The Parable of the Lost Saddle
By Hal Haralson, Austin, TX
I was traveling North on Highway 70, about ten miles south of Sweetwater, Texas. It was April 29, 2003, and I had never been down this route before.
This is ranch country. Few trees, rolling hills, and mesas leading into canyons. I could imagine buffalo and deer roaming this land years ago. It was home to the Indians.
My thoughts were on the committee meeting at noon. Buck`s Bar-B-Que in Sweetwater sounded like the down-home place it turned out to be.
I was meeting four of my classmates from the 1953 graduating class from LoraineHigh School. We were the largest class in the history of the school . . . there were twenty-three of us. Loraine is a farming community twenty miles west of Sweetwater. We lived on a 400-acre farm eight miles north of town. We were closer to Hermleigh than we were to Loraine.
As I drove along, deep in thought, I passed a tall steel archway, the entrance to the Double Heart Ranch. On the top of the gates were two hearts about two feet across.
I slowed down and turned around. The gate was obviously old. If I entered, I would be late to my meeting and I am compulsive about being on time. But I was intrigued.
I opened the gate and drove through. I had waited too long to pass this up. I was coming to the end of a journey that had lasted sixty-four years.
The story begins in 1939-my fourth year on earth.
By the time I was four years old I was riding horseback almost every day. Since there was only one horse on our farm, my selections of mounts was somewhat limited.
"Old Mary" was a red sorrel mare my father had traded for a bull. She looked as old as she was. That accounted for part of her name. I had an aunt named Mary, but I don`t think she had anything to do with the other part.
Since there was no saddle on the farm except for Papa`s, I rode bareback. I could ride better without a saddle than trying to reach stirrups that were much too long for me.
The only way I could get on Old Mary was to lead her up to the board fence around the cowpen. Since she was a gentle mare, she would stand in place until I climbed the fence and placed my left leg over her back and crawl on.
In a flash I became an Indian (who, of course, rode bareback). Old Mary and I chased cowboys up and down hills, and leaped over cactus and huge canyons (about six feet across).
I had no problem staying on until one day a jackrabbit jumped right in front of us before we got to his hiding place.
Old Mary went left and I went right. I got up, dusted myself off and caught the horse. I had to lead her to the barn to get back on her again.
Then one day my world changed. Papa came home from a stock sale and showed me the most wonderful gift I had ever been given. In the bed of the pickup was a kid saddle with stirrups I could reach. This was no Sears & Roebuck saddle. It was custom made by R & R Saddlery of San Angelo, Texas. He had traded a cow and a calf for a saddle.
Stamped into the leather skirt of the saddle on each side were two hearts. On the cantle was the name "Billie" engraved into the leather.
I rode the saddle for years until I was too big for it. After that, my two younger brothers used it. Papa sold it because he had no use for it after his sons had grown.
Fifteen years later, when his first grandson was old enough to ride, Papa spent three months locating the saddle and bought it back. When Brad outgrew it, we hung it in the barn. It has been hanging in my barn, unused, for the last twenty years.
For sixty-four years I have wondered what the double hearts stood for and who Billie was.
I was about to find out.
I drove up a dirt road for about half a mile. On my left were three earthen dams on a creek that had no water. At one time these tanks (ponds to some of you) were filled with spring water. On the gate a sign said, "Pay for water at the ranch house." There had been better days.
I knocked on the door and a man about seventy-five years old came to the door and stepped out. He kept two dogs back by holding the door half shut. The way they barked I was glad they were kept in.
"What do you want?" I could tell he was not interested in visitors on a hot afternoon.
I introduced myself. Then I told him about the saddle my father had given me sixty years ago: "He bought it at the cattle sale in ColoradoCity. It had two hearts in the skirts and the name Billie on the cantle. I`ve wondered who Billie was and what the hearts stood for all these years."
He interrupted me. "Just a minute." He stuck his head through the door and yelled, "Ma come out here just a minute."
Only then did W. A. Oatman introduce himself and his wife, Audrea.
"Tell her what you told me," he demanded.
I told Audrea the story of my saddle and she got tears in her eyes. "That was Billy`s saddle," she exclaimed. "It was stolen from the Tack Room about 1940. Billy, my sister`s son, died in a plane crash in 1950."
They invited me in and offered something to drink. The 4,000-acre ranch had been bought by her father, Ollie Cox, in 1923. When he died she and her sister inherited the ranch.
The house resembled a museum. "That was the last buffalo killed on the ranch," W. A. stated as he proudly pointed to the head mounted on the wall.
I left after about an hour of stories about Billy and the Double Heart Ranch. They gave me a copy of the newspaper story (with pictures) of their 50th wedding anniversary. It was in the Roscoe Times.
I had made two new friends.
By the time I got to Sweetwater, I knew what I was going to do.
One month later I called and asked if I could drop by the ranch the coming Tuesday.
"Sure, we`ll be here. We`ll be glad to see you."
I put the little saddle in the trunk of my car and drove the 225 miles to Maryneal, which is the closest town. I drove through the gate of the Double Heart Ranch.
The Oatmans came out and I opened my trunk. There were tears of joy as the saddle that had been lost over 60 years was welcomed back home.
W. A. wanted to know, "How much?" My reply, "It`s not for sale. It`s a gift. The little saddle is back where it belongs."
This was one of the most tender moments I have ever experienced. I eased out the door and left as this old couple embraced and shared memories of the days when their nephew rode the saddle.
As I locked the gate I looked up at the double hearts and it reminded me of my journey.
Jesus told the parable of the "Prodigal Son" who strayed from home-was lost for years-and was welcomed home by his Father when he returned.
God made me. I became lost. He bought back his creation and welcomed me home.
