Nothing aggravates a cowboy so much, or makes him more desperate in his selection of tricks, as the affectation of badness on the part of a newcomer. A year or two ago a young man, who had been saving up his money for years in order to emulate the deeds of some of the heroes described in the cheap books he had been reading, arrived in the Southwest, and proceeded to introduce himself to a number of employes of a cattle ranch who, a few years ago, would have been known as regulation cowboys. The unlimited impudence and the astounding mendacity of the youth amused the cowboys very much, and they allowed him to narrate a whole list of terrible acts he had committed in the East. Before he had been in his new company an hour, he had talked of thefts and even killings with the nonchalance of a man who had served a dozen years in jail. His listeners enjoyed the absurdity of the situation, and allowed him to talk at random without interruption.
The story telling was brought to an end in a very sensational manner indeed. One of the listeners knew that a deputy sheriff was in the neighborhood looking out for a dangerous character. Skipping out from the party, he hunted up the deputy, and told him that one of the hunted man's confederates was in the camp. The deputy, who was new to the business and anxious to make a reputation for himself, rushed to the camp and arrested the storyteller in spite of his protests. The young man, who had been so brave a few minutes before, wept bitterly, and begged that some one would telegraph his mother so as to have his character established and his liberty assured. The joke was kept up so long that the young man was actually placed in safe keeping all night. The following morning he was released, as there was nothing whatever against him except artistic lying. The speed that he managed to attain while hurrying to the nearest railroad station showed that with proper training he might have made a good athlete.
He waited around the station until the next train went East, and no passenger was more delighted when the conductor said "All aboard," than was the youth who was going back home very much discouraged, but very considerably enlightened.
On another occasion a typical cowboy was traveling on the cars, and as is quite common with members of his profession, had been approached by a sickly looking youth, who asked him dozens of questions and evinced a great anxiety to embark upon prairie life. There was very little to interest the cattle-worker, and after awhile he determined to get rid of his not overwelcome, self-introduced friend. He accordingly pointed, out a rough-looking man at the far end of the car, and told the questioner that he was the leader of a dangerous band of train robbers. The individual was probably some hard-working man of perfectly honest habits, but the would-be brave young man, who a few moments before had been a candidate for a life of danger and hardship, was so horrified at the bare idea, that he decided in a moment to emulate the Irishman who said he had left his future behind him, and jumped from the moving train, preferring a succession of knocks and bruises to actual contact with a man of the character he had schooled himself into admiring.
Every man who creates a disturbance, defies the law, and discharges fire-arms at random is spoken of as a cowboy, although in a majority of instances he has never done a day's work to justify the name. The tough man from the East who goes West to play the bad cowboy, is liable to find that he has been borrowing trouble. He finds out that an altercation is likely to bring him up facing the muzzle of a pistol in the hands of a man much more ready to pull the trigger off-hand than to waste time in preliminary talk. He soon learns the lesson of circumspection and, if he survives the process, his behavior is usually modified to fit his new surroundings. A tragic illustration of the results that may come from a tenderfoot's attempt to masquerade as a bad man west of the Mississippi River, took place in the winter of 1881-82 in New Mexico, on a southward-bound Atchison train. One of the strangers was terrorizing the others. He was a tough-looking fellow from some Eastern city; he had been drinking, and he paraded the cars talking loudly and profanely, trying to pick quarrels with passengers and frequently flourishing a revolver. The train hands did not seem inclined to interfere with him, and among the people aboard whom he directly insulted, he did not happen to hit upon any one who had the sand or the disposition to call him down.
Toward the members of a theatrical company, traveling in one of the coaches, he particularly directed his violence and insults. His conduct with them at last became unbearable, and when, after threatening two actors with his revolver and frightening the women to the verge of hysterics, he passed onward into another car, a hurried council of war was held in the coach be had just vacated, and every man who had a pistol got it in readiness, with the understanding that if he returned, he was to be shot down at the first aggressive movement. But that phase of trouble was averted, for, as it happened, he remained in the car ahead until, at dusk, the train rolled into Albuquerque.
Here the proprietor of the Armijo House was at the station with his hackman awaiting the train's arrival. He called out the name of his house at the door of one car, and then turning to the hackman said: "You take care of the passengers in this car, and I will go to the next."
These inoffensive words caught the ear of the tough man from the East, who was pushing his way to the car platform. He drew his pistol and started for the nearest man on the station platform, shouting:
"You'll take care of us, will you? I'll show you smart fellows out here that you are not able to take care of me."
He flourished his revolver as he spoke and, just as his feet struck the second step of the car, he fired, the ball passing over the head of the man on the station platform. The sound of his pistol was quickly followed by two loud reports, and the tough man fell forward upon the platform dead. The man at whom he had apparently fired had drawn his revolver and shot him twice through the heart.