We were at the Garcia, gearing up for another long ride. There were about eight of us going on this roundup through the calf pasture. It would take all day and I was not looking forward to it. I hated riding especially when I got really tired and would slip out of the saddle. It is a rude awakening, literally, when the sand or a bush jolts you from a nice dream, and the horse is looking down with an expression of “I got the idiot today!” I count myself both lucky and blessed that I was never aroused from my slumbers by a patch of prickly pear cactus.
The Garcia consisted of a large area of corrals, traps, and small pastures. The horses were kept in a fenced area consisting of the house, barn, spring, orchard, and a large cottonwood grove. We arrived early, filled the morals (grain bags) with oats, and called for the horses. As they stood munching on sweetened feed, we would brush them and saddle them. I was assigned to Crabapple. It seemed like I always got Crabapple. Fitting though, since Crabapple slept about as much as I did on the ride.
The saddles were kept in the foyer of the Garcia house—a one bedroom, adobe structure. The saddles were usually propped up on end with the saddle horn facing downward. This kept the saddles from bending, but mine was laid over a barrel lying on its side. The last time I had ridden, I placed the blankets and saddle on it for easy access.
I was in a hurry to saddle my horse. Once I did so, I could go chase frogs in the spring for a few minutes before riding out. I ducked into the house, weaved through the maze of saddles, and grabbed my saddle and blankets in one bundle. Lifting from the front and the rear of the saddle, I hoisted the set onto my knee and began dragging the stirrups and straps out of the small room. It was then that I noticed the baby-rattle sound. It went from light rattle to loud buzz very quickly. Rattlesnake!
I looked around the floor and maze of saddles to pinpoint the snake, but he was nowhere to be seen. I was standing perfectly still. A snake bite was not what I needed, especially forty miles from town. With Earl driving that was at least two hours!
The rattling set off a chain reaction and the cacophony of rattles brought the other cowboys to the door and window. No advice was given, just incredulous stares.
One cowboy, in particular, stared right at me as if I was the one with the rattle taped to my posterior. Then I saw his finger pointing down. “Great! It’s curling around my boots!” I thought as I slowly looked downward. What I saw nearly stopped my heart. There is a hole just behind the saddle horn, between the horn and the seat. Why it was there, I never could figure out, but the snake had figured out a reason. The buzzing was coming from within my saddle and the snake was sticking his head out of that hole, looking at me! I knew how mad I got when awakened from a nice nap.
I let my breath out slowly, assessed the situation, and acted. Tossing the bundle in my hands toward the other saddles, I leapt to the door, covering fifteen feet through a jumble of equipment in one giant step! A rough hand hauled me out of the doorway to a waiting metal chair on which I collapsed to catch my breath.
When my heart returned to normal, I looked up to see the cowboys dragging saddles and blankets out of the house using pipes, sticks, and lassoes. In the process of emptying the room, we finally extracted six full-grown, mean rattlesnakes. All of them were sacrificed in the yard; their heads were thrown in the fire and their bodies were slung into the bushes behind the house.
From that time on, I was always very careful when entering any structure and picking through saddles and equipment. Out on the ranch, you never know when you are entering a den of vipers unaware!
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