THE SUNDAY OREGOXIAX, PORTLAND, JUNE 22, 1913.
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S"Trtllhed jy apeciRl rmn cement with th
Outlook, of which Tbeodor Roossvalt U
the contributing editor, through the Ho
Clure Newspaper Syndicate. Copyright.
191.1. by the Outlook Company. All rights
reserved. Including rights ot translation.
TIOTJGH I had previously made a
rip Into the then Territory of Da
cota, beyond the Red River, It wan
not until 1883 that I went to the Little
Missouri, and there took hold of two
cattl ranches, the Chimney Butte and
the Elkhorn.
Old Days In the Far Wctl,
It was still the Wild West In those
flays, the Far West, the West of Owen
Wlster's stories and Frederic Reming
ton's drawings, the West of the Indian
and the buffalo-hunter, the soldier and
the cow-puncher. That lan . of the
West has gone now, "gone, tone with
lost Atlantis," gone to the Isle of ghosts
and of estrange dead memories. It was
a. land of vast silent spaces, of lonely
rivers, and of plains where the wild
game stared at the passing horseman.
It was a land of scattered ranches, of
herds of long-horned cattle, and of
reckless riders who unmoved looked
In the eyes of life or of death. In that
land we led a free and hardy life, with
horse and with rifle. We worked under !
the scorching midsummer sun, when
the wide plains shimmered and wavered
In the heat; and we knew the freezing
misery of riding night guard round the
cattle in the late Fall round-up. In the
soft Springtime the stars were glorious
In our eyes each night before we fell
asleep; and in the Winter w rode
through blinding blizzards, when the
driven snow-dust burnt our faces.
There were monotonous days, as we j
guided the trail cattle or the beef herds, I
hour after hour, at the slowest of
walks: and minutes or hours teeming
with excitement as we stopped stam
pedes or swam the herds across rivers
treacherous with quicksands or brimmed
with running ice. We knew toil and
hardship and hunger and thirst; and we
saw men die violent deaths as they
worked among the horses and cattle, or
fought In evil feuds with one another;
but we felt the beat of hardy life In
our veins, and ours waa the glory of
work and the joy of living.
It was right and necessary that this
life should pass, for the safety of our
country lies in its being made the coun
try of the small home-maker. The great
unfenced ranches. In the days of "free
grass," necessarily represented a tem
porary stage in our history. The large
migratory flocks of sheep, each guard
ed by the hired shepherds of absentee
owners, were the first enemies of the
cattle-men; and owing to the way they
ate out the grass and destroyed all
other vegetation, these roving sheep
bands represented little of permanent
good to the country. But the home
steaders, the permanent settlers, the
men who took up each his own farm on
which he lived and brought up his fam
ily, these represented from the National
standpoint the most desirable of all pos
sible users of, and dwellers on, the soil.
Their advent meant the breaking up of
the big ranches; and the change was a
National gain, although to some ot us
an Individual loss.
Bobcats Mi Old Sledge.
I first reached the Little Missouri on
j a Northern Pacific train about 3 In the
morning of a cool September day In
1883. Aside from the station, the only
building was a ramshackle structure
called the Pyramid Park Hotel. I
dragged my duffle-bag thither, and
hammered at the door until the frowsy
proprietor appeared, muttering oaths.
He ushered me upstairs, where I was
given one of the 14 beds In the room
which by Itself constituted the entire
upper floor. Next day I walked over to
the abandoned Army post, and, after
some hours among the gray log shacks,
a ranchman who had driven into the
station agreed to take me out to his
' ranoh, the Chimney Butte ranoh, where
he waa living with his brother and their
partner.
The ranch waa a log structure with
a dirt roof, a corral tor the horses near
by, and a chicken-house Jabbed, against
the rear ot the ranch house. Inside
there was only one room, with a table.
three or four chairs, a cooking-stove
and three bunks. The owners were
Sylvane and Joe Ferris and William J.
