COWBOY LIFE.
The workings of the law of evolution are plainly discernible in the
development of the "cowboy," a certain prominent and now well-defined
character of the far West--one that was made necessary by, and has grown
out of, the vast cattle interests which have, in the past two or three
decades, spread over that mystic region. His counterpart is scarcely to
be found anywhere else in the civilized world, for the very good reason
that such a species of manhood is not required anywhere else. True,
cattle-raising is carried on extensively in many States of our Union and
in various other countries, but nowhere under the same conditions and on
the same plan as in the West; hence, though herders, drovers, and the
like are employed elsewhere, there is no locality in which a class of
men endowed with such characteristics and requiring such peculiar tastes
and faculties are to be found as are combined in the cowboy of our
Western plains. The life he leads and the services he is required to
perform call into the business young men possessing tastes and traits
different from those of average human nature, and such as are not found
in men following any other vocation, as a class. It is an occupation
that entails, generally speaking, a life of isolation from society, and
in many cases from civilization. It is one in which home comforts must
be dispensed with; it is one requiring its devotees to live on plain
food, in log huts, and to sleep in blankets at best; it is one in which
there is often intense hardship and suffering, and which exposes its
disciples to dangers of various kinds.
When all these facts and peculiarities of the calling are considered we
must readily perceive that men of ordinary tastes and inclinations would
not seek to engage in it. Cowboys are not "native and to the manor
born." They do not follow in the footsteps of their fathers as do young
men on Eastern farms. The business is yet too young in our Western
Territories to have brought about this state of affairs, though it will
come to exist in future. But at present cowboys are all exotics,
transplanted from Eastern soil. Let us consider, then, what manner of
boy or young man would adopt such a calling. Certainly not he who
considers a well-spread table, a cozy, cheerful room, a good soft bed,
and neat, tasty clothing essential to his health and happiness; nor he
who is unwilling to sever his connection with the social circle or the
family group; nor he who must have his daily paper, his comfortable
office chair and desk; his telegraph and other commercial facilities and
comforts; nor yet he who, when he travels, must needs ride in a
comfortable carriage on the highway, or a Pullman coach on the railway.
But the young man who is willing to engage in the occupation of
"rustling cattle" on the plains, who is willing to assume the title of
"cowboy," must be he who, although he may love all these luxuries, and
may perhaps have been accustomed to enjoy them, has in his nature enough
of romance, enough love for outdoor life, enough love of sport,
excitement, and adventure, enough enthusiasm for the wild freedom of the
frontier, to be willing to deny himself all these luxuries and to allow
such pleasures as the ranch and range can afford, to compensate for
them.
The love of money can not enter largely into the consideration of the
question, for while the work is often of the hardest kind a man can
endure and the hours of labor only limited by the men's power of
endurance, the wages usually paid are low. From $25 to $35 a month is
the average rate of wages for all good men on the range except the
foreman, who commands from $60 to $75 a month, according to his ability,
the number of men he is to have charge of, and the responsibility of his
position generally. Ambition to succeed to this dignity, or a desire to
learn the cattle-growing business with a view of engaging in it on their
own account, may induce some boys to engage as herders, but the young
man who deliberately chooses this occupation is usually one with a
superabundance of vim, energy, and enthusiasm; one who chafes under the
restraints of society, who is bored and annoyed by the quiet humdrum
life of the Eastern village, city, or farm house; one who longs to go
where he can breathe fresh air, exercise his arms, legs, and lungs, if
need be, without disturbing the peace; one who, in short, requires more
room to live in than his birthplace affords.
Many a cowboy of to-day was, in his childhood or youth, the street
gamin, the newsboy, the "hard nut" at school; the dare-devil of the
rural districts; the hero of daring exploits; the boy who did not fear
to climb to the top of the highest tree to punch a squirrel out of his
hole; who led the raid on an orchard or watermelon patch on a dark
night; who at college was at the head of all wild, reckless frolics, and
was also well up in his classes; who led the village marshal or the city
policeman many a wild-goose chase and caused them many a sleepless night
by his innocent though mischievous pranks. He is the boy who was always
ready for a lark of any kind that could produce excitement, fun, or
adventure without bringing serious harm to anyone. He was not the
vicious, thieving, lying, sneaking boy, but the irrepressible,
uncontrollable, wild, harum-scarum chap who led the gang; the champion
of the weak; the boy who would fight "at the drop of the hat" in defense
of a friend of his own sex or of even a stranger of the opposite sex.
