TRUE TALE
Recreating a scene from the Old West for the world of make-believe, I saw firsthand just how crucial real-life horsemanship skills can be.
A wild ride:
Recreating a scene from the Old West for the world of make-believe, I saw firsthand just how crucial real-life horsemanship skills can be.
Dakota Incident (1956) is a movie that stands out in my memory---not for its quality and popularity, but for a lesson I learned during its filming.
I had been hired as the stunt double for the film’s co-star, Linda Darnell. By this time, I was well into my career as a stuntwoman and my specialty was working with horses. Almost all of Dakota Incident was shot on location in what is now Red Rock Canyon State Park on the northwest edge of California’s Mojave Desert.
On the appointed day, a limo came to take me to the Mojave set. When I climbed in, Dale Robertson, the male lead, was sitting in the back seat. We were the only passengers for the threehour trip.
Soon to star in his own hit TV show Tales of Wells Fargo, Robertson was perfect for the Western genre. Not only did the tall, handsome actor look like a cowboy, but he was born in Harrah, Oklahoma, where he worked with horses from an early age.
Naturally, it did not take long for our conversation to turn to horses. I still remember Dale’s charming Oklahoma drawl as he told me about his fascination with the real-life story of Justin Morgan. The long drive flew by as we talked about the famous progenitor of the Morgan breed.
When we arrived at the film set, preparations were underway for a pivotal scene in the movie, which involved a runaway stagecoach and wreck. The script called for a stagecoach to be attacked by Indians.
The driver would “lose” control of the horse team, which would bolt downhill with the coach until it wrecked. Then the survivors would escape and seek refuge in a dry gully while the coach was burned.
That would have been exciting enough, but the actually filming turned out to be a classic example of how quickly a stunt with horses can go wrong. Driving one horse at a full gallop can be complicated enough, but controlling a team of four leaves little room for error.
I was hustled off to the costume department, where I was outfitted with a chiffon blouse and satin skirt. Shivering against a cold desert wind, I headed over to the stagecoach---it was an authentic replica and I was struck by how small it was. It brought to mind the words of Western author Louis L’Amour, who famously said pioneer travel
“was often more travail than travel.” Stagecoaches were not designed for passenger comfort but to enable a horse team to pull them over difficult terrain with minimal effort.
I was to be the coach’s only passenger so I took my time getting in, being careful to arrange my dress and petticoats. Once inside, I sat back and tried to relax while I waited for the shot to be organized. This was going to be a complicated scene, so it took a while. Sitting in that coach, I mused about what it must have really been like in the days all this represented.
Finally, we were ready to go. Dale took a seat up front holding “dummy” reins to the four horses, while a stuntman sat next to him, riding shotgun. Out of sight from the camera, kneeling inside the coach, was a professional driver, who held the real driving lines to the horses. He was referred to as the “blind” driver because you couldn’t see him and he pretty much couldn’t see, either. Slipped through a small opening in the front of the coach, the real driving lines can often be seen in other Western movies if you know where to look.
When the scene got under way Dale, following the script, shouted “Go!” to the horses. And off they went, first at a trot and then a gallop. It was exciting to see the scenery stream by but soon I realized we were going faster and faster along the narrow road and the driver was struggling to control the team.
When I saw the blind driver take a double hand-wrap on the reins, I knew we were in trouble. I looked out the window and saw a sharp curve looming. There was no way we would make it at our current speed! Meanwhile, Dale was up there on the seat obliviously urging the horses to go faster! As fine a horseman as he was, Dale wasn’t used to driving teams and had no idea of the danger we were in.
But the stuntman riding shotgun did. Suddenly he leapt into action, performing one of the most amazing feats I have ever witnessed on a movie set: He lowered himself over the side of the rocking coach and squeezed through the window to get inside. Climbing over my lap, he seized one set of lines while the blind driver hung onto the other, and together they pulled those runaways to a halt. At that moment, I appreciated the power of true horsemanship---it enables you apply your strength at just the right moment for the right result. I shudder to think of what might have happened if those two men were less skilled.
As the cloud of dust slowly settled, I climbed out of the coach on shaky legs. Then I heard the director declare: “That shot’s no good! He lost his hat!” But there would be no redoing of that scene. They made it work.
These days of made-for-television
Westerns and computer-generated graphics, it is rare to see a full team pulling a stagecoach, so most people have no idea of the power that a full team of four horses can produce. It’s impressive enough when the driver has full control of that team. If they go out of control? It’s like a semitractor-trailer without a driver.
I don’t think that Dale ever was aware of how close to disaster we came. Our own “Dakota incident” happened so fast, I could hardly understand it myself.
After the shooting wrapped that day, we stepped back into our limo for the long ride home. As the miles sped by, my mind raced to untangle the memories of our near-disaster. I considered saying something about the incident to Dale, but he seemed innocently contented with his day’s work. So we rode home in silence.