SJerrif leld. Later all three of them held
my commissions while I was President,
Merrifleld was Marshal of Montana,
and as Presidential elector cast the vote
of that state tor me in 1904; Sylvane
Ferris was Land Officer In North Da
kota, and Joe Ferria Postmaster at Me
I dora. There was a fourth man, George
Meyer, who also worked for me later.
That evening we all played old sledge
round the table, and at one period the
game trae interrupted by a frightful
squawking outside which told us that a
t bobcat had made a raid on the chicken
house.
After a buffalo hunt with my original
friend. Joe Ferris, I entered into part-
: nershlp with Merrlneld and Sylvane
1 Ferris, and we started a cow ranch.
' . . . u uiuvon i i in n 1 1 r m in 1 -i i 11 v m
known as "maltee cross," by the way.
as the general lmnresslon alone the
Little Missouri was that "tnaltese" must
be a plural. Twenty-nine vears later
my friends on that night were dele
gates to the First Progressive National
Convention at Chicago. They were
among my most constant companions
for the few years next succeeding the
evening when the bobcat interrupted
the game of old sledge. I lived and
worked with them on the ranch, and
wiin mem ana many others like them
on the round-up; and I brought out
rrom Maine, In order to start the Elk
horn ranch lower down the river, my
two backwoods friends Sewall and Dow.
My brands for the lower ranch were
the elkhorn and triangle.
At the Elkhoru Ranch.
I do not believe there ever was any
life more attractive to a vigorous young
fellow than life on a cattle ranch In
those days. It was a fine, healthy life,
too; it taught a man self-reliance, har
dihood and the value of Instant decision
in short, the virtues that ought to
come xrom lire in the open country. I
enjoyed the life to the full. After the
nrst year I built on the Elkhorn ranch
a long, low ranch house of hewn logs.
wiin a veranda, and with. In addition
to the other rooms, a bedroom for my
self and a sitting-room with a big fire
plaoe. I got out a rocking-chair I
am very fond of rocking-chairs and
enough books to fill two or three
shelves, and a rubber bathtub so that
I could get a bath. And then I do not
see how any one could have lived more
comfortably. We had buffalo robes and
bearskins of our own killing. We al
ways kept the house clean using the
word In a rather large sense. There
were at least two rooms that were al
ways warm, even in the bitterest
weather; and we had plenty to eat
Commonly the mainstay of every meal
was game of our own killing, usually
antelope or deer, sometimes grouse or
ducks, and occasionally, in the earlier
days, buffalo or elk. We also had flour
and bacon, sugar, salt and canned to
matoes. And later, when some of the
men married and brought out their
wives, we had all kinds of good things,
such as Jams and Jellies made from the
wild plums and the buffalo berries, and
potatoes from the forlorn little garden
patch. Moreover, we had milk. Most
ranchmen at that time never had milk.
I knew more than one ranch with 10,
000 head of cattle where there was not
a cow that could be milked. We made
up our minds that we would be more
enterprising. Accordingly, we started
to domesticate some of the cows. Our
first effort was not successful, chiefly
because we did not devote the needed
time and patience to the matter.
And we found that to race a cow
two miles at full speed on horseback,
then rope her, throw her, and turn
her upside down to milk her, while
exniiaratlng as a pastime, was not
productive of results. Gradually we
accumulated tame cows, and, after we
had thinned out the
coyotes, more chickens.
The ranch house stood on the brink
of a low bluff overlooking the broad
shallow bed of the Little Missouri,
through which at most seasons there
ran only a trickle of water, while in
times of freshet it was filled brimful
with the boiling, foaming, muddy tor
rent. There was no neighbor for 10
or 15 miles on either side of me. The
river twisted down in long curves be
tween narrow bottoms bordered by
sheer cliff walls, for the Bad Lands,
a chaos of peaks, plateaus, and ridges,
rose abruptly from the edges of the
level tree-clad, or grassy, alluvial
meadows. In front of the ranchhouse
veranda was a row of Cottonwood trees
with gray-green leaves which Quivered
all day long if there was a breath ot
air. From these trees came the far
away, melancholy cooing of mouring
doves, and little owls perched in them
and called tremulously at night. In
the long summer afternoons we would
sometimes sit on the piazza, when there
was no work to be done, for an hour or
two at a time, watching the cattle
on the sandbars, and the sharply chan
neled and strangely carved amphithea
ter of cliffs across the bottom opposite;
while the vultures wheeled overhead,
their black shadows gliding across the
glaring white of the dry river bed.
