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The bravery, intelligence and heart of these horses are something to behold. Following are true stories about one of the Quien Sabe Ranch stallions, Chino. (IBHR 7)

Robert walked easily along the trail with Chino’s reins hung loosely over his arm as Chino followed along packing a deer. It was quiet and pleasant with the smell of pine and fresh fall air. Robert was enjoying the feel of the outdoors and the success of a hunt. His dog, Brio, trotted along with him. He was supposed to be back in camp - had been left there, as he was not a very desirable hunting companion, but there he was, so make the best of it. The three continued, content in the moment, when Brio, with hackles up and a growl in his throat, came trotting up from behind. Robert realized there was trouble and reached around for his gun which was in the scabbard of the packed saddle. Chino was all alert - ears forward, nostrils wide, ready to fly, but Robert was with him and he stood his ground as the rifle was swung around just in time to see a sow bear running head-on toward the trio, with intent to dispatch the intruders which had inadvertantly separated her from her young ones. With no choice but to shoot, Robert dropped her within 20 feet of her target, (him), while Chino through the whole episode stood solid. Had he “blown” Robert would have been pulled away, the shot would have not been fired, or gone wild, and we leave it to each imagination what might have been the result.

Chino was been a special horse through the years. Standing a gallant 13-1 1/2 hands, 875 lbs., he was the product of Smoke Balleau and Ponca - bred back to 3/4 Smoke Balleau, proving the soundness of Smoke Balleau genes, for though closely bred, Chino had no flaws. He was vigorous from the start and training him was rewarding, as he grew in trust and cooperation.

Bigger is better? Some scoffed when they saw him, but there was enough horse packed in that relatively small body that at about 10 years old, when through difficult circumstances it was necessary to lease him for a couple of years, he won 7 of 8 endurance rides, and came in second in the other, carrying a 200 pound rider, (not including tack).

Speaking of endurance... A sweet “loss” brought tears to the eyes of his closest admirers, with his demonstration of ability and heart. Chino was entered in a 25 mile endurance ride, with 52 other horses. The ride was on a hot summer day, in the hills behind Boise, Idaho. As usual for the short 25’ers, the 10 miles to the first vet. stop was basically a sprint, which all entrants performed very well. Chino, however, did not come down to “criteria” - his breathing was too fast for the “go ahead” call. Robert and Chino waited, and waited,... and waited, while the rest of the horses were all gone Chino got more and more restless. Finally, about 20 minutes later, the veterinarians really took a look at him and commented that he was in great shape... what was going on? At that point Robert told them that Chino was a “panter” - his natural breathing rate was short and fast. One of the men had heard of that, and with one more close look after that 27 minute stop, they told him he was free to go. Chino was ready. He took off in the fast canter that was his favorite and most efficient gait passing one rider after another. In fact, he passed 51 riders and missed first place honors by running across the finish line just behind the official winner, who was being led across. Who really won? In our hearts, it was Chino.

Bigger is better? The Hell’s Canyon Breaks of Idaho is some of the steepest, most challenging terrain to be found. Living in the area Robert agreed to help a neighboring rancher round up some cattle in those mountains. He and Chino started off early Monday morning, cantering the 20 miles from home to the designated area. Chino was full of energy and in good shape, for he had been ridden regularly in that country for many weeks. His feet, always unshod, were hard and resilient and his legs, as always, strong. He spent the day climbing and descending the mountains, working through brush, around downfalls, over and between rocks, searching, finding, and moving cows. Many of the riders changed horses at noon, but Chino didn’t have a back up. Didn’t need one. They continued Tuesday and Wednesday in the same routine, with every man but Robert on a new horse daily or twice daily. Thursday the “stakes” were heightened a bit. Bulls are the originating factor in the phrase “bull-headed”. If you have had a chance to deal with them, you know that they give life and meaning to the words. Thursday and Friday were designated “Chino get the bulls days”. The toughest job that week, for they (the bulls) get quite attached to their place, and “bull” into brush, draws, and rough areas that the average person would as soon avoid. But Chino gamely performed the job. Perhaps the main question was whether the rider could keep up with the horse, but he too was in good shape. On Friday the task was finished. Was Chino played out? A run all the way home negated that possiblity. Just one cowboy was willing to say “You have a good horse, Robert.” The rest couldn’t bring themselves to admit it.

Chino seemed to have a bit of mountain goat in him. Short-coupled, narrow, stout and strong, he was always a sure-footed horse well able to maneuvre on trails and through compromising places. This ability was well shown on one ride where Robert and Chino rode a trail that broke down to no trail and rather suddenly turned into an area full of large, solidly settled rocks. Before they realized it they were in a no return situation. Robert dared ride no further, so he dismounted and tied the reins and lead rope loosely but securely to the saddle, and began to jump and climb out to the far side, calling to Chino to “come ahead - you’re on your own”. Chino did. With good strong, full-soled, gripping bare feet he adroitly hopped from one rock to the next, with never a miss, until he was safely out of trouble. Oh for a video cameraman at the right moment!

Winter riding was a regular part of Chino’s duty. He and Robert, again in the Hell’s Canyon area, were traveling near the edge of the Wild Horse River, leading a well-packed Piel Verde. The river was running winter cold, with ice chunks, and the trail was treacherous. Not an enviable situation but when you live “back in” there are times when supplies must be procured. As they made their way along the trail, they came to an icy rock face, which had been successfully traveled in the past, but that day it was icier than usual. Perhaps Piel Verde, not so seasoned as Chino, held back a bit. Whatever the reason, Chino lost balance and footing. He wanted desparately to turn and scramble back up, away from the river. Robert knew if he tried it, they would both fall and roll, and probably the pack horse too, so he asked Chino to plunge in. Chino plunged. They went under, came up, with Robert off, hanging on to the saddle horn with the pack horse rope dallied around so it could be loosed. On they struggled and swam, for two or three hundred yards, being swept along by the river. They finally came to a gravel bar where both of them could touch bottom. Piel Verde, following, was swept out and away a bit, still forced to swim. Robert managed to crawl out to the bank, and Chino followed. The two of them were then able to provide stability for Piel Verde, who managed to get his footing also, and climb out. The three soaked and weary adventurers made their way home, a distance of 8 miles, Robert occassionally running along beside, shaking his clothes free of some of the ice that froze as he went.

Chino has been a steady and loyal companion. More than once, when Robert has been on a long ride, or sometimes when it was just too pleasant a day to resist, he would remove Chino’s bridle and let him graze, while he (Robert) lay down and dozed. After a bit he would awaken to the sound of Chino munching grass right beside him, free and content.

Chino, up to the time he died, was going strong. In the spring 2000 he with customary energy, moved a bunch of yearling steers (the rebellious, willful “teenagers” of the cow world) away from a pasture into which they were determined to enter. Not because there was better feed but simply because it was forbidden. Chino had not been privileged to have much exercise that winter, but was game for a 4 hour stint which covered about 10-12 miles over rocky hillocks and through sage brush, pushing recalcitrant cattle where they did not want to go.

In all the years of riding and working, Chino was never foot sore, lame, or unable to measure up to the many demanding tasks that were asked of him.

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We lost Chino in July of 2001, to predators. He is sorely missed.