These are the boys of ten, twenty, or thirty years ago whom to-day you
may find riding wild cayuses on the cattle ranges of the boundless
plains.
As a class, they have been shamefully maligned. That there are bad,
vicious characters amongst them can not be denied, but that many of the
murders, thefts, arsons, and other depredations which are committed in
the frontier towns and charged to cowboys, are really committed by
Indians, bummers, superannuated buffalo hunters, and other hangers on,
who never do an honest day's work of any kind, but who eke out a
miserable, half-starved existence by gambling, stealing, poisoning
wolves, etc., is a fact well known to every close student of frontier
life. And yet, crimes and misdemeanors are occasionally committed by men
who are, for the time being at least, regularly employed in riding the
range. Fugitives from justice, thieves, cut-throats, and hoodlums of all
classes from the large cities have drifted West, and have sought
employment on the ranges because nothing better or more congenial
offered; but such are seldom employed, and if employed at all, are
generally discharged as soon as their true character is learned and
their places can be filled by worthier men.
[Illustration: THE "WOOLLY COWBOY."]
Neither do I wish to defend the "fresh" young man from the East who goes
West to "paralyze" the natives, who gets a job on the ranch, makes a
break for "loud togs," arms, and knives, large nickel-plated spurs,
raises a crop of long hair and "catches on" to all the bad language of
the country, fills up on bad whisky at every opportunity and then
asserts that "he's a wolf, it's his night to howl."
Nor do I wish to defend the swarthy, loud-oathed, heavily-armed
"greaser" of Mexico and the Texan ranges, who accounts himself a
"cowboy" _par excellence_, but who much prefers the filthy atmosphere of
the gambling den, or the variety dive of frontier towns, to the pure air
of the prairies. These are the exceptions, and fortunately are in a
"distinguished minority," and it is but just that all such swaggering
humbugs should be loaded with the obloquy they deserve, and should be
appropriately branded, even as their master's beasts are branded, that
all the world might know them, wherever found, for the infamous humbugs
that they are. My purpose here is to champion the frank, honest,
energetic, industrious young fellows who engage in this calling from
pure motives, most of whom have fair educations, and some of whom are
graduates of Eastern colleges--who are brimful of pure horse-sense, and
who are ambitious to earn an honest living, and to make themselves
useful to their employers in every possible way, aside from their
ability to snare a bullock. Many of these are Nature's noblemen, and
their good qualities shine through their rough garb, as the sunlight of
heaven shines through a rift in a dark cloud. Their hearts, though
encased in blue flannel or water-proof canvas, are as light as the air
they breathe; their minds as pure and clear as the mountain brooks from
which they love to drink; their whole natures as generous and liberal as
the boundless meadows upon which their herds graze, and their
hospitality only limited by the supply of food and other comforts they
have with which to entertain a visitor. Strangers are always welcome at
their shacks, and no matter at what time of day or night you arrive, you
and your horses are promptly taken care of, you are invited to stay and
eat, to sleep if you will, and are promptly given to understand that the
best the ranch affords is at your command. I have known many of these
men intimately, and have never known one who would not cheerfully share
his last ounce of food, his last dollar, or his only blanket with a
needy stranger; or who would not walk and allow an unfortunately
dismounted traveler to ride his horse half way to camp, or the ranch,
even though that might be a hundred miles away. They invariably refuse
all remuneration for services or accommodations of such nature, and if
it be pressed upon them, the stranger is liable to be told in language
more expressive than elegant they don't make their living by taking care
of tenderfeet.
As a class, they are brimful and running over with wit, merriment, and
good humor. They are always ready for any bit of innocent fun, but are
not perpetually spoiling for a fight, as has so often been said of them.
They are at peace with all men, and would not be otherwise from choice.
As a rule, if a man quarrel with one of them, he forces the war and is
himself to blame. Their love of fun often leads to trouble, though
generally because the victim of it does not know how, or is not willing,
to either "chip in" or excuse himself. They are fond of "piping off"
anything that is particularly conspicuous, or _vice versa_, no matter to
whom it belongs, and they dislike to see snobbish airs assumed in their
country, though such might pass current in any Eastern city.
I once saw a dude step out of a hotel in Cheyenne, wearing a silk hat,
cut-away coat, lavender pants, high pressure collar, scarlet velvet
scarf, patent leather shoes, etc. Several cowboys were riding through
the street and spied him.
