Roosevelt brushed elbows in Medora with newly arrived hunters from the
plains and mountains, clad in buckskin shirts and fur caps--greasy
and unkempt, yet strong and resolute men. Then there were teamsters,
in slouch hats and great cowhide boots; stage-drivers with faces
like leather; Indians wrapped in blankets; cowboys galloping through
the streets. These men had all come to town to obtain relief from
the monotony of their occupations or from long periods of peril and
hardship, and the only entertainment that awaited them were “flaunting
saloons and gawdy hells of all kinds,” to borrow Roosevelt’s own
description. Among them moved the “bad men,” professional thieves
and man-killers, who owed their lives to their ability to draw their
weapons before other men could draw theirs.
Roosevelt was deeply interested in these unusual characters and scenes.
Indeed, it was to drink in this frank, self-reliant spirit that he had
come West. He met these men on their own ground, fearlessly. They saw
that, in spite of his eyeglasses, he was a man after their own kind.
Often he found himself in places of danger and saw men killed beside
him in drunken brawls, yet there was something about him that made bad
men pause before they challenged him.
Among Roosevelt’s cowboys was a Pueblo Indian who was a bad lot, a
Sioux who was faithful and a mulatto who was one of his best men. The
men would carry the “brand” of their ranch even in their own nicknames.
Thus it would be said that “Bar Y” Harry had married the “Seven Open A”
girl.
It was when he was thrown into contact day after day with the men of
his own ranch that the most severe test of Roosevelt as a “good fellow”
came.
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT, UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD