope your horse this time, but this evenin' you better get you a rope. We're not a-goin' to be catchin' your horses every mornin'."
I looked at him kinda cross-eyed and said, "I can't rope, August. I'm right-handed, and I can't do it with my left hand."
He said, "Who said you can't rope? You're goin' to carry your weight around here. You think we're goin' to wait on you? You either do it or hit the road." Man, I'll tell you what. That did make me mad.
August roped my horse. I bridled 'im and finally got a saddle on 'im and rode that day. Worried me all day long. I was thinkin', "How in the world am I gonna rope left-handed?" I hadn't even attempted it.
That night, August cut me off a rope about 30-foot long and fixed me a loop in it. We had an ol' horse named Telache that we used to wrangle the other horses. We kept him in a little trap, about two or three acres. That night, when everybody went to bed, I snuck out to the corral and tried to use that blasted rope. I got to playin' with it, practicin' to rope that ol' horse, and I wasn't doin' so hot. I couldn't even roll that booger up, let alone catch anything. I worked at it and worked at it, and I did learn enough to get it rolled up good that night.
The next mornin' I went out to the corral and was standin' there with my rope in my hand. Some of the older hands were pretty good to me. They'd act like they was tryin' to rope their horses, and they'd say, "Hey, I accidentally caught one of your horses. You want to ride 'im?" I'd take anything they would drag out of there 'cause I'd be tryin' to rope at 'em, but I couldn't. They did that for about a week or 10 days.
A fella named Turner was wranglin' horses back there in those days. One evenin', we was sittin' there and Mr. Turner said, "Say, Bob, somethin's happenin' to ol' Telache."
Bob said, "What do you mean somethin's happenin'?"
He said, "You know what? I walk out there in the mornin's, and I usually have to rope 'im. Now, I walk out there and the old horse runs up to me and practically sticks his head in the bridle. I don't know what's getting' into 'im. He was always hard to catch. The last four or five mornin's, I can't believe it."
Bob said, "I'll tell you one thing. If you had been roped as many times as that ol' horse in the last two weeks, I imagine you'd be standin' at the gate wanting to be bridled. Every night Slim's been out there ropin' that horse. That might have something to do with it." I noticed that Bob practically didn't sleep. You couldn't put nothin' by him 'cause he knew what was agoin' on. He said, "I've seen him out there 'til three o'clock in the mornin' ropin' that ol' horse. That's why he is ready to put the bridle on. His ears is about whupped off."
I got to where, after three or four loops, I could catch my horse out of the remuda. August said, "See there, you said you couldn't rope. You're doin' pretty good."
After about two weeks, I was out there snakin' my horse out just as good as any of the rest of the boys. Matter of fact, a little bit better than some of 'em. I went and got me another rope, this one a 60-footer. You had two ropes, one that you roped your horses out and one you carried on your saddle about a 45- or 60-foot rope. I wanted to do anything somebody else could do. I would do it to show the world, even if it could kill me.
This was always in the back of my mind. I'd had two arms but now I was goin' to have to use one. When we'd go out to doctor the wormies, I would carry my reins in my teeth, tie my rope hard and fast on my saddlehorn, and carry my loop under my arm. I could doctor just as many wormies as anyone else on the ranch. No one would ever help me so I really snapped out of it. I got to lookin' around, and I saw that I could do anything anybody else can do.
(left) E. L. Pond (right) San Pedro cowboys Tim Oden, Slim Pond, and Fred Pond. Over the next 25 years, Slim Pond became wagon boss and then manager of the 100,000-acre San Pedro Ranch. From there, he went to Oklahoma and then New Mexico, where he managed the High Chaparral ranch west of Belen. He tells about an "Old West" showdown with some cattle rustlers who planned to kill him:
Back in those days, there was quite a bit of cattle stealin' goin' on. One of the rustlers was an old man that had just got out of prison after 20 years. He had a little place on the south side of ours, and he was learnin' his nephews how to steal cattle. I trailed him right to his barn and seen where he had butchered one of my beeves. I went in and drank coffee with 'im and told 'im I didn't want it to happen again.
