Memories of Old Montana

by Con Price

We had a justice of the peace nearby and he sure had plenty business. I listened to one case that seems very amusing to me now. The judge liked to play poker and when he wasn’t busy with court duties he was usually in a poker game. This case was between two ranchers over the cutting of a wire fence. The trial was held in a little store. Each one acted as his own attorney, also testified in his own behalf. While one of them was testifying, the other one was sitting on the store counter, swinging his legs and listening, and when the other fellow made a statement he didn’t approve of he said, “That’s a damn lie.” The judge jumped to his feet and said, “Damn you, you can’t talk that way in this court.”

After the trial the judge took the case under advisement for a few hours.

Late that night I met the judge and asked him how the trial came out and when he told me I expressed some surprise. He said, “Hell, that other fellow couldn’t win in this court with four aces!”

Charlie used to come to the ranch quite often and enjoyed riding horseback, but I always had a hard time to convince him the horses were gentle. We kept about ten head and as I was the only one who rode them, they were always fat and rarin’ to go, and as when he and I worked together in the past, I was nearly always riding colts. He said he didn’t believe I ever owned a gentle horse.

So one time he came to the ranch to file on some land and we had to ride about fifteen miles. He told me to be sure to give him a gentle horse and I thought I did. I saddled his horse next morning and gave him the bridle reins and turned around to get on my horse, when I heard a terrible noise. I looked around and Charlie was down on his back with his foot fast in the stirrup, and the horse jumping and striking at him. I ran and caught his horse and got him loose. He had lost his hat and his clothes were dirty. He said, “This is another one of them damn gentle horses you have been telling me about. Now I have got to ride him fifteen miles with a hump in his back. I will feel good all day.” I don’t think I tried to get him to gallop but he said every time he tried to hurry that horse he would hump up like he was going to buck until he would pull him down to a walk.

He wrote me a letter when he went home and painted a picture of himself down on his back with his foot fast in the stirrup. He said it reminded him of a friend of his in Great Falls that sold a man a horse and told the fellow it was a regular lady’s horse, but had killed two men in Butte afterwards.

For thirty years, Charlie Russell owned a pinto named Monte that could almost talk. I don’t believe Monte was ever in a stable until he was twenty years old. When Charlie quit riding the range and went to living in town, he built Monte a stable but Monte didn’t like civilization and would not stay in the stable unless he was tied up, then he would be very nervous and would never lay down. But after some time Charlie found out there was only one way Monte would compromise and that was to leave the stable door open and Monte would lay down with his head out the door—he took no chances on being shut in.

Charlie and I had about fifty head of mares at the ranch. That was of the Mustang Stock. We raised some good tough saddle horses but in general they weren’t much to look at—pintos, buckskins, all kinds and colors.

So I began looking for a better grade of a stallion to improve our herd. I finally contacted a fellow by the name of Jake Dehart and he told me he had a fine stallion to sell, so I went to look at the horse. He was a terrible looking sight. He had been neglected, was sick and badly run down. His legs were swelled up almost as big as his body. He hadn’t shed his winter coat of hair and looked like anything but a horse. Dehart showed me the registered papers of the horse and they were O.K., in fact, he was an imported horse and of fine breeding. I didn’t know whether I could save the horse or not. Looked like he might die any time, so I told Dehart I would trade him a bunch of horses for the stud. We set a date when he would come to the ranch to look at the horses that I was to trade him. I told Dehart I thought I could give him about 20 head of horses for his stallion. Our horses run on the open range and it took several days to gather them.

When I got them all gathered and in the corral, they were sure a tough-looking bunch but when I would think about Dehart’s stud the Mustangs looked the best of the two so I began culling out the worst ones for Dehart, but he didn’t come on the day agreed on and looking the culls over I figured there was some too good to give him. Dehart didn’t come for several days and when he did arrive they were sure a sorry looking bunch of horses. Some of them crippled, some of them had been cut in barbed wire, some blind in one eye, some with their hips knocked down and some locoed. When Dehart did come he walked up to the corral and looked over the fence at the horses. He said, “My God, I thought you had better horses than those things. Where are the rest of your horses?” I told him that was all I had. Of course, I had got the rest of them out of sight.