Okay, so being 80 years old I admit to spending much of my remaining days reminiscing about adventures and experiences during my lifetime.
Between 1957 and 1960, I lived in Oakhurst, California, a small hamlet in the Sierra foothills. It was located just 13 miles from Yosemite Park, and in those days it only had a population of 357 men, women, and children.
My nearest friend, Bill, lived about a half mile north on a small 300 acre ranch. The two of us were both high school freshman, and because we both owned horses we often explored the National Forest areas surrounding Oakhurst. We had many hundred square miles of Oak Woodlands to explore. We could even ride to Bass Lake, four miles away as the crow flies.
On one of our adventures we stumbled upon and old, abandoned, dilapidated cabin. It was a humble wood structure with walls you could see through. The door had long since fallen off its hinges. A single window had been broken out allowing the nearby forest to invade.
Off to one side, the forest was consuming a pile of rusted tin cans.
I got off Sandy, my red dun Quarter Horse, and peered into the dark cabin. After my eyes adjusted to the dim light I could see the cabin floor was covered with forest debris and oak leaves. There was the remains of an old iron stove in one corner, and a rusting steel bed with exposed springs against the back wall.
A nervous Sandy was tugging on his reins, clearly agitated by this dark and dreary place. I was about to turn and get back on Sandy when my eyes picked up a shape that didn’t fit. I handed my rains to friend Bill and entered the cabin. There, under the window, and covered with Live Oak leaves was what could only be a willow cradleboard; long since abandoned in the decaying cabin.
I showed it to Bill and he agreed I had found a true Native America artifact, and maybe, a valuable treasure. We began making our way home, me clinging proudly to my valuable papoose board.
As we made our way along the edge of busy Highway 41, a middle aged gent spotted us and asked if he could see my new found booty. I handed the cradleboard to him, he examined it, and opined it looked to be willow, crafted by a Paiute or maybe Mono or Miwuk squaw.
He asked what I’d take for it, and I advised him it wasn’t for sale. He responded, pointing to his home behind him, saying he had a nifty antique Winchester rifle to trade.
DARN… he found my weakness. We rode down to his house and waited while he disappeared inside. In a couple of minutes he returned with a swell looking Winchester .22 Rimfire Single-Shot Rifle.
I reasoned that the cradleboard wasn’t complete — missing a hood and wrapping covers, and the Winchester would look mighty fine on the empty bracket of the four-gun rack in my bedroom.
Swell looking rifle
The trade being done I rode home thinking I’d gotten the better part of the trade. It sure was easier to ride Sandy toting a rifle instead of an unwieldy papoose board.
It didn’t take long to discover the rifle stock was cracked and repaired, and the first time I shot the rifle it split the shell casing from end to end. I never shot it again, but it did look fine on my four-gun rack.
It took many years to realize the cradleboard, incomplete as it was, was likely worth many times the value of a Model 1904 Winchester .22 Rimfire Single-Shot Rifle. When I think about it today the old saying, ‘never give a sucker an even break,’ comes to mind, but then I realize… dang few modern-day youngsters ever got to ride a horse into a National Forest and find a real Native American papoose board in an old, abandoned mountain cabin.
NOTE: Cabin, Cradleboard and Rifle photos are representative, and not the actual items in my story.
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