ACROSS THE CONTINENT WITH THE FIFTH CAVALRY.
(Capt. George F. Price.)
“After Cody was appointed chief scout and guide for the Republican River expedition, he was conspicuous during the pursuit of the Dog Soldiers, under the celebrated Cheyenne chief, Tall Bull, whom he killed at Summit Springs, Colo. He also guided the Fifth Cavalry to a position whence the regiment was enabled to charge upon the enemy and win a brilliant victory. He afterward participated in the Niobrara pursuit, and later narrowly escaped death at the hands of hostile Sioux on Prairie Dog Creek, Kan., September 26, 1869. He was assigned to Fort McPherson when the expedition was disbanded, and served at that station (was a justice of the peace in 1871) until the Fifth Cavalry was transferred to Arizona. He served during this period with several expeditions, and was conspicuous for gallant conduct in the Indian combat at Red Willow and Birdwood creeks, and also for successful services as chief scout and guide of the buffalo-hunt which was arranged by General Sheridan for the Grand Duke Alexis of Russia.
“Cody was then assigned to duty with the Third Cavalry, and served with that regiment until the fall of 1872, when he was elected a member of the Nebraska Legislature, and thus acquired the title of ‘Honorable.’
“At the beginning of the Sioux War in 1876 he hastened to Cheyenne, Wyo., joined the Fifth Cavalry, which had recently returned from Arizona, and was engaged in the affair at War Bonnet (Indian Creek), Wyo. He then accompanied the Fifth Cavalry to Goose Creek, Mont., and served with the Big Horn and Yellowstone expedition until September. Cody abundantly proved during this campaign that he had lost none of his old-time skill and daring in Indian warfare. He enjoys a brilliant reputation as a scout and guide, which has been fairly earned by faithful and conspicuous service.
“William F. Cody is one of the best scouts and guides that ever rode at the head of a column of cavalry on the prairies of the Far West. His army friends, from general to private, hope that he may live long and prosper abundantly.
“Should the wild Sioux again go on the war-path, Cody, if living, will be found with the cavalry advance, riding another ‘Buckskin Joe,’ and carrying his Springfield rifle, ‘Lucretia,’ across the pommel of his saddle.”
This merited note of applause will find an echo in every patriotic American heart which recognizes and remembers that it was in the Fifth Cavalry that Gens. Robert E. Lee, Albert Sidney Johnston, Hardee, Emory, Van Dorn, Custer, and other noted generals served, and which was formerly known as the Second Dragoons.
GUIDING IN A BLIZZARD.
From Gen. Phil Sheridan’s “Autobiography.” After relating his conception of the first winter campaign against Indians on the then uninhabited and bleak plains, in the winter of 1868, he says:
“The difficulties and hardships to be encountered had led several experienced officers of the army and some frontiersmen, like old Jim Bridger, the famous scout and guide of earlier days, to discourage the project. I decided to go in person, bent on showing the Indians that they were not secure from punishment because of inclement weather—an ally on which they had hitherto relied with much assurance. We started, and the very first night a blizzard struck us and carried away our tents. The gale was so violent that they could not be put up again; the rain and snow drenched us to the skin. Shivering from wet and cold, I took refuge under a wagon, and there spent such a miserable night that when morning came the gloomy predictions of old man Bridger and others rose up before me with greatly increased force. The difficulties were now fully realized; the blinding snow, mixed with sleet; the piercing wind, thermometer below zero—with green bushes only for fuel—occasioning intense suffering. Our numbers and companionship alone prevented us from being lost or perishing, a fate that stared in the face the frontiersmen, guides, and scouts on their solitary missions.
“An important matter had been to secure competent guides for the different columns of troops, for, as I have said, the section of country to be operated in was comparatively unknown.
