Andy Goss hangs on tight as Kiel Malone, center, and Clay Bates try to saddle an entry in the wild cow race. (Baker City Herald/S. John Collins).

By JACQUES VON LUNEN

Baker City Herald

andquot;Seventeen,andquot; mumbles the young cowboy in a slightly embarrassed tone. But Erik Steen shouldn’t worry about age discrimination in this group.

He’s only a few years younger than the oldest rider at this rodeo.

It’s the Fourth. It’s the Stampede. It’s a group of young cowboys from Oregon and beyond coming to Haines to hang out with their friends, prove their mettle, and not get thrown.

Jared Bain, 24, is one of the oldest riders getting ready for the first event in the area behind the chutes.

andquot;I guess if you’re gonna get beat up like this in your 30s, you’ll really wanna get paid for it,andquot; he says with a good-natured laugh.

At this level, it’s more about having fun, explains Bain, who is originally from Haines. Last year this event ended up being the highest-paid for him, after he won in the bareback bronco category.

Prizes this year ranged from $500 to $1,000.

The freight trains’ whistling behind the arena only adds to the horses’ whinnying and the handlers’ shouted commands to set up the perfect evening for a rodeo.

The broncos stomp into the bucking chutes, where handlers cinch flank straps on each anxious animal, passing the ends to each other underneath the rump.

andquot;Should we go one more?andquot; bullfighter Kevin Allender asks the horse he’s working on.

The consulted horse doesn’t respond, and Allender in white face paint and huge baggy shorts gives the strap one more hearty tug.

The riders have put on their protective vests. Cushioned pads atop their shoulders prevent neck injuries. Each takes special care to pull the leather glove on his left hand, the one holding on to the grip just behind the horses withers, tight, very tight over his hand. The glove is tied at the wrist with a leather string. That hand will be the only reliable connection to the bucking horse, so it needs to be secure.

Bain says the ride is a blur. All one can do is react to the horse’s whims. Every move is instinctive.

Many of the riders have taped their wrists, forearms or knuckles to protect and support weak links in their bodies.

The pick-up men, experienced cowboys on seasoned horses, are in position in the arena.

When the chutes fly open it becomes apparent why these broncos were chosen. They buck wildly, yes, but they buck in style.

Erik Steen describes the ideal bareback horse:

andquot;You like them to buck in a straight line.andquot;

Jacey Miller agrees:

andquot;If they jump and kick high they’re nice to ride.andquot;

Few riders manage to stay on for the required eight seconds, and the spectacle may not look like a andquot;nice ride,andquot; but it sure looks a lot nicer than what the ranch-saddle broncos have in store for their riders.

But Steen prefers the andquot;trashy horsesandquot; used in that category.

andquot;They are the rejects of the other events,andquot; he says with the pride of one who enjoys riding hell on four legs.

Those rejects cement their reputation. Most of the broncos twist, turn and roll to rid themselves of the annoyance on their backs.

Elegant? No.

Scary? Oh, yeah.

And that’s not the worst of it.

Meet Pancho Villa. Rebellious as his namesake, the dark, robust gelding tries everything to prevent his rider from even getting out of the chute. He drops nearly to his knees to crush the rider against the bars.

When the gate flies open the bronco goes berserk. His rider goes down fast they have barely left the enclosure but, unlike others, the horse does not calm down.

The massive animal twists so furiously that he flips up into the air, and lands on his back with a thud. He bolts up instantly and continues to rage, sending the handlers scrambling across the barricade.

Everyone behind the chutes is incredulous at the sight of 1,200 pounds of horse flying through the air upside down.

But not every cowboy’s luck of the draw is so lousy.

The assignment of horse or bull to rider is completely random. Or, as Jacey Miller puts it:

andquot;They put our names in a hat, and they put all the horses names in another hat, and then you get what you get.andquot;

That means some end up with less-than-diabolic steeds.

In fact, many of the cowboys entering the ranch-saddle event focus as much on their showmanship as they do on the wild ride.

Cowboys riding ranch-saddle don’t wear any protective gear. Rather, some don evening ties and fancy vests. A sense of style, while important in all contests, is mandatory here.

One rider spends the last couple of seconds before the buzzer waving his hat, a gesture that is not even allowed in bareback.

