A SUGGESTION OF THE “WILD WEST.”
Remington’s Famous Picture, “A Bucking Bronco.”
“Just around the corner,” Harry answered. “And Phinney says it is twice as good as it used to be.”
A short walk from the hotel brought them to the grounds, a great square open space around which were seats like those upon base-ball grounds. They bought tickets for the grand stand, and gazed expectant upon a sea of mud. The sign said “Rain or Shine,” and rain it was: no drizzle, but a pelting downpour that roared upon the roofs overhead. Boys walked to and fro, one crying, “Sour crystallized lemonade-drops—souvenir in every package,” and the other, “Peanuts!—are five cents!”
AN ABORIGINAL.
The rain plashed in the puddles upon the arena, and the boys were not sorry; it was a new sensation to see a performance in the rain. A band played loud enough to be heard nearly to the Rocky Mountains, a man in a very broad-brimmed felt hat mounted a rostrum imitating a boulder, put on a rubber coat, and, when the band was hushed, began a speech at the top of his lungs,—so loud that he hadn’t breath for more than a word or two at a time. He said, “Ladies—and—gentlemen:—From time—to—time, I shall—announce—the nature—of the—display,” and so on. One seldom hears so forcible an oration.
He announced one by one the bands of Indians, their chiefs, the white men, their captains or leaders, and each of the items upon the program. But his shouts can be omitted with the assurance that he did his level best. One example will be enough.
“The Arapahoes!”
A gate is unbarred, yells break through, and helter-skelter come a troop of almost naked savages painted and bedecked, riding their ponies at a run. They draw up before the grand stand.
“Their chief!”