Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (Sept. 21, 1913)
-Z . . THE SUNDAY OREGOXIAy. PORTLAJfD. SEPTEMBER 31, 191 J. ARTIFICIAL ALL LEFT OUT OF PENDLETON'S GREAT ROUNDUP a. . , .. .. Real From Beginning to End Is Show, Staged Under Glorious Skies, Making Experience-Sated People Go Mad With Excitement. "Tii r r t - -ti BT AWE SHANNON MONROE. TUB ROUNDUPt There ia only one on the planet that can be rightly called "The" Roundup, and it took p!ac last week in the heart of a valley God or man couldn't forget. .Usually the picture la made first, then a frame la found to fit It; but Nature made this frame, and the cowboys have inserted the picture that Just fits. Someway, thoug-h, you get the feeling- that the Creator made the whole thin? and he lust about did. There are no places In this show where the real leaves off and the artificial begins It's all real. And while you are there for once in your life at least you are real, too! The realest self you ever were; more real than you ever thought you could be: Just a dirt-biting, heart-swelling, blood-leaping, screaming-, yelling, mad thing of spirit caught in flesh. And when the last shoutin Is over well, you drag yourself back into your artificial harness and custom made thought, but it can never quite get you again. You're been down in the dirt, up in the clouds, away on the wind, rampant with life LIFE in big capitals, and you'll never quite come back not all of you. The sky is turquoise over in the country God couldn't forget. I wish there were another word. Addison Bennett helped the situation out by saying "liquid turquoise"; that helps some; Tom Lavton objected because really there's not a bit of green in that sky. and turquoise has green; but the famous phrasemaker wouldn't risk his reputation on a try; Charles el lington Furlong called it & Tripoli sky he ought to know, as he knows more about skies of one kind or another in one land or another than any other writer, traveler or explorer extant. He does the earth in its wild spots for Harper's, and he came out here to do the Rounoup; and went nu aooui 11, and rot in it hlmselt but that s get ting away from the sky; though those who get in it know more about the sky than the rest of us by reason of their proximity one half second after having thrown a leg across tne saoiie. be it of bull or broncho. Mr. Furlong had nearly a second be fore making his famous ascent. A woman In the Governor's box Insisted the sky was Just the color of her baby's eyes, while another Insisted mat it was queer how most of the cowboys had eyes to match the sky. fo some called it cowboy-eyes color, and some baby blue, and some turquoise .liquid tur quolse and some Tripoli but, on the square, there isn't a word yet. Privately I think the Great Painter did a wonderful bit of special mixing, but Ike all exquisite things the quan tity was limited; and Crater Lake rot part, and the rest went to color the great bowl that caps the country God couldn't forget. Press Box Place to Sit. Below the blue bowl are long, tan nlsh gray hills and a scooped-out val leyoh. the tones make little Joy shiv ers race up and down your spine! In this perfect setting is an arena en circled by a race track and surround ing thin the grandstand and bleachers. Man's work is not aggressively con spicuous. It tones in. From the press box and really to set the most out of the Roundup you must it in the press box and see the experience-sated people of the earth whose business to see and report has made them a bit calloused, go mad. From the press box you look across the arena to the white tepees of the Indian village Just beyond the farther bleachers. The "lonely outposts of a dying race" as the poetic Iee Moore house has expressed it, add the final note that makes the picture perfect. To the left are the gates through which the ponies will enter. The show is scheduled for 1:30. At 1 you're in your seat and so axe 10.000 others: in the next half hour the num ber swells to 30.000. They have come from everywhere. Kvery section of the United States is represented, as well as the most distant ranches in re mote Northwest cattle centers. If this were an artificial show instead of the real tiling, all the notables would be ticketed and interviewed and kow towed to. and the local papers would be full of big names, and society would be a-flutter, and a celebrity couldn't sneeze without its being reported. But in Pendleton during the Roundup each person counts Just one; every one is too busy and excited to care who's who. When Mr. Furlong, noted author of travel books, went into the arena to see what it really was like to ride a bucking bull, nobody knew him from the rest of the cowboys. Now, isn't that the greatest example of pnre de mocracy on the continent today? C S. Jackson was greeting friends Pendle ton's his town; H. I Pittock was shaking hands with people he hadn't met in decades; Mr. McMurray. of the O.