SIXTY MILES AN HOUR ON THE HOOF

PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR When we speak of the pronghorn antelope, we speak of a true American.

In comparison to his 12,000,000 year old family tree, our other hoofed creatures, deer, wapiti, caribou, even the bison are merely newcomers. All their ancestors have migrated to North America. Apart from the Indian, who else can claim such a blue blood lineage?

Besides heritage, the pronghorn rates as the fastest hoofed creature in the world-a one-minute mile runner. Modern communications have nothing on him either, for when he is in danger, he flashes a white signal to warn the rest of his clan. It is television on the hoof which he has utilized for generations.

Eyesight is phenomenal, too. Vision is equivalent to a human's 20-20 sight with the assistance of binoculars tossed in for good measure.

His mate is not to be outdone in her own right, and to prove it she usually produces twins each year. Running the gamut from this sublime event to the ridiculous, neither he nor his mate are actually antelope at all, but more akin to an ordinary goat.

Though closely related to goats, the pronghorn (Antilocapra Americana), of the Antilocapridae family,

OPPOSITE PAGE

"SPEEDSTERS OF THE WILDS" BY WILLIS PETERSON. Antelope are nervous, alert and fleet creatures. When alarmed, they make use of their white rump patches. This white hair stands on end making it very easy for other antelope to see with their telescopic vision even a mile or more distant. It is a very unique communication system, which operates within minutes over a considerable area. Taken with a 20-inch telephoto mounted on a 34 x 4% Speed Graphic, Ektachrome film, 1/25 second at f-20.

He would probably be very indignant if he knew he were classed in this group. Because of unusual features, which he alone possesses, he is classified in a sub-family which falls somewhere between cattle, goats and antelope. The pronghorn and these other horned, cud-chewing animals belong in the general grouping of Bovidae.

Technically, the world's true antelope is the black buck of India, but a great many closely related species are native to Africa, Asia and Europe. The pronghorn's closest American relative is the Rocky Mountain goat. The well-known chamois of the European Alps is also a member of this goat-antelope species.

The pronghorn began developing during the Miocene Period. According to paleontologists, his horns have changed from a variety of twisted, multi-tipped shape to their present forked conformation. This process has made the pronghorn interesting for scientists to study.

Antelope once roamed the central plains and the West in untold millions, even rivaling the bison in number. But it was the transcontinental railroad that almost brought their extermination in a roundabout way. Besides causing man-made barriers, cutting down their range, special hunts were conducted for both bison and antelope from trains. Animals were shot from coach windows and from car tops. More agile hunters hung from brake ladders, and swarmed over engine and tender, taking pot shots with six shooters and rifles.

Aside from this promiscuous slaughter, mining camps, lumber camps, and section crews hired professional hunters to supply their men with meat. More antelope fell, only this time to the efficient marksmanship of the meat suppliers.

Now with careful game management, their number has risen to 200,000 and more, most of which are scattered through the West. Oregon, Arizona, New Mexico, Wyoming and Texas have large concentrations.

The pronghorn is not a large animal. Height at the shoulders is thirty-three to thirty-seven inches on the average, with even forty inch measurements found at times. Length measures about fifty-four inches. In Arizona, a 125-pound animal would be considered heavy.

Unlike cattle that graze on grass, antelope browse while foraging. Weeds, leaves, stems, seed pods, flowers comprise the diet. In the spring, dandelions make up a large percentage of their food.

One of the pronghorn's remarkable features is his headgear. He is the only only animal in the world with hollow, forked horns. Deer and elk have branched antlers, but they are solid bone, not hollow. The antelope's horns are deciduous, also; that is, they are shed annually. When they fall off, new ones form over permanent boney cores.

Upon this spiked nucleus, a new sheath of matted hair forms. This hair is slowly glued into a matrix by a cement-like substance exuded by skin on the antelope's head. Gradually hardening, this material grows until the new horn attains its full development. Each year horns increase slightly in size until maturity is reached.

Both sexes have horns, though the female's is much smaller, and sometimes may be absent. Trophy-sized horns measure up to twenty inches in length. The inside curve arches backward over his head while the fork juts forward about half of the way up from the base. With these two forked scimitars the male thrusts and parries while fighting many affairs of honor over a soft brown-eyed mate. His swordsmanship is among the finest. He is a D'Artagnan and de Bergerac of the bovine world, all wrapped into a single dueling cloak. For, in his fighting ability, lies either loss or victory in acquiring a mate.

Every year young bucks challenge old patriarchs. For this insolent behavior, oldsters try to punish the upstarts with a series of headlong, battering-ram clashes. While old bucks and challengers are engaged, other pretenders may have already made conquest of the harem.