“In those days the railroad town of Hays City was filled with so-called ‘Indian scouts,’ whose common boast was of having slain scores of redskins; but the real scout—that is, a guide and trailer knowing the habits of the Indians—was very scarce, and it was hard to find anybody familiar with the country south of the Arkansas, where the campaign was to be made. Still, about the various military posts there was some good material to select from, and we managed to employ several men, who, from their experience on the plains in various capacities, or from natural instinct and aptitude, soon became excellent guides and courageous and valuable scouts, some of them, indeed, gaining much distinction. Mr. William F. Cody (‘Buffalo Bill’), whose renown has since become world-wide, was one of the men thus selected. He received his sobriquet from his marked success in killing buffaloes to supply fresh meat to the construction parties on the Kansas Pacific Railway. He had lived from boyhood on the plains and passed every experience—herder, hunter, pony-express rider, stage-driver, wagon-master in the quartermaster’s department, and scout of the army, and was first brought to my notice by distinguishing himself in bringing me an important dispatch from Fort Larned to Fort Hays, a distance of sixty-five miles, through a section infested with Indians. The dispatch informed me that the Indians near Larned were preparing to decamp, and this intelligence required that certain orders should be carried to Fort Dodge, ninety-five miles south of Hays. This too being a particularly dangerous route—several couriers having been killed on it—it was impossible to get one of the various Petes, Jacks, or Jims hanging around Hays City to take my communication. Cody, learning of the strait I was in, manfully came to the rescue, and proposed to make the trip to Dodge, though he had just finished his long and perilous ride from Larned. I gratefully accepted his offer, and after a short rest he mounted a fresh horse and hastened on his journey, halting but once to rest on the way, and then only for an hour, the stop being made at Coon Creek, where he got another mount from a troop of cavalry. At Dodge he took some sleep, and then continued on to his own post—Fort Larned—with more dispatches. After resting at Larned he was again in the saddle with tidings for me at Fort Hays, General Hazen sending him this time with word that the villages had fled to the south of the Arkansas. Thus, in all, Cody rode about three hundred and fifty miles in less than sixty hours, and such an exhibition of endurance and courage at that time of the year and in such weather was more than enough to convince me that his services would be extremely valuable in the campaign, so I retained him at Fort Hays till the battalion of the Fifth Cavalry arrived, and then made him chief of scouts.”
BUFFALO BILL AS BUFFALO HUNTER.
Read through the fascinating book, “Campaigning with Crook (Maj.-Gen. George Crook, U. S. A.) and Stories of Army Life,” due to the graphic and soldierly pen of Capt. Charles King of the United States Army, published in 1890.
Incidentally the author refers in various pages to Colonel Cody as scout, etc., and testifies to the general esteem and affection in which Buffalo Bill is held by the army.
The subjoined extracts from the book will give our readers an excellent idea of the military scout’s calling and its dangers:
“‘By Jove! General,’ says Buffalo Bill, sliding backward down the hill, ‘now’s our chance. Let our party mount here out of sight and we’ll cut those fellows off. Come down, every other man of you.’
“Glancing behind me, I see Cody, Tait, and ‘Chips,’ with five cavalrymen, eagerly bending forward in their saddles, grasping carbine and rifle, every eye bent upon me, watching for the signal. Not a man but myself knows how near they are. ‘That’s right, close in, you beggars! Ten seconds more and you are on them! A hundred and twenty-five yards—a hundred—ninety—now, lads, in with you.’...
“There’s a rush, a wild ringing cheer; then bang, bang, bang! and in a cloud of dust, Cody and his men tumble in among them, Buffalo Bill closing on a superbly accoutered warrior. It is the work of a minute; the Indian has fired and missed. Cody’s bullet tears through the rider’s leg into the pony’s heart, and they tumble in a confused heap on the prairie. The Cheyenne struggles to his feet for another shot, but Cody’s second bullet hits the mark. It is now close quarters, knife to knife. After a hand-to-hand struggle, Cody wins, and the young chief Yellow Hand drops lifeless in his tracks after a hot fight. Baffled and astounded, for once in a lifetime beaten at their own game, their project of joining Sitting Bull nipped in the bud, they take hurried flight. But our chief is satisfied; Buffalo Bill is radiant; his are the honors of the day.”—From p. 35.