-W. R. fc X. Hallway, was beaming -n everyone; Tom Lawson rouo 150 miles through Kastern Oregon dust to make the Roundup, but nobody cared especially, except that they were mighty glad, as man to man. that he made it. Mr. Pewey. of the Houghton Mifflin Publishing Company, showed bU white teeth in a grin of antlclpa- V.J. IS - s. WrrU ICrt K-tPiiK '. -'-teal ' I .7SA3Z? X2 &ai &c? Mm 7Tt -M i . AlliLi . . s -X f . yz rf' 4 & - f - i r'"-""f"-f t "J3 I J -r.-ftsa-'-T'lVl'1lll,flgrt-"y ' y J i "J JOT- J. oov;T7mn tion just ha'.k of a man (there were a lot In his class) who sneaked into the town to see the Roundup, because he Just couldn't stay away; he's wanted in Pendleton it was no place ror him but Till Taylor, Sheriff by common consent, is down there in the ring and wont see him maybe; and, besides. he's a good fellow, is Till. He hauls the boys off and blankets them down whi-n they get too gay toward" day light, that's all. Pretty good way, too. Till Taylor Described. Big Till Taylor! You look Into his blue eyes a he rides up to the grand stand you're Just back of it in the press box nd you observe the dimpt in his chin a mild-mannered, low voiced man whom some woman must love, you say; then suddenly you re member about the Sheriff of Umatilla County, how he knows every cattle runtltr and horse thief in the country, and how no man will go single-handed against him; how he always brings back his man and you Know it must all be so but that dimple! those blue eyes! that soft voice! it's mighty in teresting, the contrasts but here comes the peanut boy. Ten cents a sai.k? Nothing so commonplace. "Peanuts, peanuts, your bat full for a dime!" and out go the hats. Summer straws, derbies. New York hats, Mexi can hats, Pendleton woolen mills caps but not a slik one, oh, no! Out they all go, and the boy Is game and fills them to the brim, and races on, "Pea nuts, peanuts, your hat full for a dime!" while we break shells and munch and smack our lips and have the bert time in the world while waiting and Holy gee, it's begun! Who ever heard of a show opening on time be fore? Fharo on the minute the ropers gallop into the arena; splashes of vivid color against the gray; round ana round they spin the latso, a perfect circle, round and round-i-taut and per fect why, trie tning- must oe maae 01 steel. Before your eye has fully en compassed the fancy rope spinning girls, too. mind you 15 cowboys dash around the course and line up at the judge's stand lor a pony raoe. Eac?h one seems to have found a special shade for shirt and chaps that pleases him best purple, green, yellow, blue, gold the gorgeous silk shirts flap about their fine straight shoulders, their wide gray hats are pushed back, showing fine, straight-featured, frank. manly faces; their beads are tnrust forward, the ponies nre restive the signal is given, and they're away! I wish I mi&ht draw it. I'd make a dash of color. They go like the wind; and how the crowd cheers; the cowboy In tho bright yellow shirt on the little sorrel is Inside and well ahead. but the bay is graining h's gaininp! lie's gainlnifl! The bay s riu-ii- wears a pur pie shirt. Tho crowd gets to Its fuet and stars In spite of luety yells to "bit down:" The bay gains. he's abreast: hr. shoots out ahead he s in! The crowd holds its sides and yells: You're Just getting your breath and explaining why you believed from the start in the purple shirt when a dozen full-blood Indians dash down the track and line up for the relay race. They hare the same love of brilliant colors; simple people and great artists are alike In this. Each man is known by his flaming shirt. The thing is to make the circuit, change to another pony, make it again, change, and make it again, until four ponies have been rid den, all at breakneck speed. The skill however, lies more in the swiftness of the change than in the riding. A full-blooded Indian race is a thing to cross oceans to see, even if you're a poor sailor. No money could hire an Indian to throw a ride they're born racers. The signal, and they're off, lar ruping their tough little ponies fore and aft, but the ponies don't need it a bit, for they're in the game, too you can tell by their eyes and the way they go at ft- Striped green shirt is the favorite this time. All the money's on him (fig uratively speaking there is no bet ting), but there's a nasty little, gray there well, I'm not so sure about It. Four times the breathless change is made. At the last striped green shirt's pony stumbles and throws his rider, who springs up like India rubber, seizes his pony and remounts, but he has lost a second and seconds count. He loses to the gray, while 30,000 yells go up and 30,000 teeth gleam white and 30,000 pairs of arms wave drunkefily, madly; then they all drop back, mopping and saying, "I tell you that was . some race!" Steera Defeat Roper. But there's not a moment to think about it; here comes a steer, a long horned Texas steer; the kind we'd run from in the open. He is galloping toward is, two riders after him, lassoes in hand. He's to be roped and tied in two minutes or it's all off; it was all 4 i ' V " & 1 JS SAai&v JPa?f7$r Z.o?