Meet Wild Horse Annie
Hello friends! My name is Velma Johnston – betcha you don’t know anyone else named Velma! Later in my life I was given the nickname, “Wild Horse Annie”. Let me tell you how I became known as Wild Horse Annie.
I was born over 100 years ago, the oldest of four children to Joseph Bronn and Gertrude Clay. My father operated a freighting service (horse-drawn wagons and carts) using many horses, including some mustangs. My Pa would sometimes let me go with him on his short hauls.
I saw my first herd of wild horses on one of those trips. We were freighting a load of wool over the mountains to California. The mustangs were up on a mesa, running into the wind with their tails streaming out behind and their manes lifted like flames. Just seeing them made me feel like I was with them. I could hear them snorting, and their hoofs ringing on the rocks. I could feel my own hair blowing and my lungs gulping for air; I shivered in joy at such a feeling of freedom.
Part of the Virginia Range herd, horses that Annie worked hard to save.
Mustangs have played a big role in our family’s history. My Grandma likes to tell the story of how a mustang saved my Pa’s life. You might ask, “How could a mustang save a baby?!” The story goes like this.
Grandpa was a foreman of a big silver mine in Ione, Nevada. The mine was shut down leaving the miners without any way to support their families. The mine-owner left for California without paying his crew, promising he’d come back to pay the miners. He didn’t come back. So, Grandpa paid all the miners so they could leave Nevada and find other jobs. But now Grandma and Grandpa had to leave too, but they didn’t have any money.
Grandma sewed bedsheets together to form the canopy for the wagon, and to give them some shelter from the wind and dust. Grandpa hitched up four of the mustangs he had gentled and trained and they were on their way. One of the mares (Nelly) had a little colt who followed along behind the wagon.
The wilderness was filled with choking dust. Their horses kicked up clouds of dust turning the brown-coated mustangs to gray and the gray ones to white. The little colt was fuzzy-furred with dust and his whiskers white like a goat’s! They portioned out their water, but there never was enough. Grandma didn’t have enough milk for the baby, so Grandpa milked the mare who was still nursing her colt. Grandma spooned the milk into Pa’s mouth and he survived!
They were thankful for Nelly’s milk, but she didn’t have enough milk for both Pa and her colt. Grandpa had a hard decision to make – should he destroy the colt to save his son? Do you think the colt was spared? Tune in next time and think positive thoughts – you won’t be disappointed!
i Tracey Fern, “Wild Horse Annie, Friend of the Mustangs.”
ii Marguerite Henry, “Mustang, Wild Spirit of the West.”