BUFFALO BILL’S DUEL WITH CHIEF YELLOW HAND.
General Cody holds his commission in the National Guard of the United States (State of Nebraska), an honorable position, and as high as he can possibly attain. His connection with the Regular United States Army has covered a continuous period of fifteen years, and desultory connection of thirty years—in the most troublous era of that superb corps’ Western history—as guide, scout, and chief of scouts—a position unknown in any other service, and the confidential nature of which is told in the extract from General Dodge’s work, quoted below. This privileged position, and the nature of its services in the past, may be more fully appreciated when it is understood that it commanded, besides horses, subsistence, and quarters, $10 per day ($3,650 per year), all expenses, and for special service, or “life and death” volunteer missions, special rewards of from $100 to $500 for carrying a single dispatch, and brought its holder the confidence of commanding generals, the fraternal friendship of the commissioned officers, the idolization of the ranks, and the universal respect and consideration of the hardy pioneers and settlers of the West.
In addition to the distinguished officers previously named in this chapter, General Cody may also well be proud of his service under Generals Bankhead, Fry, Crittenden, Switzer, Rucker, Smith, King, Van Vliet, Anson, Mills, Reynolds, Greeley, Penrose, Sandy, Forsyth, Dudley, Canby, Blunt, Hayes, Guy, Henry, and others.
As a fitting close to this chapter of Cody’s record as a scout, and as epitomizing the character of his services, the writer quotes from page 628 of Colonel Dodge’s “Thirty Years Among the Indians”:
“Of ten men employed as scouts, nine will prove to be worthless; of fifty so employed, one may prove to be really valuable; but though hundreds, even thousands, of men have been so employed by the Government since the war, the number of really remarkable men among them can be counted on the fingers. The services which these men are called on to perform are so important and valuable that the officer who benefits by them is sure to give the fullest credit, and men honored in official reports come to be great men on the frontier. Fremont’s reports made Kit Carson a renowned man. Custer immortalized California Joe. Custer, Merritt, Carr, and Miles made William F. Cody (‘Buffalo Bill’) a plains celebrity ‘until time shall be no more’.”
CHAPTER III.
WHAT IS A COWBOY?
Around the name of cowboy hangs a romance that will never die.
It is a romance interwoven with deeds of daring, nerve, and big-heartedness that will survive long after civilization has stamped out every need for the brave men who have been known by the name of cowboy.
COWBOYS LASSOING WILD HORSES.
Our country is one that has sprung surprises upon the world from its very beginning, and it has produced men possible in no other land.
Without the services of the cowboy the vast grazing-lands of America would have been worthless.
As the buffalo, like the Indian, perished before the march of emigration westward, there came to take their place vast herds of beef-cattle, feeding on the plains where the once wild monarchs of the prairies had roamed.
With these immense herds it was necessary to have herders, and they became known by the somewhat picturesque cognomen of cowboy.
They are known from the flower-bespangled prairies of the Lone Star State to the land of the Frozen North, and their worth is recognized by those who know them as they are, for to their care is given the vast wealth of the cattlemen of the country, which is not alone in the beef furnished for the markets but to be found also in the tan-yards and factories of the East.
By many, who do not know him as he is, the cowboy is despised and generally feared.
He is looked upon as a wild, reckless fellow, armed to the teeth, keeping half-full of bad whisky, and always ready for a fight or some deed of deviltry.
How little is he known, and thus abused, for no braver hearts, no more generous motives, are to be found among men than are those that beat beneath the hunting-shirt of the cowboy, whether he comes from the country bordering on the Rio Grande, the great plains of the Southwest, the level prairies of the West, or the grazing-lands of Wyoming.
