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  Some Cowboy Facts.

  There are certain truths of a botanical character that are notgenerally known. Each year the trees in their occupation creepfurther west. There are regions in Missouri--not bottom lands--whichsixty years ago were bald and bare of trees. Today they are heavywith timber. Westward, beyond the trees, lie the prairies, andbeyond the prairies, the plains; the first are green with longgrasses, the latter bare, brown and with a crisp, scorched, sparsevesture of vegetation scarce worth the name. As the trees marchslowly westward in conquest of the prairies, so also do the prairies,in their verdant turn, become aggressors and push westward upon theplains. These last stretches, extending to the base of that bluffand sudden bulwark, the Rocky Mountains, can go no further. TheRockies hold the plains at bay and break, as it were, the teeth ofthe desert. As a result of this warfare of vegetations, the plainsare to first disappear in favour of the prairies; and the prairies togive way before the trees. These mutations all wait on rain; and asthe rain belt goes ever and ever westward, a strip of plains eachyear surrenders its aridity, and the prairies and then the treespress on and take new ground.

  These facts should contain some virtue of interest; the more sincewith the changes chronicled, come also changes in the character ofboth the inhabitants and the employments of these regions. With acivilised people extending themselves over new lands, cattle formever the advance guard. Then come the farms. This is the processionof a civilised, peaceful invasion; thus is the column marshalled.First, the pastoral; next, the agricultural; third and last, themanufacturing;--and per consequence, the big cities, where thetreasure chests of a race are kept. Blood and bone and muscle andheart are to the front; and the money that steadies and stays andprotects and repays them and their efforts, to the rear.

  Forty years ago about all that took place west of the Mississipi of amoney-making character was born of cattle. The cattle were worked inhuge herds and, like the buffalo supplanted by them, roamed inunnumbered thousands. In a pre-railroad period, cattle were killedfor their hides and tallow, and smart Yankee coasters went constantlyto such ports as Galveston for these cargoes. The beef was left tothe coyotes.

  Cattle find a natural theatre of existence on the plains. There,likewise, flourishes the pastoral man. But cattle herding, confinedto the plains, gives way before the westward creep of agriculture.Each year beholds more western acres broken by the plough; each yearwitnesses a diminution of the cattle ranges and cattle herding. Thisneed ring no bell of alarm concerning a future barren of a beefsupply. More cattle are the product of the farm-regions than of theranges. That ground, once range and now farm, raises more cattle nowthan then. Texas is a great cattle State. Ohio, Indiana, Illinois,Iowa, and Missouri are first States of agriculture. The area ofTexas is about even with the collected area of the other five. Yetone finds double the number of cattle in Ohio, Indiana, Illinois,Iowa, and Missouri than in Texas, to say nothing of tenfold the sheepand hogs. No; one may be calm; one is not to fall a prey to anyhunger of beef.

  While the farms in their westward pushing do not diminish the cattle,they reduce the cattleman and pinch off much that is romantic andpicturesque. Between the farm and the wire fence, the cowboy, asonce he flourished, has been modified, subdued, and made partially todisappear. In the good old days of the Jones and Plummer trail therewere no wire fences, and the sullen farmer had not yet arrived. Yourcowboy at that time was a person of thrill and consequence. He worea broad-brimmed Stetson hat, and all about it a rattlesnake skin byway of band, retaining head and rattles. This was to be potentagainst headaches--a malady, by the way, which swept down no cowboysave in hours emergent of a spree. In such case the snake curedidn't cure. The hat was retained in defiance of winds, by aleathern cord caught about the back of the head, not under the chin.This cord was beautiful with a garniture of three or four perforatedpoker chips, red, yellow, and blue.

  There are sundry angles of costume where the dandyism of a cowboy ofspirit and conceit may acquit itself; these are hatband, spurs,saddle, and leggins. I've seen hatbands made of braided gold andsilver filigree; they were from Santa Fe, and always in the form of arattlesnake, with rubies or emeralds or diamonds for eyes. Suchgauds would cost from four hundred to two thousand dollars. Also,I've encountered a saddle which depleted its proud owner a roundtwenty-five hundred dollars. It was of finest Spanish leather,stamped and spattered with gold bosses. There was gold-capping onthe saddle horn, and again on the circle of the cantle. It was adream of a saddle, made at Paso del Norte; and the owner had itcinched upon a bronco dear at twenty dollars. One couldn't have soldthe pony for a stack of white chips in any faro game of thatneighbourhood (Las Vegas) and they were all crooked games at that.

  Your cowboy dandy frequently wears wrought steel spurs, inlaid withsilver and gold; price, anything you please. If he flourish a trueBrummel of the plains his leggins will be fronted from instep to beltwith the thick pelt, hair outside, of a Newfoundland dog. These"chapps," are meant to protect the cowboy from rain and cold, as wellas plum bushes, wire fences and other obstacles inimical, and againstwhich he may lunge while riding headlong in the dark. The hair ofthe Newfoundland, thick and long and laid the right way, defies therains; and your cowboy loathes water.

  Save in those four cardinals of vanity enumerated, your cowboy wearsnothing from weakness; the rest of his outfit is legitimate. Thelong sharp heels of his boots are there to dig into the ground andhold fast to his mother earth while roping on foot. His gay ponywhen "roped" of a frosty morning would skate him all across and aboutthe plains if it were not for these heels. The buckskin gloves tiedin one of the saddle strings are used when roping, and to keep thehalf-inch manila lariat--or mayhap it's horsehair or rawhidepleated--from burning his hands. The red silken sash one was wontaforetime to see knotted about his waist, was used to hogtie and holddown the big cattle when roped and thrown. The sash--strong, softand close--could be tied more tightly, quickly, surely than anythingbesides. In these days, with wire pastures and branding pens and thefine certainty of modern round-ups and a consequent paucity ofmavericks, big cattle are seldom roped; wherefor the sash has beenmuch cast aside.

  The saddle-bags or "war-bags,"--also covered of dogskin to match theleggins, and worn behind, not forward of the rider--are the cowboy'sofficial wardrobe wherein he carries his second suit of underclothes,and his other shirt. His handkerchief, red cotton, is looselyknotted about the cowboy's neck, knot to the rear. He wipes thesweat from his brow therewith on those hot Texas days when in abranding pen he "flanks" calves or feeds the fires or handles theirons or stands off the horned indignation of the cows, resentfulbecause of burned and bawling offspring.

  It would take two hundred thousand words to tell in half fashion thestory of the cowboy. His religion of fatalism, his courage, hisrides at full swing in midnight darkness to head and turn and hold aherd stampeded, when a slip on the storm-soaked grass by his unshodpony, or a misplaced prairie-dog hole, means a tumble, and a tumblemeans that a hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of cattle, withhoofs like chopping knives, will run over him and make him look andfeel and become as dead as a cancelled postage stamp; his troubles,his joys, his soberness in camp, his drunkenness in town, and hisfeuds and occasional "gun plays" are not to be disposed of in apreface. One cannot in such cramped space so much as hit the highplaces in a cowboy career.

  At work on the range and about his camp--for, bar accidents, whereveryou find a cowboy you will find a camp--the cowboy is a youth ofsober quiet dignity. There is a deal of deep politeness and nothingof epithet, insult or horseplay where everybody wears a gun.

  There are no folk inquisitive on the ranges. No one asks your name.If driven by stress of conversation to something akin to it thecowboy will say: "What may I call you, sir?" And he's as careful toadd the "sir," as he is to expect it in return.

  You are at liberty to select what name you prefer. Where you hailfrom? where going? why? are queries never put. To look at the b
randon your pony--you, a stranger--is a dangerous vulgarity to which nogentleman of the Panhandle or any other region of pure southwesternpoliteness would stoop. And if you wish to arouse an instantcombination of hate, suspicion and contempt in the bosom of a cowboyyou have but to stretch forth your artless Eastern hand and ask: "Letme look at your gun."

  Cowboys on the range or in the town are excessively clannish. Theynever desert each other, but stay and fight and die and storm a jailand shoot a sheriff if needs press, to rescue a comrade made captivein their company. Also they care for each other when sick orinjured, and set one another's bones when broken in the falls andtumbles of their craft. On the range the cowboy is quiet, just andpeaceable. There are neither women nor cards nor rum about the cowcamps. The ranches and the boys themselves banish the two latter;and the first won't come. Women, cards and whiskey, the three warcauses of the West, are confined to the towns.

