Page 170 - Speedhorse February 2018

“Good morning to you, Mrs. Skinner,” Ab said as he feigned a tip of his floppy hat. Ab wasn’t dressed like most of the local horsemen. He had on an old floppy hat, flat brimmed, not the traditional Stetson Western. And, he wore bib overalls rather that the usual levis. As a matter of fact, he looked more like a cotton farmer than a horseman. Of course Ab had a purpose in dressing that way. Ab usually had a purpose in everything he did.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Nichols,” Mrs. Skinner said as she pushed her own floppy
hat back from her forehead. “And how is your favorite son today?”
“Just which one of my sons did you have in mind, Mrs. Skinner?” Ab asked as if he didn’t know.
“I was thinking of your youngest,” Mrs. Skinner said with a twinkle in her eyes.
“If you were referring to Clabber, I’d say he is fair health,” Ab said. “As a matter of fact, I was hoping to give him a little work out today.”
“You won’t get a race with us, Ab,” Mr. Skinner said as he walked up and shook hands with Ab. “You might get a race with those Gypsies over there,” he said with a wave of his hand in the direction of where several horses and buggies were standing near a small grove of mesquite trees.
The term Gypsy as used by horse people in those days had nothing to do with the nationality of the people. It was a term used rather loosely to describe the kind of lifestyle of certain people. These people (Gypsies) traveled all over the southwest, usually in light weight wagons or buggies. They
lived mostly by buying and selling horses to local people. And, they usually had at least one horse that they would race when the right occasion presented itself. Some of them were very astute horsemen and some of them just thought they were.
Ab walked over to the Gypsy camp with us boys following close behind. He walked around and looked at each of their horses
as if in great admiration of what he saw. A large unkempt fat man from the Gypsy camp walked out to meet him.
“Could I interest you in a good horse today, sir?” he asked Ab.
“No, I wasn’t thinking of buying any,” Ab said. “But I do admire good horseflesh when I see it. And you do have several good ones here.”
“Well, thank you, sir,” the fat man said. “Perhaps you had racing on your mind then.” “Now that you mention it, I do have a big
gawky stud colt over there,” Ab said with a wave of his hand, “that I been wantin’ to try out. My son Buck wants to make a rope hoss out of him, but I can’t make up my mind.”
“Which one of these horses would you be interested in running him at?” asked the man.
“I’ve heard men say that they could tell running hoss just by looking,” said Ab. “But I don’t lay claim to that kind of know how. I’ll just have to leave that up to you. I do have to admit tho, that all of these horses here look too fast for that big, green colt of mine.”
By this time a tall, raw-boned man (by the name of Yates, as I recall) wearing a high-peaked hat walked up and was listening.
“Let’s take a look at your colt, old timer,” Yates said. “Maybe we can work something out.” Mr. Yates was apparently the leader of the Gypsy group.
We all walked over to where Clabber and the ever present small boy were. Clabber wasn’t a pretty horse according to today’s standards. He stood well over 15 hands and weighed well over 1200 pounds. He had extremely well muscled hips and hind
legs. The muscle seemed to extend from his hips up along the loin and over the back. His chest was deep and broad and his forearms were well muscled all the way down to his knees. He was fairly heavy boned throughout, which gave one the impression that this was a horse that would never go lame. His most distinguishing characteristics were his gaskin muscles and his color. His gaskin muscles reminded me of a weight lifter’s biceps. His color was a highly unusual sorrel. Unusual in that it is very difficult
to describe and there have been few horses that I am aware of that had the same color (Other than Clabber’s progeny of course). A very light shade of liver chestnut is about as close as I could come to describing his color.
I never did understand why he was named Clabber. The name was so totally undescriptive.
He was majestic, he was powerful, he was all heart, and he was so very, very fast. I would have named him something like Sovereign, Regent, Emperor, Imperator, Lord or King. His pedigree also illustrates a horse of exceptional breeding, particularly for
the 1930s. His sire, My Texas Dandy, was by the Thoroughbred Porte Drapeau and out of Sadie M., whose sire was Little Dick. Clabber’s dam, Blondie S., was by Lone Star, whose sire was Billy Sunday.
Of course no two people see a horse in the same way and apparently Mr. Yates didn’t see the same things in Clabber that I did. Although he did see some things that his friends seemed to have missed.
“How far were you thinking about running?” Yates asked Ab.
“Well, this colt is kinda tall and leggy,” Ab said. “I figger, it will take at least 440 yards for him to get stretched out.”
“No! That’s too far. None of our horses can go that distance,” Yates said.
“Now, just a minute,” the fat man said. “Old Smokey just might be able to go that distance.”
Yates and the fat man walked off a short distance and appeared to be having an argument about the race. The fat man walked over to one of their buggies and called to someone inside. Pretty soon a small man emerged. His head and arms were about the size one would expect of a normal sized man, but his body and legs were
so small that they didn’t appear to belong to his upper part. Not wanting to miss anything, I walked close enough to hear their conversation.
“Spider,” the fat man said, “this old farmer wants to run his plow horse at Old Smokey and Yates is backing off. You take a look at him and see what you think.”
In 1940, Clabber was awarded the honors he so richly deserved: World Champion and Champion Stallion
168 SPEEDHORSE, February 2018
LOOKING BACK - AN EXCERPT FROM JANUARY 1980 ISSUE