could not "round up" or "cut out" or "rope" or "corral" on a bicycle or
from a self-propelling carriage of any kind, and even if this dreadful
day should come and the cow pony lose his prestige, the polo pony will
still have his place in the world of sport, from which the most modern
and improved wheel could never dispossess him. The cow pony or polo
pony, like the poet and the athlete, is born, not made. Out of a drove
of a hundred ponies there may be only twenty-five or less that are good
for anything, who have the instinct of sport, the quick eye, steady
foot, the grit and endurance of the true sportsman.
A good cow pony is good from the start. He learns, of course, much by
experience, but he is not only first-class "material," as they say of
football candidates, but a star player from the very first. Running wild
with the mares, their mothers, on the big ranges of Texas, Mexico,
Montana, and Indian Territory, they grow marvellously fleet of foot, and
as hardy as mountain-goats.
When about three years old the ponies--all these horses under fifteen
hands high--are taken out of the drove, and broken either for cattle or
polo. The process of breaking is not a difficult one, though sometimes
troublesome and tedious. The pony is first corralled--that is, driven
out of the bunch into a pen by himself--then roped, often thrown, and
saddled and bridled. As a rule they make a great show of resistance.
They buck, they kick, they rear, they lie down and roll, they run into
fences or trees--in short, there is nothing that the instinct of
self-defence can prompt that a spirited pony will not do, and persist in
doing, until he learns the futility of kicking against the pricks. His
spurred and booted rider is prepared for any exhibition of temper or
ingenuity that he can devise, and wrestles with him gently but firmly,
sticking to his seat until the frantic efforts of the rebellious pony
have exhausted themselves. Then, subdued, if not overcome, he is
unsaddled and staked out, or tied up for the night, only to go through
the same performance the next day.
After several days' experience of the bit and bridle, and the singular
persistence of the load upon his back in staying there under all
provocation, the pony as a rule gives in--all the sensible ones, at
least; the bad-tempered broncos--the chronic buckers and kickers and
bolters--fight on spasmodically, and sometimes do not become thoroughly
broken, if ever, for weeks. When the pony has once recognized and
accepted you as his master, his future usefulness depends very largely
upon your treatment of him. If he is ridden hard and handled roughly he
will grow rough and unmanageable or mean and uncertain in temper; but if
treated gently and kindly he becomes docile and dependable, and as
faithful as a dog. He learns to know and love his master very soon, and
is as susceptible to flattery and petting as a dog or a woman. Some
ranchers, especially those with the reputation of being able to "make a
pretty good horse talk," will tell you that their favorite ponies, even
when in the pasture, come at their whistle like a dog; but it is not
very safe to trust to this devotion and obedience, for the majority are
as wild as hawks, and as difficult to catch, and unless one wishes the
exercise of a hard chase, it is better to hobble them when the saddle
and bridle are taken off and they are left to graze.
In buying ponies, either for polo or cattle, it is well to know the
owner's reputation, and how he breaks and handles them, for a good
cow-puncher is sure to have good ponies, fast and bridle-wise--"mighty
handy," in the vernacular, and trained to stop quickly and hold hard. In
roping, a good pony is as strong as any steer, and ought to be able to
hold no matter how hard the steer may jerk or pull when the rope is
thrown. There are no particular breeds in this country; any small horse
on the range is called "bronco" or "pony" indifferently, and they are
taken from all classes indiscriminately, being picked out by their size
and build, and the polo pony only differs from others by his superior
speed and agility, and his record as a cow pony.
The small fleet Arab horses which are sold so much in England for polo
have had no early training in cow-practice, but as a breed are very
intelligent, very quick, and yet extremely docile.
The Shetland-pony, which is such a favorite with children, is not agile
enough for either polo or cattle, and there are all sorts and conditions
of ponies that are useful in other respects, but absolutely useless in
rounding up or cutting out, or on the polo-grounds.
[Illustration: POLO PONIES.]
In advertising for polo ponies one usually sends out a circular stating
the necessary requisites: the size--fourteen hands one inch--and the
temper and disposition; and it takes a trained eye to pick out the most
promising from all those brought for inspection.
