Story by Bob Welch | Art by Bekah Williamson
Some stories live in infamy. Others in legend. Some in obscurity.
The story of a Roaring Twenties trans-Texas horse race between a cavalry officer and top hand cowboy is one such tale.
In 1922, in an effort to raise awareness for San Antonio’s Frontier Days, rodeo promoter Tex Austin and other San Antonio area businessmen worked with “the Texas Cattlemen’s Association” (probably the Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association) and the Army to develop a publicity stunt designed to draw attention to their rodeo and agricultural fair in the form of a horse race pitting a cavalry officer and a working cowboy. The Army’s rider would start in Dallas, the cowboy in Fort Worth—each 300 miles from San Antonio—with the finish line as Alamo Plaza. Each rider could only use one horse.
The Army chose Major Terry de la Mesa Allen. A unique name for a unique character. He earned the Silver Star for valor in France during World War I and became known as an exceptional horseman…and a fighter. Later he would become the Commander of the 1st Infantry Division and embodied the unofficial motto of the Big Red One: “Work hard and drink much, for somewhere they’re dreamin’ up a battle for the First.”
The Texans chose a well-renowned cowboy named Key Dunne. Dunne is described as a “world champion bronco buster,” despite there not being a sanctioning body for such claims until 1929. Dunne was born in 1895 in Coryell County in Central Texas, the middle child of nine of a stock farmer, according to the 1910 U.S. Census. He was working as a cowboy on the Newman Ranch in Dickens when he filled out his World War I draft registration.
He served during the war as a sergeant in the Veterinary Corps, tending to war horses. Rick Atkinson’s “An Army at Dawn: The War in North Africa, 1942-1943,” further relates that Dunne worked as wagon boss for an unnamed 4-million-acre ranch in Chihuahua, Mexico.
Once the publicity began, Atkinson recounts that, “Enough money was bet on the contest to build a battleship.”
Allen, whose distinguished military career and colorful personality resulted in not only a mention in Atkinson’s book, but an entire biography titled, “Terrible Terry Allen: Combat General of World War II,” by Gerald Astor, benefitted from a stable of horses from which to choose.
“I was allowed to choose any mount from our regular Army stable,” Astor quotes Allen as saying. “I chose a big black horse named Coronado who was a combination of Quarter Horse and Thoroughbred.”
Dunne, who has had markedly less written about his life, rode what’s described as “a small Texas mustang” named AWOL.
On January 13, at 9:10 a.m., the mayors of Dallas and Fort Worth waived off their respective riders on their race to the Alamo.
According to 2020 article in the San Antonio Express News, both racers and their horses would make prearranged stops, mostly at different towns. For most of the race, they would ride on different two-lane roads, competing for space with automobiles and horse-drawn wagons.
On the first day, Allen knocked out 52 miles and Dunne fell 22 miles behind the cavalryman, having run into street traffic. Over the next four days, Dunne narrowed the gap. Adoring crowds and publicity obligations prevented either man from making the race their sole focus.
Most accounts of the race include a scene when Dunne was unable to get feed for his horse at one of the refueling stops. Allen heard of this—presumably telegrams were keeping each rider informed of the others’ progress—and sent a car at his own expense with provisions.
Mid-race, a downpour bogged both men down. In Astor’s book, Allen recounts the event.
“I had huddled down in the saddle all day, cold, wet and miserable,” he said. “Coronado slid and splashed through mud and water on roads that for the most part were unpaved.”
Dunne never could catch the hard-riding Allen and came in seven hours behind at San Antonio’s Army Remount Depot on Jan. 17, 1922.
Both riders reported at 9:30 the next morning for what was supposed to be mad dash around the plaza. The rain, however, made the conditions dangerous for an all-out sprint.
“A crowd of several thousand people cheered the horseman as they trotted across the plaza in front of the Alamo for the inspection of their mounts,” the San Antonio Light reported Jan. 18, 1922.
After congratulations all around, Allen played in “an important polo match” at Camp Travis and Dunne went to watch the rodeo events at the Speedway.
Allen went on to a distinguished military career, and was retired when he died in El Paso in 1969.
Dunne moved from competing to judging rodeo events and went to Hollywood to work for Central Casting in the 1940s. He returned to Ector County and was a rancher when he died in 1960.
The race served its purpose and created buzz across the state for the event. And despite its obscurity, it’s a reminder today of a time in American history when the public could be captivated by two men pushing themselves in a contest of toughness and horsemanship for the simple sake of seeing who was best. ★
This article appears in the Fall 2022 issue of the Ranch Record. Would you like to read more stories about NRHC and ranching life? When you become a member of the Ranching Heritage Association, you’ll receive the award-winning Ranch Record magazine and more while supporting the legacy and preservation of our ranching heritage. Become a member today.