"Say, Dick," said one of them, "what de ye s'pose it is?"
"Let's tackle it and see," said Dick; "it looks alive."
"Pard, hadn't you better put them togs on ice?" queried another of the
party. "They're liable to spile in this climate."
The youth was highly offended, gave them a haughty, withering look, and
without deigning a reply of any kind turned to walk back into the hotel.
"Let's brand it," said Dick, and as quick as a flash a lariat fell about
the dude, closed round his slender waist, and he was a prisoner. The
boys gathered round him, chaffed him good-naturedly, took his hat and
rubbed the nap the wrong way, put some alkali mud on his shoes, and then
released him, bidding him "go in and put on some clothes." A little
good-natured repartee on his part, or an invitation to drink or smoke,
or a pleasant reply of any kind, would have let him out without any
unpleasant treatment; but he scorned them, and they considered it a duty
to society to post him on how to act when away from home.
A friend relates having seen an eccentric individual, with a long plaid
ulster, walking along the principal street in Miles City, and as the sun
came out from behind a cloud and commenced to beam down with a good deal
of force, he raised a green umbrella. A "cow puncher" rode up and,
pointing at the umbrella, asked:
"What is she pard? Fetch her in and put a drink in 'er."
The man was both scared and mad. He thought he had been insulted by one
of those "notorious, ruffianly cowboys." He called "police." But the
police was not at hand, and in the disturbance that followed his
umbrella was spirited away, he knew not whither or by whom, and his
plaid ulster was somewhat damaged by contact with mother earth. All he
would have had to do to preserve the peace and his self-respect, would
have been to answer the fellow good-naturedly in the first place, either
declining or accepting his invitation, and he could have gone on his way
unmolested; but he brought a small-sized riot on himself by assuming a
dignity that was out of place in that country and under such
circumstances.
In common with all other human beings, the cowboy requires and must have
amusement of some kind, and his isolated condition, depriving him of the
privileges of theatres, parties, billiards, and other varieties of
amusement that young men in the States usually indulge in; of the
refining and restraining influences of the female sex, it is but natural
that his exuberance of spirit should find sport of other kinds. His only
sources of amusement on the ranch are his rifle, revolver, bronco,
lariat, and cards, and in course of time he tires of these and seeks a
change. He goes to town and meets there some of his comrades or
acquaintances, and they indulge in some wild pranks, which to Eastern
people, and especially those who happen to fall victims to their
practical jokes, appear ruffianly. Their love of excitement and
adventure sometimes gets the better of their judgment, and they carry
their fun to excess. They corral the crew of a train which has stopped
at the station, and amuse themselves and the passengers by making the
conductor, brakeman, baggageman, engineer, and fireman dance a jig to
the music of six-shooters. In one instance they boarded the train and
made the Theo. Thomas orchestra (which happened to be aboard) give them
an extemporaneous concert. They have even been known to carry their
revels to a still worse stage than this, and to resort to acts of real
abuse and injury against defenseless people. But such acts on the part
of genuine cowboys are rare. They are usually perpetrated by the class,
already mentioned, of "fresh" young chaps or objectional characters who
drift into the business from other than pure motives, and frequently by
pretended cowboys who are not such in any sense of the term. But by
whomsoever perpetrated, such acts are highly offensive to and vigorously
condemned by the respectable element in the business, both employers
and employes. Much odium has attached to the fraternity by such conduct,
and much more by reason of crimes committed by others and charged to
this class, so that the cowboy is in much worse repute among Eastern
people than he would be if better known by them. And notwithstanding all
the hard things with which these men have been charged, I had much
rather take my chances, as to safety of life and personal property, in a
country inhabited only by them than in any Eastern town or city with all
their police "protection." When sojourning in cattle countries, I have
left my camp day after day and night after night, with valuable property
of various kinds lying in and about it, without any attempt at
concealment. I have left my horses and mules to graze, wholly unguarded,
several days and nights together, and though on my return I may have
seen that my camp had been visited, probably by several men, not a thing
had been disturbed, except that perchance some of them had been hungry
and had eaten a meal at my expense. It is the custom of the country to
leave camps and cabins at any time, and for as long a time as necessary,
without locking up or concealment of any kind, and instances of stealing
under such circumstances are almost unheard of, while he who would leave
personal property similarly exposed within the bounds of civilization
would scarcely hope to find it on his return.
[Illustration: ON THE TRAIL.]
