The Ottawa Free Trader

Yolo,

The following well written and interesting account of the capture of this splendid and far-famed animal, is from the California Democratic State Journal, and will be read with much interest:

Capture At Last.—The Prairie Chief, or wild horse of Yolo, the best native trotter in the State, and the most enduring animal, perhaps, in any country, has at last been captured. He has run the gauntlet long and well—has baffled for years the repeated attempts of many famed Vaqueros to take him with the lasso, but horse flesh being but flesh, he had to bend to the skill and enthusiasm of the multitude. For more than four years plans and plots have been laid to ensnare him, every mode of warfare adopted that ingenuity could devise and man execute, but throwing his tail aloft, like a Moslem standard, he laughed at them all.

Years ago, more than forty horsemen mounted on the very flower of the ranches have chased him time and again, often running from sun to sun, and occasionally have they hunted him the second day, when he proved to be as fresh as on the first. And never until Wednesday last, so far as we can learn, was he seen even when hottest pursued, to break his trot. Trotting, he could run around most of them galloping. Once, some two years since, was he corralled, but only for a moment. The Barker brothers, the Wolfskill brothers, Senor Luco and others, knowing his great speed and being unimpressed with his strength and beauty, desired to possess him. One man or a dozen could not catch. That had often been tried. They collected several hundred of their horses, drove them in the vicinity of "Prairie Chief," got him among them and with fifty vaqueros rushed the band into the corral. No sooner did the "Prairie Chief" see the enclosure by which he was surrounded, than, with one fierce bound, he cleared by several feet the bristling posts of the great corral. The Wolfskill's then offered a reward of $500 for him in sound condition, and it is said the Barker's increased the reward to $1,500. He was then driven to the mountains on the west of the plain in the hopes of forcing him in a narrow pass when they could surround and lasso him. The attempt was made several times during the year, but only once did they get the lasso on him, and then he snapped it instantly.—Since then they have tried to shoot him, but none could accomplish it. He would keep in the open plain and let no man or thing within reach of him. This fall, a number of farmers living in Yolo have made "bees" and given him chase. The last one succeeded.

Knowing for several days that he had been running in the Potrero hills, lying on the west bank of the Sacramento where it empties in the Suisun Bay, some thirty persons well mounted assembled there last Tuesday, encamped all night, and by daylight next morning up and gave him chase. The Prairie Chief, when he first discovered them, broke for the plains, and, heading northward, at tremendous speed, dashed over the rolling earth right into the sink of Potrero. To that point only a few followed, it being arranged that they were to take turns in the chase, and knowing too that he would have to turn there and be forced toward his starting ground. As was expected, he took the back track, and the horses then scattered along the plain for nearly thirty miles, dashed at him by turns, and thus run him at his full speed—he trotting all the way—to the Potrero hills again. Thence they routed him once more, and started him north nearly up to west of Sacramento; back again to Cache Creek slough, where he turned once more, jaded and worn, and was lassoed some eight miles below the city by Mr. John Adamson. It was dark when the noose was thrown up on his neck, and thus did the wonderful horse run the entire day at full stretch, (if we may so speak of a trotter,) without a moment's breathing time. During the last forty or fifty miles of his course, when closely pursued, he broke his pace and launched out into a gallop. It is estimated by those who know the ground well, that he traveled from 150 to 180 miles. Mr. Adamson has him secure and fast with strong riattas, but none have yet ventured within kicking or biting distance of him. The old residents have known him for ten years, and he is believed to be about fourteen years of age. He is a gray horse, with darkish mane and tail, and fourteen hands high.