During night and day, storm and sunshine, danger and death, they are at their post of duty, always ready to be called upon, shrinking from no hardship, driven off by no peril, suffering untold privations, but ever ready to protect and care for the valuable herds that they control.
At times, when a temporary relief from duty comes to them, is it a wonder that they break forth into reckless hilarity?
They mean no harm to any one, and if, as in all communities, one goes beyond all bounds and the death of a comrade follows, the many must suffer for the deeds of the few.
The cowboy is composed of that stern stuff of which heroes are made, and the poet and the novelist have always found in this rover of the plains the richest material for song and story.
In olden times it was that the boys of every land turned toward the sea as the Mecca of their hopes and ambitions.
They saw upon its broad bosom a field of adventure, a life of romance; and they sought to emulate great captains, good and bad.
But with the coming of steam-vessels the romance of the seas faded into oblivion; foreign lands were brought near; the mystery of the blue waters was solved in a most matter-of-fact way, and the growing youths of the country turned to new fields of adventure.
Columbus had won the admiration of would-be young heroes, and the heroic deeds of the grand old sailor were read with avidity, the boy longing some day to emulate them.
Even Kyd, Lafitte, Morgan, and other pirate captains became heroes in the minds of the average boy, who longed to run away to sea and make his name known in the world.
But steam dispelled these ambitions, and the American boy was forced to turn his hopes upon the land of the setting sun.
Daniel Boone was a hero to admire; David Crockett, Kit Carson, and others became the beau ideal of border heroes, and the heart of the youth thrilled in reading of these men in buckskin.
And these men of the wild West, of whom Buffalo Bill is the most conspicuous figure, made it possible for other border heroes to appear.
They sprung from the ranks of the army, from the emigrant’s cabin, and from among those rangers of the plains, the cowboys.
These brave fellows have produced many a hero in their ranks, and they have been ever ready to battle for the weak against the strong.
The ranch and the cattle interests are being encroached upon by the advance of civilization, the mask of mystery is being torn from the wild borderland by the westward march of the iron horse, and in a few more years, like the scout, the guide, the trapper, and the hunter, the cowboy will be a thing of the past.
A BUCKING BRONCO.
To be acknowledged as a true cowboy, and to the prairie born, one must possess accomplishments for the perilous and arduous work they have to undergo.
He must be a perfect horseman, handle a rope, catch a calf, throw and tie a steer, stop a crazy cow on a stampede, lasso a mustang, and be a good shot, guide, scout, and Indian fighter as well.
Let me here refer to a few incidents of a trip over the plains of a herd of cattle to the markets of the North, through the wild and unsettled portions of the Territories, varying in distance from fifteen hundred to two thousand miles, time three to six months, extending through the Indian Territory and Kansas to Nebraska, Colorado, Dakota, Montana, Idaho, Nevada, and sometimes as far as California. Immense herds, as high as thirty thousand or more, are moved by single owners, but are driven in bands of from one to three thousand, which, when under way, are designated “herds.” Each of these have from ten to fifteen men, with a wagon-driver and cook, and the “king-pin of the outfit,” the boss, with a supply of two or three ponies to a man, an ox-team, and blankets; also jerked-beef and corn-meal—the staple food. They are also furnished with mavericks, or “doubtless-owned” yearlings, for the fresh-meat supply. After getting fully under way, and the cattle broke in, from ten to fifteen miles a day is the average, and everything is plain sailing in fair weather. As night comes on the cattle are rounded up in a small compass, and held until they lie down, when two men are left on watch, riding round and round them in opposite directions, singing or whistling all the time, for two hours, that being the length of each watch. The singing is absolutely necessary, as it seems to soothe the fears of the cattle, scares away the wolves or other varmints that may be prowling around, and prevents them from hearing any other accidental sound, or dreaming of their old homes; and if stopped would in all probability be the signal for a general stampede. “Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,” if a cowboy’s compulsory bawling out lines of his own composition:
Lie nicely now, cattle, don’t heed any rattle,
But quietly rest until morn;
For if you skedaddle, we’ll jump in the saddle,
And head you as sure as you’re born,
can be considered such.