Sometimes from the ranch we saw
deer, and once when we needed meat
I shot one across the river as I stood on
the piazza. In the winter. In the days
of Iron cold, when everything was
white under the snow, the river lav in
its bed fixed and immovable as a bar
Of bent steel, and then at night wolves
and lynxes traveled up and down it
as if it had been a highway passing
In front of the ranchhouse. Often in
the late Fall or early Winter, after a
hard day's hunting, or when returning
from one of the Winter line camps,
we did not reach the ranch until hours
after sunset; and after the weary
tramping in the cold it was keen pleas
ure to catch the first red gleam of the
fire-lit windows across the snowy
wastes. -
"Beaverlng."
The Elkhorn ranchhouse was built
mainly by Sewall and Dow, who, like
most men from the Maine woods, were
mighty with the ax. I could chop fairly
well for an amateur, but I could not
do one-third the work they could. One
day when we were cutting down the
cottonwood trees, to begin our build
ing operations, I heard Bomeone ask
Dow what the total cut had been, and
Dow, not realizing that I was within
hearing, answered: "Well, Bill cut down
63, I cut 49, and the boss he beavered
down 17." Those who have seen the
stump of a tree which has been gnawed
down by a beaver will understand the
exact force of the comparison.
In those days on a cow ranch the men
were apt to be away on the various
round-ups at least half the time. It
was interesting and exciting work, and
except for the lack of sleep on the
Spring and Summer round-ups It was
not exhausting work; compared to lum
bering or mining or blacksmithing, to
sit In the saddle is an easy form of
labor. The ponies were of course
grass-fed and unshod. Each man had
his own string of nine or ten. One
pony would be used for the morning
work, one for the afternoon, and neither
would again be used for the next three
days. A separate pony was kept for
night riding.
The Round-TJp.
The Spring and early Summer round
ups were especially for the branding of
calves. There was much hard work
and some risk on a round-up, but also
much fun. The meeting-place was ap
pointed weeks before hand, and all the
ranchmen of the terrHory to be covered
by the round-up sent their representa
tives. There were no fences In the
West that I knew, and their place was
taken by the cowboy and the branding
Iron. The cattle wandered free. Each
calf was branded with the brand of the
cow It was following. Sometimes in
Winter there was what we called line
riders traveled a definite beat across
the desolate wastes of snow, to and fro
from one camp to another, to prevent
the cattle from drifting. But as a rule
nothing was done to keep the cattle In
any one place. In the Spring there wa9
a general round-up in each locality.
Each outfit took part in its own round
up, and all the outfits of a given region
combined to send representatives to the
two or three round-ups that covered,
the neighborhoods near by into which
their cattle might drift. For example,
our Little Missouri round-up generally
worked down the river from a distance
of some 50 or 60 miles above my ranch
towards the Kildeer Mountains, about
the same distance below. In addition
we would usually send representatives
to the Yellowstone round-up. and to
the Tound-up alonsr the tTpper Little
Missouri, and. moreover, if we heard
that cattle had drifted, perhaps toward
the Indian reservation southeast of us,
we would send a wagon and rider after
them.
The Cowptmchers.
At the meeting point, which might
he in the valley of a half-dry stream,
or in some broad bottom of the river
Itself, or perchance by a couple of ponds
under some queerly-shaped butte that
was a landmark for the region round
about, we would all Rather on the ap
pointed day. The chuck-wagons, con
taining the bedding and food, each
drawn by four horses and driven by
the teamster cook, would come Jolting
and rattling ever the uneven sward.