I said, "Another thing. You stole about 22 of my calves. Drove the cows up the side of the mountain, weaned the calves and held the cows up there until you thought they'd quit bawlin' and brought 'em back. You don't think I can tell when a cow has had a calf pulled off of her?"
He sat there and looked me right in the eye and said, "You're pretty brave to be comin' over here by yourself and accusin' me of this. You know, there are a lot of gullies and holes around here, and a lot of people disappear in these mountains. We can put you in one real easy this mornin'."I told him that I figured I was old enough to die, and if he thought he could do it that he and his nephews were welcome to go ahead and try. I always carried a six-shooter hid on me somewhere and slept with it under my pillow. There were rumors around that there was a $5,000 reward if anyone would kill me. I just thought it was beer talk and didn't pay a lot of attention, but I did carry a gun with me all the time, in the pickup or horseback.
I had a half-Indian cowboy working for me named Chico, a good kid about 18 years old. Allen Dockery, the ranch owner, told me if anything ever happened to me, he would give him $10,000 to kill the man that killed me. So Chico was always in the vicinity, pretty close to me somewhere. He had an ol' .30-06 rifle that he favored.
One day, me and Chico went over to the edge of the ranch. I knew that ol' man had put my fence down and put some alfalfa out. There were four of my cows and calves and a bull in their pasture. I could see them guys at their shack, a little adobe house. I told Chico, "I'm gonna go drive those cows out, but you stay two to three hundred yards behind me. If those guys come up there, you back me up. When I lower my hat, you go to shootin'."
When I started drivin' my cows out of a canyon, the ol' man and his nephews come drivin' up in their pickup. They jumped out and stood on the other side of the truck, holdin' rifles on me. One of them said, "Okay, we've got you on our property and we're gonna shoot you and collect that $5,000. Do you wanta have a prayer or anything before we bust you out of that saddle?"
I pulled my hat off like I was wipin' my brow and said, "Before you pull that trigger maybe you better say your prayers. 'Cause when I drop my hat that boy sittin' on that ridge behind you is gonna start shootin'. There's gonna be a couple of you dead before you can pull the trigger."
One of the guys said, "You've been watchin' too much TV. We ain't gonna fall for that" One of them turned around and saw Chico standin' on a bluff by a little dead pine tree, about 40 yards from 'em. Chico had his rifle rested on that tree with the gun pointin' right at 'em. Boy, I'll tell you what, I never seen someone throw a gun up so high and hit the ground so quick. He got behind the pickup and began to holler. "Don't shoot. Don't shoot. He's got a gun on us." The other one looked around and he dropped his gun. He started yellin', "We was just tryin' to run a bluff on you. You know we wouldn't do it."
I put my hat back on, pulled my six-shooter out and rode around in front of the truck where they was layin' down. I said, "I know you won't now. But you guys talk too much. You told me what you was gonna do. The next time I see you guys, I'm gonna start shootin' on sight if that's the way you want to play it. You've got $5,000 on my hide, but my boss has got $10,000 out if anybody kills me. That kid on the hill is just dyin' to make that $10,000. He'd take it and go to Mexico and buy him a good little ranchito there."
They said, "No, we'll leave you alone. You're welcome to ride our country, and we won't bother you again."
I didn't believe it much, but, you know, the funniest thing. I would get some cattle over there occasionally, and I would see where they had put them back in my pasture and leave a note on the fence sayin' how many they had put back. We got along pretty good after that.
Editor's Note: E.L. Pond is retired and living in South Texas, just a few miles from where he grew up. His life story is the subject of a new book, One-Armed Cowboy, The Amazing Life of E.L. "Slim" Pond. For more information call Bob Kingsbery at 214-547-0986, or go to www.One-ArmedCowboy.com.
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