Ordinarily so clumsy and stupid-looking, a thousand beef-steers can rise like a flock of quail on the roof of an exploding powder-mill, and will scud away like a tumble-weed before a high wind, with a noise like a receding earthquake. Then comes fun and frolic for the boys. Many a cowboy has lost his life in one of these wild stampedes of cattle, which would put an army of men to flight in a mad charge down upon them.
A CATTLE STAMPEDE.
The next great trouble is in crossing streams, which are invariably high in the driving season. When cattle strike swimming-water, they generally try to turn back, which eventuates in their “milling”—that is, swimming in a circle—and if allowed to continue would result in the drowning of many. Then the daring herder must leave his pony, doff his togs, scramble over their backs and horns, to scatter them, and with whoops and yells, splashing, dashing, and didos in the water, scare them to the opposite bank. This is not always done in a moment, for a steer is no fool of a swimmer. One has been seen to hold his own for six hours in the gulf, after having jumped overboard. As some of the streams are very rapid, and a quarter to a half mile wide, considerable drifting is done. Then the naked herder has plenty of amusement in the hot sun, fighting green-head flies and mosquitoes, and peeping around for Indians, until the rest of the lay-out is put over—not an easy job. A temporary boat has to be made of the wagon-box by tacking the canvas cover over the bottom, with which the ammunition and grub is ferried across, and the running-gear and ponies are swum over afterward. Indian fights and horse-thief troubles are part of the regular rations. Mixing with other herds and cutting them out, again avoiding too much water at times and hunting for a drop at others, belongs to the regular routine.
Such is the cowboy of the wild West, who, if not without faults, has virtues to compensate for the little eccentricities that cling to men of the frontier.
A GROUP OF HOSTILES.
CHAPTER IV.
THE RIDERS OF THE WORLD.
Many customs and habits, by reason of their peculiar surroundings and requirements, have become necessities, and, indeed, second nature to some people; while to others, whose observation has shown the graces and beauties of these same customs and habits, they are studied with great diligence and application, and acquired, as far as such things can be acquired, as accomplishments.
To the Bedouin of the Arabian Desert, the Cossack, the Vacquero, the Gaucho, and last, but the peers of any of these, our native Indian and our own cowboy, the horse is a necessity; and woe be unto that man who by fraud, stealth, or force attempts to despoil the owner of his animal, his pet. Pleasures, comforts, necessities, aye, living itself, would be impossible to either of these if his horse was not part of his worldly possessions. The desert, the pampas, the llanos, and the prairie without horses would, for the uses of man, be as an ocean without ships or boats. But to the fashionables of the world the art of horsemanship is a beautiful and admirable accomplishment, a means of healthful exercise. The rider’s grace of carriage, his easy seat, his courageous bearing, like the fit of his handsome tailor-made riding-suit, are objects of pride to himself, and causes of congratulation from his associates. Gentlemen riders occasionally replace their jockeys on the race-course for the display of their grace and ability. But, after all, how poor their best efforts seem, how awkward their most graceful carriage, and how uncertain and timid their most heroic riding appears when put in actual contrast to the native ease, grace, daring, and picturesque riding of those “to the manor born.” The one is, to quote from familiar slang, “born in the saddle,” “looks as if part of his horse,” while the other easily betrays his hours of study and of practice.
NIP AND TUCK.