Accompanying each wagon were eight
Or 10 riders, the cowpunchers. while
their horses, a band of a hundred or
so, were driven by the two herders, one
of whom was known as the day wrang
ler and one as the night wrangler. The
men were lean, sinewy fellows, accus
tomed to riding half-broken horses at
any speed over any country by day or
by night. They wore flannel shirts,
with loose handkerchiefs knotted round
their necks, broad hats, high-heeled
boots with jingling spurs, and some
times leather shaps, although often
they merely had their trousers tucked
into the tops of their high hoots. There
was a good deal of rough horseplay,
and. as with any other gathering of
men or boys of high animal spirits, the
horseplay sometimes became very rough
indeed; and as the men usually carried
revolvers, and as there were occasional
ly one or two noted gunfighters among
them, there was now and then a shoot
ing affray. A man who was a coward
or who shirked his work had a bad
time, of course: a man could not afford
to let himself be bullied or treated as
a butt; and, on the other hand, if he
was "looking for a fight" he was cer
tain to find it. But my own experience
was that if a man did not talk until his
associates knew him well and liked
him, and if he did his work, he never
had any difficulty in getting on. In
my own roundup district I speedily
grew to be friends with most of the
men. When I went among strangers
I always had to Bpend 24 hours in liv
ing down the fact that I wore spec
tacles, remaining as long as I could
Judiciously deaf to any side remarks
about "four eyes," unless it became evi
dent that my being quiet was miscon
strued and that It was better to bring
matters to a head at once.
If, for instance, I was sent off to rep
resent the Little Missouri brands on
some neighboring roundup, such as the
TellowstdVie. I usually showed that kind
of diplomacy which consists in not ut
tering one word that can be avoided.
I would probably have a couple of days
solitary ride, mounted on one horse
and driving eight or 10 others before
me, one of them carrying my bedding.
Loose horses drive best at a trot, or
canter, and If a man is traveling alone
in this fashion it is a good thing to
have them reach the camp ground suf
ficiently late to make them desire to
feed and sleep where they are until
morning. In consequence I never spent
more than two days on the Journey
from whatever the point was at which
I left the Little Missouri, sleeping the
one night for as limited a number of
hours as possible.
(To be continued in The Oregonlan
next Sunday.)
SOMJA PETE
c
w
HEN Sonora Pete Simmons de
parted from Dunn City, he
did so in considerable haste.
mounted- upon the most accessible
cayuse for ownership, at certain
times, becomes a minor considera
tion. H left behind him, on the floor
of the New York Palace saloon, two
men whose sphere of endeavor upon this
earth had been suddenly terminated, by
bullets from his gun, and two mere
who, with great fluency and feeling,
cursed him and. nursed the wounds that
he had made.
He took his leave a little more than
eight seconds ahead of the Sheriff and
an extemporaneous but none the less
eager and effective posse; for Bonora
Pete's latest exploit had made him more
than ever a municipal evil and a men
ace to the fair name of Dunn City; and
It was unanimously felt that the time
had come for his permanent disinte
gration. But Sonora Pete's usual good luck
had seen to it that the most accessible
cayuse had been Red Grady's pinto, and
as Red Grady's pinto eould get over the
ground faster than anything In that
part of the world, except a bird, the
fugitive's lead of 80 seconds gave him
a safe start. At dawn, when he reached
Thunder Pass, his pursuers and their
panting, reeking ponies were scattered
from Blaok Butte to Peso Canyon. The
only man with hope in his heart and
a steady mount between his legs waa
the Sheriff of Aguardez County. With
dripping spurs and foam-flecked chaps,
he alone urged his quivering bronco
on and on and on; for the Sheriff waa
a conscientious man, and had sworn to
uphold the majesty of the law. Besides,
one of the men who now lay stiff in
his clothes on the pool-table of the
New Tork Palace saloon had been his
brothers and the other which Is, per
haps, more to the point had been his
debtor to the tune of 700, and had left
no estate but his raiment, his revolvers,
and a plug of tobacco.
This Sonora Pete knew; and as he
came through the pass he' turned his
pinto toward the mining settlement of
El Toro, for the spent pony must be re
placed with a fresh one. A visit to El
Toro. particularly on such a. mission,
was a risk, and a great risk; but there
were still greater that oppressed him.
So ho plunged his red spurs once again
into the heaving, spotted sides, and the
pinto loped heavily, stumbllngly, over
the rocky ground.
At the last turn of the trail, how
ever, the pinto shied suddenly, and ere
he oould recover rammed a slender fore
leg into a hole. He pitched ever on
his head like a shot rabbit, and Sonora
Pete found himself sprawling on his
face in the shale beside a cayuse with
a broken neck.
Cursing thickly, he rose to his knees.
His revolver, with his fall, had been
Jerked from the holster, and lay a few
feet away. Still on ms knees, he
leaned forward and took It from the
ground, examining It eagerly, carefully
examining it and the one cartridge
which, as Sonora Pete knew but too
well, was all that it held.
He rose to his feet. As he did so,
there came to him upon the thin moun
tain air the clatter of stumbling hoofs.
back along the trail. With a muttered
oath, he sprang to the corner of the
boulder behind which his cayuse had
fallen.
A hundred yards of the rough, wind
ing trail lay before him, and along this
rode the Sheriff of Aguardez County,
pounding sullenly onward. Sonora
Pete's lips set beneath thick mustaches
and coarse beard in a thin, straight
line. He .Bhoved the cylinder of his re
volver around so that with the cocking
It might swing his one cartridge into
place. There was a little click as the
hammer sprang back, ready at trigger
pressure to speed the bullet on its way.
He laid the muzzle of the weapon on
a little shoulder of rock, its sight cov
ering the heaving, solid figure stumb.
ling toward him down the trail, and
waited: for, when one has but one cart,
ridge, it is not well to need a second
shot.
And then it was that Sonora Pete
heard behind him a little cry of wonder
of surprise of fear; and he glanced
quickly behind him to see a woman
child.
A tiny thing she was, with hair like
the rays of the sun and eyes like the
soft skies of Summer. She was stand
ing, her little hands clenched timidly
in the folds of a little gingham apron,
about 20 feet from him, beside an alkali-covered,
cactus-ridden boulder;
and even as Sonora Pete looked, his
keen black eyes saw, waving to and
fro, not a foot from the child's pink,
sun-kissed cheek, a fiat, venomous
head, ad he heard the soft whirring
of a snake's rattles.
For a fraction of a fraction of an in
stant Sonora Pete hesitated. His eyes
shot again to the Sheriff of Aguardez
County, now but 20 yards away, and
then leaped back again to the tiny child
and the swaying snake-head. And then
his revolver jumped. There was a sharp.
short crack, like the snap of a whip.
The little child, hands clenced, eyes
wide-set in terror, stood watching a
long, dark body lashing in headless
fury the rock and the dust and the
cactus. And the man, casting his use
less weapon from him, stood forth, his
hands at his sides, his eyes set calmly
straight before him into the open trail.
The oncoming bronco, Jaws spread
by cruel curb, slipping feet bunched,
flat ears laid back, shot through the
shale and came to a quick stop. The
little child turned frightened eyes
quickly at the sound of another whip
like crack turned to see the man who
had first frightened her fall limp upon
his face, his fingers gripping the shat
tered stones of the trail at the very
hoofs of a spent pony upon which sat
a tall, silent man with foam-covered
chaps and red spurs, and a smoking
revolver in his hand.
The gaze of the Sheriff of Aguardez
County turned to the child; and then
beyond, to the threshing body of the
snake, with its shattered head; and
then to the dead man's revolver, lying
on the trail beside the body.
He dismounted slowly, and going to
the revolver, picked It up. He swung
open the breech and his eyes fell on
the one exploded cartridge that lay In
the cylinder.
For a long, long moment he stood
silent, motionless. And then slowly he
turned the body over upon its back and
placed his handkerchief upon the blood
splashed face.
"Hell!" he said softly. "Hell!"
(Copyright by The Frank A. Munsey
Company.)