The horsemanship of the California vaquero has never, some say, been surpassed. Perhaps that's because one of their original heroes set such a high standard.
In California Vaqueros Arnold R. Rojas not only illustrates the rich traditions that govern the vaquero way of life, he also supplies a literary model. Here, the young narrator receives riding instruction from a venerable vaquero, Don Leonardo.
"California Vaqueros," painted by James Walker, 1875. Larger.
He took great pains to show the proper way to saddle a horse, which is the method used in Castile, he said, "Se ensilla, como en Castilla". First the bridle reins over the neck, then the bridle and bit, the bars of the mouthpiece one inch above the canines in a horse, and if a mare one inch and a half from the last tooth. The two fingers of the hand should fit loosely between the horse's jaw and the chin strap.
After saddling, he had me turn the horse around a couple of times. This paso de la muerte was because many horses dislike tight cinches, and the grave is ever yawning for the careless horseman. He gave me one of the great pleasures of my life when he helped me mount for my first horseback ride. Admonishing me to sit and ride like a gentleman, for the rules on riding laid down by Don Quixote in his advice to Sancho are still the standard in horsemanship, and the end to strive for by those who speak the tongue of Cervantes, though the old soldier has been dust these many years.
Arnold R. Rojas' classic California Vaquero was published in 1953, one of several works that preserve the lore of California's vaqueros.
Rojas autograph on frontispiece, These Were the Vaqueros, 1977. Larger.
Long before American cowboys rode the California range, there were the vaqueros of Hispanic California, men who lived a spare life and who valued personal integrity.
The vaquero's way was captured by writer Arnold Rojas who grew up in the company of vaqueros and knew well their way of life.
The vaquero's way of life gave him virtues which do not exist in this modern day, and at this distant time no man can judge a man of that era. His life was hard. He would stand shivering in the early morning cold, holding a cup of coffee in his shaking hand, then sit a horse all day in the driving sleet, chilled to the bone. He would ride from dawn to dusk in a cloud of alkali dust, his tongue parched and swollen, with rippling water in a mirage shimmering in the distance, with visions of all the water he had ever drunk or seen wasted haunting his memory, for memory plays queer, cruel tricks. The want of water was the vaquero's greatest hardship in the burning heat of a San Joaquin Valley summer. He often rode in a daze with visions of springs of cool water bubbling out of the pone-scented Sierra, of canals of water from which he had never bothered to drink. And when he came to drink, it would more than likely be out of a reeking water hole that contained the putrid remains of some animal.
Arnold Rojas published The Vaquero in 1964, one of several books that he wrote about the original California cattlemen and their vanishing way of life.
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