For males past their prime, this is a hard and strenuous season. Their fate may lie in the deft twist of a horn. Once in a while tines will interlock in combat and both contender and old champion succumb to starvation and thirst.

Like all creatures, antelope are curious. Stories have been told in great length about his great curiosity and inquisitiveness. Much has been written about the animal being decoyed to hunters by numerous methods. Lying on one's back while kicking one's feet in the air was supposed to attract them. White flags at the end of long sticks were a sure-fire method. Some early writers claimed red flags were better for this purpose because of the color.

But it may be that people tend to endow animals with human reactions rather than realizing they have limited intelligence. As far as antelope are concerned, their super eyesight is their primary means of defense. If a new object should suddenly appear in their domain where every antelope knows each tall thistle and juniper, naturally they are going to examine it with whatever faculty they rely on most. This would be the sense best developed by the species for a given environment of vast expanses. In their case-eyesight. Since they are gregari-ous animals in habit, it is no wonder to see a band of antelope stand at attention. Vision is so keen they need only look from a distance to discern the smallest details.

Thus, we may find a large herd watching a foreign object, a white flag, or whatever it may be. However, it doesn't seem to be an overly feeling of curiosity as we would consider it, but more a reliance on their eyes for an intimate examination and interpretation to determine harmfulness or innocence of an intruder.

During this inspection they continue to examine and re-examine, mill about, advance, snort, and retreat, but always with ever keen eyes upon the trespasser. This keeps up until the object is accepted, or if it seems to have harmful aspects, they take to their heels in a sandycolored jet stream of motion.

While clipping off ground at a fantastic rate, theantelope use their white rump patches as an effective heliograph. Both back sides are covered with white stiff hairs. When alarmed, the special muscles contract which in turn cause these hairs to stand on end. The pure white rosettes can be seen for miles by other antelope. They in turn flash their white signals, and so, the strange television system operates within seconds over the whole mesa.

Herds stay together during fall and winter, but with the coming of spring their movements become more limited as does become heavy with fawn. Consequently the herds split up in smaller bunches. Just before birth the female picks out the lee side of a projecting rock or a point beneath the crest of a hill. In this somewhat barren and isolated, though more sheltered spot, she gives birth to her fawn, usually twins.

In two or three hours, when the doe feels strong enough, she begins to browse a short distance away from her offspring. But before leaving, she nuzzles each one. This is also a signal communicated to them in some mysterious way to lie quietly until she returns. Her advice is strictly adhered to. Except for stretching their long legs occasionally, the fawn will not leave.

Their mother may browse nonchalantly as far as four or five hundred feet from her twins, but she repeatedly tosses up her head and stares in their direction to check if everything is as it should be in the nursery.

This is a dead giveaway to anybody who may be interested in studying their habits. It also came as a boom to us in our quest to photograph and study wildlife. By Glassing the area adjacent to a doe which keeps up this nervous movement, her fawn can be spotted. However, as they lie prone in the grass and weeds, their tan coats are almost perfectly blended with the terrain and it is quite difficult to pick them out. At times, the only way they can be found is by a conspicuous dark V formed by their ears when they raise them.

When we spotted our first antelope fawn, my wife exclaimed in lowered "ahs" and "ohs" as only women can do when they see babies of any sort. From our examination it appeared the helpless creatures had been born only hours before. Their mother lay nearby chewing her cud apparently still recovering from the miracle of motherhood.

Between us and this domestic scene lay a gentle dipping valley. A fresh breeze flattened the grasses in patchwork patterns as the resilient verdure lightly heeled over with each gentle nudge. Every new puff produced a new wave which merrily chased the one before, but never quite seemed to catch up. In the distance rolling waves melted into a great sea of grass. Sparkling dandelions were unveiled in the foreground as grasses tossed to and fro, while stands of thistles stood their ground, only slightly bending their stubborn, shaggy, budding crowns.

This was the open prairie, the unfenced mesa, the land antelope love. It was Anderson Mesa, southeast of Flagstaff, where the largest concentration of antelope in Arizona live, roam and play.

As we lay wedged between lichen covered rocks, with our cameras focused, a warm June sun shone down upon us. It was a peaceful and sublime day, good to be alive, and good to bring forth life.

At length the doe got up and moved toward her fawns. She nuzzled each and they slowly stood up on their wobbling legs. Then, with a gangly-legged youngster flanking each side, a proud mother and shaky offspring slowly moved over the ridge.