A good cutting pony is always safe, and the prices range according to
their value in cutting and penning cattle. They can be bought from
thirty-five to a hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars, and even up
to such fancy prices as five hundred. Some first-class cutting ponies
cannot be purchased at any price, for love or money, a cow-puncher or
ranch-owner being just as willing to part with his wife and children,
his house and land, as with his prize cow pony.
This cutting cattle is a wonderful thing, and a fruitful theme for the
tall stories with which the cowboy enlivens the tedium of the many idle
hours of his varied and precarious life. "Stuffing the tenderfoot" with
Munchausen tales of the marvellous performances of these remarkably
clever little animals, or swapping yarns with other gifted companions
whose imaginations have never been broken in by the strong hand of
truth. But even the stories which are strictly and literally true sound
almost incredible to the uninitiated, for the cutting pony shows not
only the sagacity and resources of the Scotch collie, but the quickness
and agility of the cat, in separating or cutting out the particular cow
or steer from the herd which his master indicates, sometimes by riding
the pony at her, or by following for a few yards.
The cattle may stampede, the steer or cow may run, double, stick like a
burr to the herd, but the clever little pony, cool and keen, heads her
off, turns her round, cuts her out, and finally drives her triumphantly
into the open, where she can be roped, or into a pen. He separates a cow
from her calf, cuts out a steer without even disturbing the others, and
uses as much judgment as an experienced man. The cow-puncher gives him
his head after the steer has once been selected, and only holds his
lasso in readiness to rope him when he has been successfully cut out
from the bunch.
A Texas cow-puncher offered once to bet a hundred dollars that his cow
pony could, _without a bridle_, cut any steer from the herd of cattle
after he had once understood which one he was to separate. The bet was
taken by a tenderfoot, who had sporting spirit enough not even to
grudge the money when he saw how cleverly it was done, the little pony
going to work, on his own account, with the same skill and judgment the
keenest cow-puncher in the country might have shown.
They get to be so fast and sharp, to turn and stop, and head off so
quickly, that it is almost bewildering to ride them in a difficult case.
Another Texas ranchman, a famous cow-puncher in his day, sold his
celebrated cutting pony because it was too fast for him; he was growing
too old for the pace.
This cutting-out work shows a pony to better advantage even than the
polo game. In heading off he acts more quickly than a man can think,
playing the game himself, which in polo is a very undesirable thing.
It is most amusing to watch the businesslike air with which a cutting
pony starts in to put a calf, one who is particularly fresh and
obstreperous, through a fence or into a pen, or to simply corner him.
There is nothing so exasperating as a calf, except, perhaps, a sheep.
Was it not John Randolph of Roanoke who maintained that he would _walk_
twenty miles to kick a sheep? Just so cowboys feel about a "fool calf."
A pony, however, when he chooses, can be equally aggravating. As in polo
he is sometimes too knowing, so in cutting cattle the very best ones use
their superior knowledge to be most exasperating.
They learn to gauge the distance and length of the rope with such
certainty that they know just when to stop for the throw; and when they
feel lazy and disinclined for the hard work of holding a steer, they
fool their master by coming to a stand a yard or two from the cow, and
the rope falls that much short.
One first-rate but obstinate cutting pony worked this trick so often
that his master was only saved from selling him by the humor of the
situation--his appreciation of the joke on himself.
It would be hard to choose from the stories current among cattle-men of
their cutting ponies--stories proving how "powerful smart," "plumb
human," etc., they are, for they all swear to the same class of what the
ignorant might call fiction, but which, in their opinion, does not even
come under the head of "tall horse talk."