  Those occasions when cattle are shipped and the beef-herds, perconsequence, driven to the shipping point become the only times whenthe cowboy sees the town. In such hours he blooms and lives fully upto his opportunity. He has travelled perhaps two hundred miles andhas been twenty days on the trail, for cattle may only be drivenabout ten miles a day; he has been up day and night and slept halfthe time in the saddle; he has made himself hoarse singing "Sam Bass"and "The Dying Ranger" to keep the cattle quiet and stave offstampedes; he has ridden ten ponies to shadows in his twenty days ofdriving, wherefore, and naturally, your cowboy feels like relaxing.

  There would be as many as ten men with each beef-herd; and the herdwould include about five thousand head. There would be six "riders,"divided into three watches to stand night guard over the herd anddrive it through the day; there would be two "hoss hustlers," to holdthe eighty or ninety ponies, turn and turn about, and carry themalong with the herd; there would be the cook, with four mules and thechuck wagon; and lastly there would be the herd-boss, a cow experthe, and at the head of the business.

  Once the herd is off his hands and his mind at the end of the drive,the cowboy unbuckles and reposes himself from his labours. Hebecomes deeply and famously drunk. Hungering for the excitement ofplay he collides amiably with faro and monte and what other deadfallsare rife of the place. Never does he win; for the games aren'tarranged that way. But he enjoys himself; and his losses do not preyon him.

  Sated with faro bank and monte--they can't be called games of chance,the only games of chance occurring when cowboys engage with eachother at billiards or pool--sated, I say, with faro and Mexicanmonte, and exuberant of rum, which last has regular quick renewal,our cowboy will stagger to his pony, swing into the saddle, and withgladsome whoops and an occasional outburst from his six shooterdirected toward the heavens, charge up and down the street. Thislast amusement appeals mightily to cowboys too drunk to walk. For,be it known, a gentleman may ride long after he may not walk.

  If a theatre be in action and mayhap a troop of "Red StockingBlondes," elevating the drama therein, the cowboy is sure to attend.Also he will arrive with his lariat wound about his body under hiscoat; and his place will be the front row. At some engaging crisis,such as the "March of the Amazons," having first privily unwound andorganised his lariat to that end, he will arise and "rope" an Amazon.This will produce bad language from the manager of the show, andcompel the lady to sit upon the stage to the detriment of herwardrobe if no worse, and all to keep from being pulled across thefootlights. Yet the exercise gives the cowboy deepest pleasure.Having thus distinguished the lady of his admiration, later he willmeet her and escort her to the local dancehall. There, mingling withtheir frank companions, the two will drink, and loosen the boards ofthe floor with the strenuous dances of our frontier till daylightdoes appear.

  For the matter of a week, or perchance two--it depends on how fasthis money melts--in these fashions will our gentleman of cows engagehis hours and expand himself. He will make a deal of noise, drink adeal of whiskey, acquire a deal of what he terms "action"; but heharms nobody, and, in a town toughened to his racket and which needsand gets his money, disturbs nobody.

  "Let him whoop it up; he's paying for it, ain't he?" will be theprompt local retort to any inquiry as to why he is thus permitted todisport.

  So long as the cowboy observes the etiquette of the town, he will notbe molested or "called down" by marshal or sheriff or citizen. Thereare four things your cowboy must not do. He must not insult a woman;he must not shoot his pistol in a store or bar-room; he must not ridehis pony into those places of resort; and as a last proposal he mustnot ride his pony on the sidewalks. Shooting or riding intobar-rooms is reckoned as dangerous; riding on the sidewalk comes moreunder the head of insult, and is popularly regarded as a tauntingdefiance of the town marshal. On such occasions the marshal neverfails to respond, and the cowboy is called upon to surrender. If hecomplies, which to the credit of his horse-sense he commonly does, heis led into brief captivity to be made loose when cooled. Does heresist arrest, there is an explosive rattle of six shooters, a madscattering of the careful citizenry out of lines of fire, and acowboy or marshal is added to the host beyond. At the close of thefestival, if the marshal still lives he is congratulated; if thecowboy survives he is lynched; if both fall, they are buried with thehonours of frontier war; while whatever the event, the communalripple is but slight and only of the moment, following which thecurrents of Western existence sweep easily and calmly onward asbefore.

  A. H. L.