An incident may serve to illustrate how suddenly Eastern people change
their opinions of cowboys on close acquaintance. I was going west a few
years since on the Northern Pacific Railroad, and stepping off the train
at Dickinson, Dak., met Howard Eaton, an old-time friend and fellow
hunter, a typical cowboy, who has charge of a ranch and a large herd of
cattle in the "Bad Lands" on the Little Missouri river. He was dressed
in the regulation costume of the craft--canvas pants and jacket, leather
_chaparejos_, blue flannel shirt, and broad-brimmed white felt hat. His
loins were girt about with a well-filled cartridge-belt, from which hung
the six-shooter, which may almost be termed a badge of the order. Large
Mexican spurs rattled at his heels as he walked. He had ridden
thirty-five miles under the spur, arriving at the station just in time
to catch the train, and having no time to change his apparel, even if he
had wished to do so. He was going some distance on the same train, and I
invited him into the sleeper. As he entered and walked down the aisle
the passengers became suddenly alarmed at the apparition--imagining that
the train had been corraled by a party of the terrible cowboys of whom
they had heard such blood-curdling tales, and that this was a committee
of one sent in to order them to throw up their hands. They looked
anxiously and timidly from the windows for the rest of the gang and
listened for the popping of revolvers, but when I conducted him to our
section and introduced him to my wife they began to feel easier. He
remarked casually that he was hungry. We had a well-filled lunch-basket
with us, and, ordering a table placed in position, my wife hastily
spread its contents before him. He ate as only a cowboy can eat,
especially after having lately ridden thirty-five miles in three hours.
Our fellow passengers became interested spectators, and after our friend
had finished his repast we introduced him to several of them. They were
agreeably surprised to discover in conversation his polished manners,
his fluent and well-chosen language. His handsome though sunburned face,
and his kind, genial nature revealed the fact that his rough garb
encased the form of an educated and cultured gentleman; and before we
had been an hour together they had learned to respect and admire the
wild, picturesque character whom at first they had feared.
The skill which some of these men attain in their profession challenges
the admiration of everyone who is permitted to witness exhibitions of
it. As riders they can not be excelled in the world, and I have seen
some of them perform feats of horsemanship that were simply marvelous. A
cowboy is required to ride anything that is given him and ask no
questions. A wild young bronco that has never been touched by the hand
of man is sometimes roped out of a herd and handed over to one of the
boys with instructions to "ride him." With the aid of a companion or two
he saddles and mounts him, and the scene that ensues baffles
description. A bucking cayuse must be seen under the saddle, under a
limber cowboy, and on his native heath, in order to be appreciated at
his true worth. His movements are not always the same--in fact, are
extremely varied, and are doubtless intended to be a series of surprises
even to an old hand at the business. The bronco is ingenious--he is a
strategist. Sometimes the first break a "fresh" one makes is to try to
get out of the country as fast as possible. If so, the rider allows him
to go as far and as fast as he likes, for nothing will tame him quicker
than plenty of hard work. But he soon finds that he can not get out from
under his load in this way, and generally reverses his tactics before
going far. Sometimes he stops suddenly--so suddenly as to throw an
inexperienced rider a long ways in front of him. But a good cowboy, or
"bronco buster," as he would be termed while engaged in this branch of
the business, is a good stayer and keeps his seat. The horse may then
try to jump out from under his rider--first forward then backward, or
_vice versa_. Then he may spring suddenly sidewise, either to right or
left, or both. Then he may do some lofty tumbling acts, alighting most
always stiff-legged; sometimes with his front end the highest and
sometimes about level, but usually with his hinder parts much the
highest and with his back arched like that of a mad cat. He keeps his
nose as close to the ground as he can get it. Sometimes he will utter an
unearthly squeal that makes one's blood run cold, and will actually eat
a few mouthfuls of the earth when he gets mad enough. Sometimes he will
throw himself in his struggles, and again as a last resort he will lie
down and roll. This must free him for a moment, but the daring and agile
rider is in the saddle again as soon as the beast is on his feet. Then
the horse is likely to wheel suddenly from side to side and to spin
round and round on his hind feet like a top; to snort and bound hither
and thither like a rubber ball. During all this time the valiant rider
sits in his saddle, loose-jointed and limp as a piece of buckskin, his
body swaying to and fro with the motions of his struggling steed like a
leaf that is fanned by the summer breeze. He holds a tight rein, keeping
his horse's head as high as possible, and plunges the rowels into his
flanks, first on one side and then on the other, until frequently the
ground is copiously sprinkled with the blood of the fiery steed. The
duration of this scene is limited simply by the powers of endurance of
the horse, for in nearly every instance he will keep up his struggles
until he sinks upon the ground exhausted, and, for the time being at
least, is subdued. Then he is forced upon his feet again and may
generally be ridden the remainder of that day without further trouble.