Perhaps the --Z (bar Z) brand story is a fair example. The cow-puncher
assures you seriously that the cutting pony always knows his master's
brand, and can pick out a cow with this brand from a mixed herd of any
size, and they cite the following anecdote in illustration of this fact:
A certain --Z-brand cutting pony, who was sold after years of
experience, continued, in spite of all that his new master could do, to
cut out every cow or calf with the --Z brand that he could find in any
bunch. His owner was finally indicted for stealing cattle, but pleaded
his pony's record in self-defense. The court, sympathising in his
peculiar and delicate position, released him with a small fine; but the
pony, like Werther's Charlotte, went on cutting --Z cattle to the end of
his days, which might mean fifteen, sixteen, or even twenty years, for,
if well cared for, they often live that long. Both the cattle and polo
ponies are shod, even on the range, and if used hard are generally fed
in winter, though grazing all summer. They are ungroomed, and their
tails left flowing freely; and their first sensations, after a transfer
from their native heath to the luxurious and well-ordered stables of the
East, where they are docked, clipped, curried, rubbed down, and
blanketed, must be somewhat like those experienced by the tramp who is
forcibly bathed and groomed in a model lodging-house, though the polo
pony yields to the civilizing influence more readily than does the
tramp.
But the comforts of life and even the excitement of polo may seem to the
cutting pony a poor exchange for the lost delights of rounding up and
penning steers, and what is a Rockaway Cup to the glory of winning the
prize in a roping contest at a county fair? These roping contests are
the pride of the cattle-men, and the great feature of the Texan county
fairs.
[Illustration: STEER THROWN AND TIED IN FORTY-EIGHT SECONDS.]
The steer is put in a pen, and a man with a flag placed about fifty feet
from him. The man on the cutting pony stands near the pen, with the rope
ready. And at a given signal the steer is let out, and as he passes the
flag it is dropped, the pony dashes after him, and the man who can rope,
throw, and tie the steer in the shortest time wins the prize. It has
been done in twenty seconds, but the average time is about a minute; any
duffer, they say, can do it inside of five minutes. It is a dangerous
method of roping, and is only used in contests, never on the range, for
the pony is going at full speed, and the rope is thrown as he shoots by
the steer, the rider giving it a little fling and jerk on the off side,
and it is a close call whether the steer throws the pony or the pony the
steer.
The prize cow ponies are the ones most sought after for polo. They make
by far the best and most steady and reliable playing ponies. The
training for polo is of course different from that employed in roping
cattle, but a good cow pony has all the necessary qualifications, and
learns the game very quickly.
In order to accustom them to the mallet, one rides for several days
simply carrying it and waving it about, but not attempting to hit the
ball. The pony jumps at first, and is very nervous, but gradually grows
used to it, and after about ten days of flourishing the mallet round the
head and tapping the ball gently he is ready for the game with its
fierce scrimmage. As the warrior in olden times donned his armor--his
helmet, breastplate, greaves, and shield--before going to war, and as
his modern prototype, the football-player, prepares for battle with
shoulder and thigh pads, head and ear bandages, elastic knee and
ankle-bands, nose and teeth guards, so the polo pony is made ready for
his part in the great contest, being booted to the knees in heavy
leather leggings, which protect him from the blows of the mallet. A few
ponies, the very nervous or stupid ones, wear blinders, but as a general
rule they are played without them, and being able to see on either side
gives them a decided advantage.
With the light English saddle instead of the heavy Mexican monstrosity
which is universally used in roping cattle, the pony is led out,
blanketed by the groom, who is as careful of the condition of his polo
ponies as a jockey is of his race-horse. They are exercised regularly
when not playing, and given as much food as they will eat, and the
knowing little ponies are well aware of their true value, as one learns
in hearing polo men talk, or in reading Mr. Kipling's story of the
_Maltese Cat_.
As is the case in all fields of sport, the pony who plays for the
gallery is not nearly so useful in the long-run as the quiet, sensible,
steady ones who do not try to show off or play the whole game
themselves. Sometimes the high-strung, nervous ponies are the very best,
the quickest, and brightest, but they require most careful handling, and
are apt to get flighty, to have "wheels in their heads," and to want to
run, or they show every sign of equine nervous prostration. The
dispositions of the ponies are as varied as those of the superior
animal, man. They can be stubborn or yielding, uncertain or
even-tempered, tricky or steady, plucky or cowardly, nervous or
phlegmatic. They are ambitious, conceited, lazy, timid--in short, there
is no human trait of character that they do not at times exhibit.