As the evening progresses, those who’ve competed in multiple events are visibly worse for the wear.

Thad Welsh hovers above a horse in the chute. The floral pattern of his Western shirt is obscured by the crusted mud he picked up getting off a bareback earlier. His blond razor stubble has gathered the dust that lies over the arena like a fine mist.

And he’s about to pick up more souvenirs from the stampede.

He’s drawn one of those twisted andquot;rejects,andquot; one who turns sideways and jumps everywhere but straight.

Thad goes down hard, the bucking horse’s hoof missing his head by mere fractions of an inch. Trying to brace his fall he injures his arm, and later sports a sling.

andquot;I’m all right,andquot; he assures his friends and competitors later.

Sometimes things don’t turn out so well.

Two years ago, in college in Texas, Jacey Miller got kicked in the shoulder as he came down off the horse and again in the arm after he had landed. The results: a broken right shoulder blade and a broken left wrist.

Immobilized on both sides he had to take it easy.

andquot;All I could do is sit around the house and get fat,andquot; he remembers.

andquot;My wife was not happy with that.andquot;

The dangers inherent in the sport are visible even in the cute category.

Mutton busting is the point of entry to the sport for 5-year-olds. The crowd cheers on the boys and girls braving rides on galloping sheep with names such as Dolly Parton andquot;she’s a little big around the middle,andquot; quips the announcer and Lucille Ball.

But it’s not all fun and games. One boy locks on to a fast-moving sheep. But sheep aren’t as clever as horses. The crowd’s delight turns to dismay as everyone realizes the mutton is headed straight for the wall.

He slams his thick skull into the arena fence, throwing his young rider forward with force. Seconds later the boy is hiding his bloodied nose in his dad’s shirt collar.

Luckily this event comes with its own set of grade-school rodeo clowns.

The little guys, dressed up in pink wigs and make-up that from a distance makes it look like they brought their pacifiers, take on the duties of their older counterparts. They help up tossed riders, chase the wooly demons toward the exit and provide comic relief, kicking their heels to the music.

Back at the chutes, the cowboys aren’t as snappy as earlier in the day. Many have already competed in several events. Visibly fatigued, they hang out in clusters, joking. They may be competing against each other, but they’re a team too.

andquot;We’re all like brothers,andquot; says Jared Bain.

They showcase their camaraderie in the wild cow races. Three cowboys to a team, they share the task of subduing, saddling and finally riding a steer. All six competing teams are released from the chutes at the same time. The arena turns into a melee of hooves, horns, and strong arms.

Erik Steen emerges from the cloud of dust on top of a saddled bull. While he’s just hanging on at first, by the end of his ride he looks comfortable enough to take the steer down Main Street.

His teammates sharing the victory are Chance Moore, and Willie Duncan, who had earlier felt the fury of Pancho Villa underneath him.

While for many the day is winding down, some are just getting started. The most anticipated event is still ahead.

As the sun paints the clouds orange, cowboys go through the moves necessary for this next ride. They hold on to imaginary ropes, lean back and wave their right hands in the air, slowly. Their faces mirror the serious task ahead.

The doors connecting the chutes to the corrals open.

The banter in the staging area subsides.

Massive, snorting bulls push their heft into the chutes that can barely contain them.

The handlers tense up noticeably. They’re all business now.

Kasey Collier had said earlier in the day that it really wouldn’t make a difference to him which bull he draws.

This ride may change his mind.

He squeezes himself onto the 1,800-pound animal inside the chute. The bellowing bull grinds against the gate trying to scrape off Kasey.

The gate flies open, and the athletic animal throws Kasey with a couple of violent, swift turns.

But he’s not done yet.

As the bull goes after the stunned rider, Allender, the rodeo clown in bright-colored garb, jumps in the way. The distraction works all too well. Allender barely manages to fling his body across a gate as the bull comes barreling down on him.

Others try their luck on the powerful animals, but in this round nobody hears the sweet sound of the buzzer while still mounted.

The setting sun backlights the silhouettes of cowboys sitting on fences. Jared Bain is the last of this group out of the chute. He is quickly tossed off the bull.

They’ll have to try again tomorrow. Or on another weekend, in another Western town.