He is awkward, of course, but rapidly learns the use of bit and spur,
and soon becomes useful. Many of these ponies, however, are never
permanently subdued, and will "buck" every time they are mounted. Others
will, all through life, start off quietly when first mounted, but
suddenly take a notion to buck any time in the day. This class is the
most dangerous, for the best rider is liable to be caught at a
disadvantage when off his guard and thrown, and many a poor cowboy has
been crippled for life, and many killed outright by these vicious
brutes.
I have seen "pilgrims" inveigled into riding "bucking cayuses," either
for the sake of novelty, or because they wanted a mount and there was no
other to be had; but in every instance the trial of skill between the
man and the pony was of short duration. For an instant there would be a
confused mass of horse, hat, coat-tails, boots, and man, flying through
the air. The horse, on his second upward trip would meet the man coming
down on his first; the man would see whole constellations--whole
milkyways of stars; the horse would meander off over the prairie free
and untrameled, and as we would gather up the deformed and disfigured
remains of the pilgrim and dig the alkali dirt out of his mouth, ears,
and eyes, he would tell us, as soon as he recovered sufficiently to be
able to speak, that in future he "had rather walk than ride."
But, fortunately for the poor cowboys, there are many of these ponies
who are not vicious, and let us do full honor to the genuine, noble
cow-horse who is so sure and fleet of foot that he will speedily put his
rider within roping distance of the wildest, swiftest, longest-horned
Texan on the range. Such a horse always knows when the _riata_ falls
right for head or heels, and if it does not will never slacken his
speed, but keep right on until his rider can recover and throw again.
But when it does fall fair, he puts it taut, wheels to right or left as
directed by a gentle pressure of his rider's knee, takes a turn on it
or gives it slack as may be required to down the beef, and, when this is
accomplished, stands stiff-legged, firm, and immovable as a rock,
holding him down by the strain on the rope, and watching, with eyes
bulged out and ears set forward like those of a jack rabbit, every
struggle of the captive bullock, and stands pat even when his rider
dismounts and leaves him to brand the steer. When this is done, and his
rider remounts he is ready to repeat the operation on another animal.
[Illustration: "SNARED."]
I have frequently known a cowboy to rope a wild cow, throw her and milk
her while his horse held her down at the other end of a forty foot rope.
Such a horse is worth his weight in gold to a cattleman, and his
kind-hearted and appreciative rider would go supperless to bed any
night, if necessary, in order that his faithful steed should be well fed
and made comfortable in every possible way.
The skill that some of these men attain in the use the lariat is also
most marvelous. An expert will catch a steer by the horns, the neck, the
right or left fore foot or hind foot, whichever he may choose--and
while running at full speed--with almost unerring certainty. I have even
seen them rope jack rabbits and coyotes after a long run, and there are
well authenticated instances on record of even bears being choked to
death by the fatal noose when wielded by a daring "knight of the
plains."
At a "tournament" in a Black Hills town some months ago, a cowboy
caught, threw, and securely tied a wild steer in fourteen minutes from
the time he was let out of the corral. A similar exhibition of skill,
but on a bronco instead of a steer, which lately took place in a New
Mexico town, is thus described by an eye witness.
