Cruisings in the Cascades / A Narrative of Travel, Exploration, Amateur Photography, / Hunting, and Fishing

by G. O. Shields

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.

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.