Some ponies play very well at first, and then seem to lose their nerve,
and are never good for anything again.
When you know your pony's temper to be uncertain, the most cautious
handling is necessary. At the first symptom of becoming wicked it is
better to give in and get off.
A very fine polo pony belonging to Mr. Keene was entered in a contest in
one of the horse shows. The ponies had to go in and out between posts in
order to show how quickly they turned, and how well they minded the
rein. After three rounds, and before the final one, Mr. Keene quietly
jumped off and led his pony out of the ring. In explanation, he said
that his pony had made up his mind to be nasty, and simply wouldn't go;
he might spur or whip him till he was tired, but it would be of no use
when he had once become exasperated and stopped short.
The same sort of temper was shown in a match at Newport. It was very
close and exciting, when suddenly one of the best ponies on the ground
balked. His rider could not make him budge. Time was finally called, and
it took _eight men five minutes_ to get that stubborn little beast off
the field.
Outside of this uncertain temper, the most incurable faults in a polo
pony are shying, and stopping on the ball instead of following, and not
turning quickly enough.
They are plucky as a rule, but some ponies will play very well alone, be
sharp, and turn and stop in splendid form, but will not go into a game
with other ponies; the crowd seems to frighten and distress them.
Others will play a fine open game, but refuse a scrimmage, while a
scrimmage is to some the cream of the whole game, and they will never
give way, no matter how hard others bear against them, but stand like a
Yale or Princeton line in the teeth of an onslaught.
In a hard match ponies are only played for about seven minutes, they get
so winded; but often they go off the field most reluctantly, and chafe
to get back into the game.
The majority of polo ponies really seem to enjoy it, and in spite of
injuries and bad accidents, to enter into it with the zest of a true
sportsman; and the stories of their grit and endurance ought to go down
in history side by side with the tales of old war-horses and famous
cavalry chargers.
A game little pony named Ink was struck by a mallet in a scrimmage, and
though his master knew that he had been hit, the pony showed no signs of
being badly hurt, until the _goal they were trying for was made_, and
then he stood still, refusing to move. Two men and a boy tried to make
him walk, but could not, and they found that his leg was broken just
below the knee, and he was suffering so that they were obliged to shoot
him on the spot.
Another pony fell only the other day, and broke his neck without
uttering a sound, only beseeching them with his eyes to put an end to
his pain.
One could multiply examples of their heroism indefinitely, if it did not
seem to imply that the game was brutal. That is emphatically not the
case, though, as in all branches of athletics there are possibilities of
accidents more or less serious.
The object of this article, however, has been not the glorification,
justification, or explanation of the game of polo, but to give a brief
history of the noble little pony who plays it, and so long as he
thoroughly enjoys the excitement of the sport one cannot feel that he is
to be pitied, and one may wish him a long and prosperous career, and a
future even greater than his past.
ODD VESSELS DESIGNED FOR SPEED.
In a few days a very curious vessel, named _Ernest Bazin_, will be
finished at the Cail Dock-yards, at St. Denis, France. At first glance
it looks like a large broad platform, pointed at one end and round at
the other. There are three huge hollow disks, or wheels, on each side of
the platform, that rest in the water. These wheels support the vessel,
and when it is propelled by the use of a screw, the wheels revolve, and
the whole structure simply rolls over the surface of the water.
On the platform will be the usual cabins, saloons, etc., and in a
boxlike structure that sinks below the platform will be placed the
engines. It is claimed by the designers that the motion of the ship will
be very slight, thus doing away with seasickness, and the consumption of
coal will be considerably less than in ordinary steamships. As the
wheels roll over the water, the friction will be lessened, and with this
advantage it is expected that the vessel will do some astonishingly
quick travelling.
Another curious vessel was finished last June, and lay at a private
wharf in Virginia for some time. She was named the _Howard Cassard_ and
nicknamed the "Razor-back." With a length of 222 feet, she had only 16
feet beam. Her equilibrium was maintained by an extremely heavy keel and
some 50,000 pounds of machinery below the water-line.