As children we have all read of the Arab, but we remember him principally by recollecting his love for his horse. From our school-boy days the Arab and his horse have been as one to us. His somewhat fantastic costume and the complicated trappings of his steed were beautiful pictures to us, and we recall them yet. These Bedouins of the Arabian Desert are not only recognized as among the best horsemen of the world, but are the beau ideal of Eastern pathfinders. The Cossack of the Caucasian line is by inheritance and inclination among the most fearless and graceful horsemen of the world. His system of warfare, which bears a striking similarity to that which prevailed on the American frontier a few years ago, is the finest school for the development of military horsemanship since the days of Saladin and Cœur de Leon. The Cossacks of the Caucasian line are entitled to be called the flower of that great horde of irregular cavalry, the Cossack Military Colonies, that dwell along the southern frontier of the Russian Empire. They spring from the same branch of the great Cossack family, the Zaporogians, which Byron immortalized in his great poem “Mazeppa.” On their light steppe horses, which are as fierce and active as themselves, they have proven themselves worthy of their fierce and warlike sires. Experts as swordsmen, as well as horsemen, they met their old enemies, the Russians, on equal terms.
As picturesque, and more gaudy in appearance and trapping than either the Bedouin or the Cossack, is the wily Vacquero of our neighboring Mexico. Agile, hardy, and dashing, adepts in the work of lasso-throwing, as well as with arms, they are alike interesting in exhibition and dangerous as foes.
But of all these native-born and wonderful horsemen of lands other than our own, perhaps the most complete, the most daring and dangerous in war, the most phenomenal trailer, the greatest pathfinder, is the wonderful Gaucho from the llanos of the Argentine Republic. From his earliest infancy the half-wild horses have been his intimates and familiars. When the American or English boy is just learning to stand on his feet alone, the infant Gaucho is being taught by his fond mother to steady himself on the back of one of the ponies of the herd. At the age of four years he can ride the wildest colt that roams the pampas, and from that time he and his horse are practically one; and to unseat him would be almost to tear from the horse a portion of his own anatomy. He is by virtue of his home life and occupations completely dependent on his horse. He spends most of his life on horseback, and is associated with the wild equine to a greater degree than any member of the other equestrian races of the world. Armed with the deadly bolas he is a terrible foe to either bird, beast, or man. The bolas consists of a number of rawhide thongs fastened to a central thong and with an iron ball at each of the ends. He is possibly the most expert lassoer in the world; and when in pursuit of animal or bird he hurls the deadly bolas with unerring skill. From a distance of sixty feet he causes it to inextricably entangle about the legs, bringing the victim helpless to the ground. When tracking his foe across the pathless continent, his fearful skill and persistence make the work of the Cuban bloodhound and the Bedouin of the desert appear like child’s play. It is interesting to note that the Gaucho himself makes nearly everything connected with his outfit, from the saddle in which he rides to the boots which cover his feet.
WILD RIDERS OF THE PLAINS.
Though these horsemen of the Orient and of South America are picturesque types of the riders of the world, the list would indeed be incomplete if we omitted our own Indian and cowboy. To the former no price is too high, no danger too threatening to risk, no undertaking too hazardous to attempt, that will win for him a horse. His wealth is told in the number of his horses, and while he may keep his promise of peace to the settler, he can rarely resist “borrowing” one of his horses if occasion seems to him to demand the need of it. Whether in pursuit of game, indulging in his peculiarly interesting sports, or on the war-path, his pony is his friend and companion. It would at times appear as though the wish, the thought, of the rider was in some mysterious way communicated to the horse without word of mouth or touch of bridle-rein, so quick are their changes of movement or direction and so seldom is a correction made.
Indian warfare was made far more dangerous to the pioneer of comparatively later days by reason of the red man’s introduction to the horse. In the earliest conflicts between the hereditary owners of this continent and the white aggressor, the horse and his uses were unknown to the former. His fighting, like his hunting, had to be done on foot. An Indian attack in those days could not be made with the suddenness or the rush, nor could his retreat be so quickly accomplished, as in after years. And it was not until Cortez brought over his horses that the “long-felt want” was satisfied. Now, like a veritable Centaur, he strides his animal, his command so complete that it appears his arms and hands are not needed for use in his horsemanship, but left free to handle his bow and arrow or his rifle.