The young are born from May to the middle of June. Birth takes place first in the western part of the state because of the lower altitude and warmer climate. The high country about Springerville produces a later crop of fawns.

Because of the young antelope's habit of staying put, observation of fawns during these few days following birth is also done by the Arizona Game and Fish Commission. The Department catches, tags, and records data concerning newly born animals.

In this operation the antelope taggers set up a base. From this camp two crews search each day for the newly born fawns. Each team consists of two men equipped with high-powered field glasses, two longhandled nets, a scale, and ear tags.

When the fawns are spotted, the crew drive toward them very slowly. Within two or three hundred feet the men begin stalking. The taggers approach cautiously, from the rear and make a swift drop of the net. As the nylon cord of the net touches the tiny creature, he leaps to his feet, uttering a piteous, little bleat.Each man wears rubber gloves while handling the animal in order not to leave human scent on the baby. If covered with this obnoxious smell, its mother may refuse to accept it.

Fawns gain about one pound a day the first week. Each will weigh five to six pounds at birth. From this fact their age is easily determined. Fawns are rarely netted after they reach fifteen pounds or about ten days old. At this age, they would rather test their legs if danger should threaten.

Aside from recording weight, the catch site is plotted on a map, sex is noted, twin or single birth jotted down, and numbered tags inserted in the ears. Information is gathered as quickly as possible, so the fawn can be put down in the exact spot where it was found.

Skilled taggers accomplish this feat in a surprisingly short time and try to sneak away without causing the youngsters to leave the spot. If the offspring should happen to leap away, fawn and mother may become lost from one another. Without its parent at this age it is doubtful if the baby could survive.From field notes and data gained, several interesting facts can be determined, of which longevity is the most important. By comparing jaw bones of a tagged animal and untagged animal, ages can be arrived at. Thus in a period of years, the game department will be able to tell by jaw bones of animals shot during the annual hunts whether or not herds are increasing or decreasing.

If returned jaws are from all older animals, it is a safe conclusion that the herd is on the decrease. The department can seek causes for the decline.

Though, from present information available, there doesn't seem to be much mass movement in the herds. In 1955, one hundred one fawns were tagged in Arizona which is a pretty good record considering fawn tagging is a very difficult job.

When the tagging teams leave, the Department make aerial surveys where the antelope population is the greatest. Pilot and observer fly a half-mile grid with natural barriers being the boundaries of the surveys. This is the most accurate way to count the animals. When flying only one hundred feet high it is virtually impossible to miss any. The number of fall hunt permits are issued froma percentage gained in the most conservative count.

It seems ironic that Americans should find it necessary to put so much effort and time in preserving a species when not too many years ago they were wantonly destroyed. But conservation is never too late.

With careful game management, as it is practiced in Arizona and with proper sportsmanlike hunting, the antelope should be around for a long time.

It will always be an inspiration for visitors to view these fleet-footed creatures while driving through our national parks and wide-open spaces.

To witness a herd of antelope loping along, and then in a sudden burst of speed, sweep over a rise in a final symphony of flying hoofs, is a memorable experience.

THE HASH KNIFE OUTFIT:

system of law in Apache County. The giant Aztec was helpless prey for all the renegade Mormons, professional horse thieves, Navajos and hungry Mexicans in the country. Hash Knife cowboys themselves probably stole from the outfit as much as anyone. Many small cow outfits got their start with Hash Knife calves.

The Great Lost Art of Rustling was at its peak of perfection in those days. Men of skill and ingenuity applied their talents in ways that have never been excelled. The Hash Knife brand was exceptionally difficult to change, so that was not often attempted. The most common method of stealing was "sleeperin'" calves. Before spring roundup, the ambitious gentleman would sneak around making the company's ear mark on unbranded calves. When the outfit was gathering cattle, they would see the ear mark, presume the calf had already been branded, and leave it. After roundup, the thief would simply go back, collect his calves, change the ear marks, and put his own brand on them.

An enterprising Irishman named Dan Mahoney came to settle near Heber with a couple of oxen, his only possessions. I have been told that he would put his DM brand on Hash Knife calves, and then very carefully mark an M on the shoulder. At that time, it was range code for Mistake. At spring roundup, the cowboys would notice the M and decide everything had been taken care of, after which Mr. Mahoney went back and collected his calves. It was not unusual to see calves of many different brands following after Hash Knife cows.

Some of the methods were a little hard on the cows. One renegade named Bill Young actually took a slice of hide off the animal where the brand was, andsewed the hide back together again, so that no one could prove what the brand had been even by skinning it and looking at the inside.

