The White Bell Mare
Ashcroft, 1888

Photo copyright to Jolene Cummings, granddaughter of Judge Henry Castillou

The White Bell Mare

Spring had come early to Ashcroft, and with it came the wrangling and bringing in of horses from the surrounding mountains and sage-covered hills. The roundup had taken the better part of a week, and now Cataline’s men were busy breaking the wilder ones back to the packsaddle.

One man would hold the horse’s head, while two others strapped on the packsaddle, or aparejo as it was commonly known. A couple of sandbags were attached using the famous diamond hitch, and everyone backed off to watch the animal buck itself out. Most of the older horses stood there and snorted in resignation, but the younger ones would scream at the indignity, and give everyone a pretty good show before capitulating to the irritating weight on their backs.

It was hot and dusty work, and Cataline and his partner Joe Castillou enjoyed the relaxation of the Ashcroft Hotel Saloon at the end of each day. They and their men would commandeer the biggest table in the bar and order up a bottle or two of whiskey or rum, though Cataline usually started off with his favourite cognac.

Invariably other patrons, both locals and men who were just passing through, would be drawn to this interesting crew. Many of the travelers arrived on the newly built Canadian Pacific Railway, as Ashcroft was the main jumping off point for the Cariboo Trail. Others had made their way north on the treacherous Cariboo Road from Yale; prospectors, farmers, and future ranchers. All were treated to Cataline’s unique brand of hospitality.

When a newcomer was feeling at ease with the group, or at least as comfortable as one could be while attempting to follow his rapid, multilingual conversation, Cataline would pour himself another glass. This drink would go down at the same speed as the one before it, with one exception.

Cataline would open his big hand and cup his palm, pouring into it the remaining finger of liquor left in his glass. He then brought his hand up to his head and would massage the liquid into his long, curly locks, saying, "A liddle insida, a liddle outsida. Bon, she maka da hair grow!" A hearty chuckle would follow at the astounded look on the stranger’s face.

The day soon arrived when the Hudson Bay Company’s order was ready for the pack train. The street was alive with mules, horses, and packers. Bundles and crates were piled outside the HBC Trading Post, ready for loading. The usual crowd of onlookers made use of what shade there was as the sun rose higher in the sky.

Cataline and Castillou worked among the company, giving an occasional order to their men, but most of the labor was accomplished with minimal conversation. The packers talked more to the animals than to each other, a common occurrence during loading.

Both partners were from the same area in the French Pyrenees, and had the same powerful, stocky build. They drew looks of admiration from the crowd as they hoisted heavy sacks onto the aparejos. One fellow, quite fascinated with Cataline since witnessing the previous night’s hair massage, could only exclaim in amazement as he watched.

At one point the packer was close enough to hear the gentleman’s delighted comments, and turned to favour him with a grin.

"My, what a strong man you are, Mr. Cataline!" said the fellow, who had introduced himself as John Carter.

The Frenchman laughed. "Hah! Dat’s nothing. My partner Joe, he lift a horse!"

Carter stared at him, and shook his head. "Mr. Cataline, you are pulling my leg. No one can lift a horse."

Cataline nodded his head vigorously. "Oui! Ya! I bet you bottle good cognac he lift a horse."

The gentleman smiled uncertainly. He knew something was up, but his curiosity compelled him to continue. "All right, you’re on. I’ll buy you a bottle of cognac if he can lift a horse."

The packer’s dark eyes danced as he whistled for Dave Wiggins. "Tell Joe bring dat bell mare here."

The crowd of onlookers surged over to watch the proceedings, some casting knowing glances at each other. Joe Castillou led the white bell mare to a space right in front of Carter, and removed her packsaddle. The mare was small, but still weighed about 450 pounds. He looked at the man, as if to ask if he was ready to watch this.

Carter nodded, and said, "Go ahead, sir."

Castillou stroked the mare, then braced himself and wrapped his arms around her legs. As he grunted and began to lift, the little mare folded her legs under her. Joe kept lifting, until there was at least three inches of clearance between her hooves and the ground. He held her there for a few moments, and set her down, amidst cheers and whistles from the crowd.

Carter beamed, still shaking his head in disbelief, and clapped Castillou on the back. "One bottle of cognac it is! If I hadn’t seen it... -well, let’s go and get it. And let me buy you a drink at the bar before you go. That was incredible."

They had their drink while the men finished loading the pack train. Cataline and Castillou stowed their cognac away for later, and as the mules and horses filed away with the white bell mare in the lead, John Carter could still be seen looking after them, an enigmatic smile on his face.

Two elderly gentlemen were seated on the porch of the store. They grinned at each other, and one said, "Well, those two Frenchies found another greenhorn to buy them a bottle."

Replied the other, "Yup. That sure is a good trick!"

By Irene Bjerky

This story is an embellishment of a true story told by Judge Henry Castillou, 'Cowboy Judge of the Cariboo', the son of Joe Castillou. It was recorded by Imbert Orchard for his radio program titled "People in Landscape". Transcript courtesy of the BC Archives.

The White Bell Mare Ashcroft, 1888

The White Bell Mare
Ashcroft, 1888