"After an hour of discussion and pleasant wrangling, the judge, himself
a fine rider, called out the name of an Arizona cowboy, a champion
puncher and rustler from Apache County; at the same moment, a wild-eyed
bronco was released from the pen and went bounding and bucking over the
miniature plain. According to the rule, the Apache County man had to
saddle his own bronco, rope the fleeing horse, and tie him for branding
in a certain time. Being a "rustler", he rustled around so lively that
before the bronco was two hundred feet away, he had saddled and bridled
his own animal, swung himself onto it, and was off, gathering up his
lariat as he went. The other bronco, seeing the coming enemy, doubled
his pace, dodging here and there, but at every turn he was met by his
pursuer, who was evidently directed by his rider's legs, and in an
incredibly short space of time the fugitive was overhauled; the rope
whistled through the air, and dropped quickly over the bronco's head,
notwithstanding the toss he had made. The instant it fell, the pursuing
bronco rushed and headed off the other, winding the rope about his legs;
then suddenly sitting back upon his haunches he waited, with ears back,
for the shock. It came with a rush, and the little horse at the other
end of the rope, as was the intention, went headlong onto the field, the
cowboy's bronco holding him down by the continual strain that he kept
up. The moment the horse went down the cowboy vaulted from the saddle,
untying a rope from his waist as he ran, and was soon over the prostrate
animal, lashing the hoofs with dextrous fingers, so that it could have
been branded then and there. This accomplished, up went his hands as a
signal to the judges, who now came galloping over the field, a roar of
cheers and yells greeting the Apache County man, who had done the entire
work in twelve minutes, thereby securing the prize of sundry dollars."
These men use large, heavy, strongly-built saddles, and by setting the
cinch up tight and taking a turn or two of the rope around the saddle
horn they will snake a large animal, either dead or alive, any desired
distance. I once got one of them to drag a large bear that we had killed
out of a thicket into an open space, so that we could photograph him.
Few men take more chances or endure more hardships than cowboys. In
addition to the dangers they have to contend with from riding vicious
horses and from riding into stampeding herds of wild cattle, in both of
which lines of duty many of them are crippled and some killed outright,
it is frequently necessary for them to lay out on the open prairie for
several days and nights together, perhaps in cold, rough weather, with
no other food or bedding than they can carry on their saddle.
The slang of the fraternity is highly amusing to a stranger. It is
decidedly crisp, racy, and expressive. Words are coined or adopted into
their vernacular that will convey their meaning with the greatest
possible force and precision. In addition to the few illustrations
already given in this sketch there are many others that would be utterly
unintelligible to an Eastern man unless translated. For instance, when
they brand an animal they put the "jimption" to him; when they want a
hot drink they say "put some jimption in it"; when they warm up a horse
with the spurs or quirt they "fan" him; when they throw lead from a
six-shooter or a Winchester after a flying coyote they "fan" him. And
"goose hair"--ever sleep on goose hair? This is a favorite term for any
kind of a "soft snap." When they want to ridicule a tenderfoot, and
especially one who is fond of good living, they say "he wants a
goose-hair bed to sleep on"; when a cowboy is in luck he is described as
having "a goose-hair pillar," or as "sleepin' with the boss," or as
"ridin' ten horses," etc. Altogether, cowboys are a whole-souled,
large-hearted, generous class of fellows, whom it is a genuine pleasure
to ride, eat, and associate with, and it is safe to say that nine-tenths
of the hard things that have been said of them have come from men who
never knew, intimately, a single one of them.
I contend that a year spent on the hurricane deck of a cow-pony is one
of the most useful and valuable pieces of experience a young man can
possibly have in fitting himself for business of almost any kind, and if
I were educating a boy to fight the battles of life, I should secure him
such a situation as soon as through with his studies at school. A term
of service on a frontier cattle-ranch will take the conceit out of any
boy. It will, at the same time, teach him self-reliance; it will teach
him to endure hardships and suffering; it will give him nerve and pluck;
it will develop the latent energy in him to a degree that could not be
accomplished by any other apprenticeship or experience. I know of many
of the most substantial and successful business men in the Western towns
and cities of to-day who served their first years on the frontier as
"cow punchers," and to that school they owe the firmness of character
and the ability to surmount great obstacles that have made their success
in life possible.
I claim that the constant communion with Nature, the study of her broad,
pure domains, the days and nights of lonely cruising and camping on the
prairie, the uninterrupted communion with and study of self which this
occupation affords, tends to make young men honest and noble--much more
so than the same men would be if deprived of these opportunities,
confined to the limits of our boasted "civilization," and compelled to
constantly breathe the air of adroitness, of strategy, of competition,
of suspicion and crime. I claim that in many instances a man who is
already dishonest and immoral may be, and I know that many have been
made good and honest by freeing themselves from the evil influences of
city life, and betaking themselves to a life on the plains; by living
alone, or nearly so, and habitually communing with themselves, with
Nature, and with Nature's God. If every young man raised in town or city
could have the advantages of a year or two of constant study of Nature,
untrammeled by any air of vice, and at the proper time in life, we
should have more honest men, and fewer defaulters, thieves, and
criminals of every class.
[Illustration: A BEEF-GATHERING SOIREE.]