The Aztec Company, occupying its leather cushioned chairs in Boston and New York, was helpless to do anything about the situation. Some of the foremen and wagon bosses were lenient to the point of being in on the rustling themselves. After all, they were all old range pals, and they didn't even know the names of most of the Eastern gentlemen. In 1887, Mr. Simpson, the local manager, called all his men together in an effort to stop thieving. Five of the men refused to help, drew their pay, and left for Tonto Basin. Most of the others weren't so honest.

Tom South, a Hash Knife cook, stole a bunch of Aztec cows, and drove them into Colorado where he sold them and started a saloon with the money. Shortly thereafter the saloon went broke. Tom South promptly returned to Arizona, and went back to work for the Hash Knife.

Almost everyone "had something" on everyone else. That is why it was wise to keep quiet. Years later, during prohibition, an old Hash Knife cowboy came upon two of his acquaintances making hootch down on the Leroux. When he threatened to tell the authorities about their still, they laughed and reminded him of the times he used to grab those old Hash Knife cows, stick their horns in the sand, and run off with the calves. He kept quiet.

In 1898, Burt Mossman was hired to manage the whole outfit. Tough, hard working, and scrupulously honest, he was just the man to put fear into the hearts

of the rustlers. He immediately fired 52 men from the payroll, and with the help of deputy sheriff Joe Bargeman, he began a search for rustlers and horse thieves. The year he arrived, eleven men were convicted and sent to prison at Yuma. Mossman was the best boss they ever had, but by that time it was too late to put the outfit back on its bow-legs. The combination of calamities had been fatal, and with the 'gos came its decline.

Its history had followed the cycle of the American cattle industry during the era of the open range. To begin with, it had over-stocked the range with typical American eagerness and short-sightedness. The land was grazed to death, so that when the drouth years came, there was no grass to hold what little moisture fell, and the grass withered and died, never to return in such abundance. Losses from rustling were heavy from the beginning. The Spanish-American War had brought cattle prices down. The severe winter of '98-'99 came in for the kill. In the spring of 1900 all the stock was liquidated.The youth of the old Hash Knife had been stormy, wasteful, and fascinating. Its old age was barren and sad. The faults of the outfit were not exclusive to them. They were the faults of almost every big cattle company in America at that time. The present success of ranching had to be built on its past failures. The old Hash Knife died appropriately with the birth of the 20th century. The Aztec Company sold most of its original holdings, except for about 200,000 acres which it continues to lease to ranchers at 154 an acre plus tax. It is carrying on in the fine old tradition of Edward Kinsley. It is ironic that the company has made money on everything except its original venture.

The brand and remnant were sold to Barney Stiles and later passed into the hands of Charlie Wyrick and Babbitt Brothers. The brand is no longer used. John McLaws bought the remnant of the horses. After spending a year getting those wild horses down from the timber, he had three carloads. When they were sold and shipped to Kansas City he still lacked $30 of being able to pay the railroad fare.

Like the stirrup-high grass, those days are lost and gone forever to the West. Those shoot-first-ask-questions-later days dominated by outlaw horses and outlaw men. Oh, they were dance to the fiddle days! (Gentlemen, please check your spurs at the door.) Dance to the pistol days! (Dance, damn you, on that fence, or your feet will be draggin' with lead.) Bronc breakin', back breakin', law breakin' days. Days of Red Top Rye at the Bucket of Blood Saloon-shootin' up the town on a peaceful afternoon. (Ooh, Mr. Wattron, give me a bottle of that there "Great Acme Remedy to Restore Nerves After Excess Drinking.") Fight in the bars over games of casino-fight on the range over unbranded calves-fight in the house over husbands and lovers . Mail-order wife days . Sheepman, cattleman, sheriff, thief-Texan, Mexican, Indian chief. Optimism was a Westerner-gambling, brawling, working, and roaring with laughter and cheap whiskey. And Waste was a Westerner.

What does all this have to do with the Hash Knife, you ask. It was the Hash Knife. It was what made the outfit what it was, and why no one in the Southwest will forget about the Hash Knife for a long, long time.

KINSHIP

The rugged hills stand cold, aloof, Yet dominate the northern rim Of desert lands. A hanging roof Of sky protects the interim Of space that makes a corridor Between the two. Though alien each From each by signs exterior, They hold the common powers that reach The heart of man. Who climbs the hills Finds friendliness and peace unguessed. The desert has a balm for ills, And to the searching soul brings rest.

NIGHT

Light-footed, mysteriously Veiled from sight Like a Moslem woman,. Comes the night.

