The largeness of the cloudless blue.”
The religion of the cow-puncher? My impression was that he had none, for certainly he subscribed to no conventional creed or dogma. Yet what was it that gave him a code of honor which made cheating or a lie an unforgivable offense and a man guilty of either an outcast scorned by his associates, and what was it that would have made him go without bread or shelter that a woman or child might not suffer?
Rough and gentle, brutal and tender, good and bad, not angel at one time and devil at another, but rather saint and sinner at the same time. Little of religious influence came into his life, and as for Bibles—there were none.
I remember the story of a Bishop who was travelling through the West and was asked to hold service in one of the larger towns. When he arrived he found that he had left his own Bible on the train, so he sent the hotel clerk out to borrow one. After some time the man returned with a Bible, explaining to the Bishop that it was the only one in town. “I went everywhere and finally got this one. It’s the one they use at the Court House to swear on!”
The cow-puncher, however, could swear without any assistance, for usually “cussin’” formed a very necessary part of his conversation. But as I sat at my window sewing one summer morning I heard a violent argument at the corral between Fred and a new “hay-hand” from Kansas. Fred’s voice was decisive.
“That’s all right, but you cut out that cussin’ here—the Missus’ window’s open, and she’ll hear you.” And the heart of “the Missus” warmed to her Knight of the Corral.
There was another incident, the true significance of which I did not know until three years after it occurred, when the foreman of the L—— ranch met Owen in Denver and inquired for me, adding:
“Well, I’ll never forget Mrs. Brook. Do you remember the day we was shippin’ them white faces from the Junction about three years ago, when you and Mrs. Brook happened to come along and stopped to watch us? Well, one of the best men I had was brandin’ a calf when it kicked him and he swore at it proper; all of a sudden he looked up and saw Mrs. Brook and another lady standin’ on that high platform by the yards watchin’ us. He was so plumb beat, he threw down his brandin’ iron, took up his hat, walked across the street to a saloon and began drinkin’ and stayed drunk for three days, and there I was, short-handed, with a train-load of cows and calves to ship.”
Contrast again—chivalry carried to the extent of being drunk for three days because he had sworn before a woman!
The horses were all being ridden and trained for the inspection which was soon to take place. Each man had his own “string,” those he had broken, and every day they were put through their paces. When inspected, they had to be walked, trotted and run up and down before the officers, stopped instantly, and the veterinarian was supposed to put his ear to their chests to see if their breathing was regular and their hearts sound. Now, Western horses are not accustomed to having their hearts tested, and I noticed that while the riders did everything else that was required, they tacitly agreed “to let the vet do his own listnin’.”