The razorlike sharpness of the boat gave it a curious look, and it was
expected that when moving through the water the sharp prow would cut it
like a knife, thus reducing the resistance to a minimum. The narrowness
of her beam necessitated some economy in her interior arrangements, but
this was successfully overcome by adopting somewhat the idea of a
sleeping-car. But the _Howard Cassard_ was an experiment that evidently
has not been successful, as the claim of the designer to cross the ocean
in three-fifths of the time now required has as yet not been fulfilled
by his odd craft.
Probably one of the strangest ideas in marine construction was that of
the man who proposed placing in the stern of a vessel a number of
compressed-air cannons. These were to be fired one after the other, the
force of the air striking the water and driving the vessel forward.
Somewhat similar is the idea of another engineer and inventor. It is to
run a series of hollow pipes through the entire length of the keel. The
pipes are to receive the water at the bow and carry it to the centre of
the vessel, where it is shut off. Then a powerful pressure of compressed
air is brought into play, and the separated body of water is shot out of
the pipe in the stern, the power of the contact driving the vessel
forward. As the water is to be received and discharged alternately,
there would be no jerking motion.
OUR ROMAN TWINS.
BY OLIVE MAY EAGER.
[Illustration: THE ROMAN TWINS.]
When the twins were born in Rome, all of our friends exclaimed at once,
"Oh, Romulus and Remus!" but we did not name them for the city's twin
founders. One reason was that one of our babies was a girl, and although
we might have called her Romola, we could not make up our minds to name
the dear little brother in honor of that ill-natured Remus. So
notwithstanding their classic birthplace, our twins answer to common,
every-day names.
We lived at the foot of the Capitol, within a stone's-throw of the Roman
Forum, around which clusters so much of legend and history. The nursery
window overlooked the Capitol garden, where two wolves were always
stalking restlessly about in their cages. Before our twins knew a word
of English, and almost as soon as they could lisp in sweet Italian
accents, they heard the tale of Romulus and Remus, and knew that the
great city of Rome honored this legend by keeping two live wolves at the
Capitol.
When they grew older and walked through the ancient streets, they became
familiar with the picture of the babes and the wolf as seen on
sign-boards and placards, as well as in marble and bronze reliefs. Thus
the old legend grew into their lives, and they talked it over in wise
baby fashion. Whenever they went to play hide-and-seek around the statue
of Marcus Aurelius, in the Capitol square, they stopped long before the
poor old caged wolves, and wondered why two wolves were kept, if Remus
had to be killed for his bad behavior. Once they suggested to nurse that
one wolf and two babies would seem more true to history; but when she
replied that they would do splendidly for the babies, they dropped the
subject, lest the city fathers hear of it in some way, and feel inclined
to carry out so brilliant an idea.
In their own logical way, they were quite decided as to the place where
Remus, in derision, jumped over the city wall, for it would be very easy
to leap a certain low point up near the Macao, where they once went to
see King Humbert review his troops in honor of the German Emperor's
visit to Rome.
Of course mother wrote to America about the twins' sayings and doings,
and one day they received a letter from the auntie whom they had never
seen. She wrote that she had a globe of goldfish, and each fish had a
name, except two tiny ones, which she would leave for them to name and
to own when they came to see her in the spring.
The twins were very sober over this serious matter, though they did not
even discuss the names, but from the start called their fish Romulus and
Remus. When spring came, mother left for America with her
five-year-olds, who stood the travelling well, and were made much of in
the old home where mother spent her girlhood.
True to her promise, auntie gave them the fish in a tiny globe, and
they would sit on the floor watching the goldies by the hour. It was a
source of regret that they had no means of telling which was which, but
one day they came pitching up stairs, too excited to speak plainly, "Oh,
mother! we've 'scovered Remus, 'cause he jumped over." Sure enough,
there lay the poor fish gasping on the floor, and although we put him
back in the water immediately, he hobbled around for days with a broken
fin, and moved stiffly ever afterwards.