OCOTILLO

Whence came this flower With flaming tongue To shatter dense Oblivion? The sunset-banners Snare the mountain; Spring juggles joy In a scarlet fountain.

VACATION BLUES

We saved each penny, nickel, and dime So that in the summer time We could spend it recklessly At the mountains or the sea. Then there came the unexpectedTeeth that must not be neglected; Broken glasses, doctor's bills, Prescriptions for expensive pills; Thus by sweltering July There was little you or I Could use for our well-earned vacation, Except, of course-imagination!

RAIN

A million hands on muted drums, It comes: Slanting and lyrical, pelting the parching land, Lending its miracle To crop and creek and tree; Washing your face of anxiety As you cup its coolness in your outstretched hand.

NUMBERING "89":

In your March issue, under Yours Sincerely, a letter asks if some effort might not be made to get the United States, Mexico and Canada to agree on a name or number for U. S. Highway 89, which would be uniform in the three countries.

I am glad to tell you we do have an organization known as 89'ers International Highway Association. Our first meeting was held at Guaymas, Mexico, two years ago and this past fall at Flagstaff, Arizona. Plans for a Canadian meeting are being made for this summer. It has been our thought not to try and change the numbers of any of the three highways, but on a common post carry the three shields 15-89-2 (using the existing shields) along with a strip saying "International." Our thought is that none of the three countries would care to give up their present number as too much trouble would be caused calling for new maps, etc. The plan was very enthusiastically received by Mexico. We have no doubt Canada will feel the same.

It is the dream of the 89'ers to have at some future date an International Highway from the northern tip of Alaska (and upon completion of the Pan American) to the Horn.

Mr. Lucado is certainly right. No other highway offers so many Parks and National Monuments and scenery as does "89."

TALIESIN:

When I saw the February issue of the ARIZONA HIGHWAYS, devoted to Frank Lloyd Wright and Taliesin, West, I had a great thrill.

I wondered if everyone knows (because I didn't until I ran across it by accident) why Frank Lloyd Wright's retreats are named "Taliesin." I came across it in reading Renen's "Poetry of the Celtic Races." Frank Lloyd Wright is of Welch descent and Renen says, "What Homer was to ancient Greece, the Poet Taliesin was to the Celtic race." He goes on to say that all races have what is known as their "Predestined Hour," which is "a time when they pass from simplicity to reflection and for the first time the treasuries of their nature are brought to light. Thus it was in the sixth century. when Taliesin awoke the people to achieve their greatest honor."

Today seems to be "Our Predestined Hour" the time when we must rise to greater things or perish. The everlasting and reincarnated spirit of Taliesin is born again in these retreats as Frank Lloyd Wright and his training of young artists "breathe a sout to animate their Clay" (Gray).

SCHOOL ROOM IN NEW ZEALAND:

The magazines you sent were welcomed by the children and I have never seen books so well cared for by kiddies. By the vote of the pupils in our class (aged 7-9 years) I cut pictures from one of the books and had them framed. These were prizes for good conduct and hard work in the class. Mark you-1 have to guard the books from the other teachers. I feel if they get their hands on those beautiful pictures it will be the last of them.

ROULADE

No poet ever thought it No master ever taught it No composer ever caught itThat gay, careless rapture Of a wild bird's song....

LONE SHEPHERD

Travel I will and travel I must To drive my sheep beyond the dust. No signpost marks the reach of space, No season stays upon earth's face: Where only silence hears my cry Alone we go, my sheep and I.

OPPOSITE PAGE

"PATH TO THE LONELY WINDMILL" BY CARLOS ELMER. While traveling on U.S. 60 from Show Low to Globe, the photographer noticed this field of tiny yellow flowers which was especially bright when viewed towards the sun. The well-used path to water offered an interesting method to lead the eye into the scene, and use of the wide-angle lens permitted both closup and long shot in one picture. This land is on the Fort Apache Indian Reservation, where descendants of once-fierce warriors now live peacefully and are very successful cattlemen. 4x5 inch Burke & James Press camera, 90mm Schneider Angulon lens, Ektachrome, f.18 at 1/10th second.

BACK COVER

"TOUCH OF SPRING IN DESERT HILLS" BY CHUCK ABBOTT. After a wet winter the desert flowers, such as these lupines, burst into acres of bloom. Unfortunately, wet seasons are five or ten years apart and though the desert cacti always bloom, the desert annuals occur more rarely and consequently are all the more appreciated. Place: near Coolidge Dam; Time: March, 1952; 5x7 Deardorff view camera, Ektachrome film, Ektar lens, 1/5th second at f.20.