Just here it may be well to say a few words relative to the noble animal whose duties and services have commanded the admiration of mankind.
It seems to be a settled fact that the horse is of Moorish origin, as also is his accompaniment, the saddle.
To follow the theory of other able writers, the horse is thought to be a native of the plains of Central Asia, but the wild species from which it is derived is not certainly known. The Asiatic horse with its one digit was in turn evolved from ancestors with polydactyl feet. Some instances have been known in modern times, and ancient records give stories, of horses presenting more than one toe. Julius Cæsar’s horse is said to have had this peculiarity. Suetonius, the writer, describes this horse as being almost human, with the hoofs cleft like toes. This author says: “It was born in Cæsar’s own stables, and as the soothsayers declared that it showed that its owner would be lord of the world, he reared it with great care, and was the first to mount it. It would allow no other rider.” Most of the polydactyl horses found in the present day have been raised in the southwest of America, or from that ancestry bred. In this way their connection with the mustang, or semi-wild stock of that region, becomes at least probable.
This same raw-boned, small, or medium-sized horse, called the mustang, possesses a well-authenticated claim to noble origin. Horses of good Berber blood were brought over by the Spanish conquerors under Cortez and De Soto, and it is a most reasonable supposition that these invaders selected the very best and strongest specimens of the breed for use in their daring ventures. It is not surprising that the natives of Mexico, when for the first time they saw approaching them men on horses, both clad in glittering armor, were filled with terror. To them it seemed that man and horse were one, a veritable four-legged warrior, and they fled precipitately to the fastnesses of their own mountains to escape contact with this monstrosity.
In good time the climate and surroundings wrought many changes in the horse that first landed on the shores of Mexico, and the breed eventually became what is now known as the “American mustang,” perhaps the hardiest specimen of the genus horse now known. From this origin evoluted the finest breeds of horses now claimed to be American bred.
During the visit of the Wild West to Paris, General Cody, by invitation, called on Rosa Bonheur, the famous painter of horses. Three years prior to this time Miss Bonheur had received from America three fine mustang ponies, two of which had, despite all effort, remained uncontrollable and therefore, of course, useless to her. These latter she generously tendered to General Cody as a present. Her surprise when Cody calmly accepted the offer, and assured her that “his boys” would have but little trouble in catching and controlling these animals, can hardly be described. True to his assurance, Cody soon had two of his “boys” on hand, and in a short time the apparently uncontrollable “Appach” and “Clair de Lune” were lassoed by the “boys,” saddled and mounted. This scene was witnessed not only by the great artist herself but by numbers of marveling neighbors, who, by peeping through their window-shutters, saw for the first time a lasso hunt. The quick, accurate, and successful work of the American cowboy astonished and interested all these witnesses to a wonderful degree.
To the cowboy’s dexterous horsemanship, added to his courage and endurance, has been largely due the protection of the lives and property of the early emigrants to the great West. For years the dissemination of news was entirely dependent upon these heroic riders. Now the success and preservation of the vast cattle interests are made possible only by the watchful care of the cowboy and his pony—the one practically helpless without the other.
The “view halloo” of the English hunting gentleman may be inspiriting to those accustomed to it, but how it lacks in vigor, in earnestness, in actual music, the famous cowboy yell as he and his pony dash upon game or hostile Indians. This latter carries with its sound the conviction of heartiness, determination, and enthusiasm with which he begins a sport, faces a danger, or encounters a foe. To those who have seen Gen. W. F. Cody (“Buffalo Bill”) give exhibitions of this method of riding, it will readily be understood how difficult it is in words to illustrate the strange peculiarity of its singular attractiveness.
To this man of ideas is due the thought of gathering together in one congress the representatives of all these types of horses and riders. And, as with Cody to resolve is to act, this interesting assemblage is ready for public contemplation at the World’s Fair.
It may not be inappropriate in this chapter to quote the words of the famous king of poets in eulogy of that noble animal, the horse.