This article is in the Spring 2002 issue of COWBOY MAGAZINE on page 16. It was in the spring, probably early in May, of 1973. We'd just had a bunch of rain and snow in northeast New Mexico. There had been about four feet of snow, and it melted real fast. We knew the river would be coming up. The river I'm referring to is the Canadian River, and we had cattle down in that big canyon on what is known as the Maddox place. It was too dangerous to leave the cattle down there when the water was rising like that, so we decided we had to get them out of there. It was only going to get worse.
My husband, Jeff, and I, and Dusty Ray and Leon Hansen and Hugh Adkins trailered over to the canyon and then rode into the bottom by around eight o'clock. There was still some snow out on top, but there wasn't any snow in the canyon. Still, it was a cold spring day, and we were dressed for the weather.
There we were, all down in that canyon, tryin' to get our cattle gathered. The cattle were mostly big ol' Brangus cows and their calves, and they were pretty wild.
That river was really crankin', and we had to cross it several times to get the cows out of there. The cows and us would drift down the river every time we had to make a crossing. It really got to be a lot of work.
Dusty was ridin' a gray mare that he had just bought off of the race track. Her front end paddled like a duck when she trotted, but Dusty liked her. She was impressive to look at. Big and tall.
At the first crossing, the water was going so swiftly, and all of a sudden, right out in the middle of that Canadian River, Dusty and his horse went under. There was no horse and there was no Dusty! They were gone!
We were screaming and hollering for Dusty, but he didn't come up. Finally, we saw the mare come up, and we went to riding the banks and Jeff was swimming back and forth trying to find Dusty. At last, he came up, right where he'd gone down.
We got Dusty out, and the mare finally washed up to where her head was up on the bank, but she wouldn't try to help herself. She just laid there. We had to tie ropes to her to get her out of the river. The funny thing was, when we got her out, the saddle blankets had washed out from under Dusty's saddle and were gone.
When it was my turn to cross, I rode out into the river and all that water rushing by made me dizzy. I couldn't do anything but hang on, and my horse just stopped. So Jeff had to come out and get me and lead me across. The same thing happened to Leon, and Jeff had to lead him across, too.
At every crossing, that mare of Dusty's would get out in the middle of that river and just give up. We had about five crossings, and Dusty's horse did that at every crossing. Dusty would have to holler for us to come help him. He'd have to get off of her and swim out or climb on behind another rider, and we'd have to rope that mare and lead her across or put the rope behind her tail and pull her out of that river. Dusty was beginning to not like his gray mare so much. Every crossing was a new adventure. On one of those trips, Dusty's rope washed free of the saddle and on down the river. The river had taken his saddle blankets and now his rope.
The farther down the canyon we rode, the more cattle we'd pick up, and we'd have to push cattle and swim cattle. Several times, the men had to get their ropes down and drag out a cow or calf. Once in a while they'd miss their dallies and some of those cows got washed on down the river. After a while, there wasn't anybody left who had a rope on his saddle except Jeff.
Jeff remembers, "I was riding a nice old solid ranch horse, a grulla. There we were, at the last crossing, and we started off the bank, and I slid off my horse to grab his tail and make it easier for him to swim across. Well, I missed his tail and started washing down the river.
"I still had my rope in my hand, our last rope, and I was swimming like hell, trying to save myself."
Jeff was wearing a heavy coat, and his chaps, and boots, and spurs, and the weather was cold and that water was icy.
Jeff recalls, "I was weighed down with all those clothes, and I couldn't swim with that rope in my hand. Dusty yelled, 'Don't drop that !@#$%^&* rope. It's the last one we've got.'
"I thought, '*&^%$#@, Dusty, I'm drowning and you're concerned about the darn rope!' That damn horse was trying to get on top of me, and I wasn't getting anywhere, and I couldn't swim with that coil in my hand. I finally let go of the coils except for the tail of the rope.
"I finally crawled out of that river, like an alligator, and I was beat. But I saved the rope!"
We had a dog with us, too. That poor dog would wash down stream until it finally came to a bank it could get out on. Then it would catch up with us until it all happened again, at the next crossing.
Late in the day, we finally got the cattle out of the canyon. We lost some cattle to the river, mostly calves. It had been quite a day, with Jeff and Dusty nearly drowning, and the rest of us in danger of it at every crossing.
I think we all developed a special comradship after going through a day like that together. But, at the time, it was "all in a day's work." And Jeff was certainly the hero of the moment for saving that rope!
Call us at: 719-742-5250