& Tom n off four times. The steers got the better of the boys and seemed to be having the time of their lives doing it. Everybody enjoys the Roundup steers, bulls, bronka. cowboys, Indians, specta tors everybody! Noxt three pretty cowgirls rode into the arena oh, there's no pause between stunts; it all goes with the dash and speed of the cattle range itself and fairly laps you up in its movement and intensity. The cowgirls looked for all the world like Owen "Wlster's little solioolmarm so modest and dainty and sweet One little tip-tilted chin fasci nated me and two wonderful hrajds of golden-red hair. They were to ride Rambling Jimmie, finake and Brown Eyes, famous buckers. You get It? These slender-limbed, round-armed young girls were actually to mount those wild-eyed, snorting devils of out laws. It takes your breath; you almost wish they wouldn't and lean forward to see every detail when they da. Cow-1 boys are holding the ponies, saddled and bridled and blinded; one lias his pony down, sitting on his head. The pretty tip-tilted chin girl puts her foot to the stirrup, swings her leg over her mount, the wranprler jerks off the blinder and springs back with one move and jumping skyrockets! How does she stick7 Did you ever, when a young ster, Htep into a hurnet's nest? Do you remember how you ran screaming and jumping to the house, kicking and slap ping at your body, and tossing your head, in a veritable convulsion, trying to rid yourself of a thousand pierulnt? stings? Well, your antics were a mild imitation of a bucking Umatilla outlaw trying to get lid of a plucky cowgirl who is determined to ride him. Ts it Bex rage? That a girl a mere slip of a golden-haired girl should dare to conquer him? You're glad when the girls have qualified and the wranglers r'de up and pull tiiem from tho broncos' bat-ks. And you almost forget the Kirls the next instant, for a group of cowboys dash in for the relay race. This is the same as the Indian relay, only in ad dition, to make It harder, tne riders must unsaddle and saddle at each change. Thpn enmes the bulldoarg ne; a lone horned steer is turned loose, a cowboy after him; his play is to overtake the steer, slip from his pony down to the steer's back, seize him by the horns, spring off and by a skillful twist throw the animal and hold him prostrate with his teeth, while his hands are lifted in the air. There is nothing cruel about it, as you can easily see, for Mr. Steer springs up and goes loping off unhurt a moment later. - Kvents Fast and Furious. Fast and furious, one after another, came next the Pny express, the cow girls' race, trick riding when these wonderful cowboys and cowgirls go flying about the racetrack on an ear, a head, a knee, a toe any part of their anatomy will do. In a circus we gasp over the antics of the riders with their broad-backed. slow-galloping Normandy horses trained for the work; but here in the open. I want to tell you riding narrow, raaor-backed ponies that are full of tricks, the rider match ing every trick of the pony with fi wilder one. well, Madison Square Gar den in its palmiest days was a subur ban back yard in comparison with the Pendleton arena. The mounted grand march of eow boys, cowgirls and Indians comes just in time to prevent apoplexy. Yes there actually is a number on the bill when you can sink back into your seat and enjoy with your eyes alone you've been using your whole body up till now. It's a stately march. Your ex plosiveness simmers down into quiet and supreme respect and a sort of sadness. There they come, the fine mettlesome little ponies, self-respecting, every one of them, and stepping like princelings; they know nothing of com mon drudgery: they- are of the vast range and God's wild places and they seem to sense a kingly heritage. Till Taylor. Sheriff by common eon sent, leads off, then come the cowboys and cowgirls bless 'em. Then Roy Bishop leading- the Indian brigade. Roy can get anything out of the Indl.ans he wants because they know he's square to them. He's their "good, tilli cum"; and so this perfectly marvelous exhibit Is possible. Ho much might have been possible from our Indians had the white race Bnt more Roy Bishops out to deal with them. Indians Display Dignity. As it is we are given an exhibit of their inherited wealth of trappings and caparison such as can be seen no where else in the world today; richly embroidered blankets, elk teeth by the thousands in curious and artistio de sign, genuine eagle head dress; and above the exquisite assemblage of color and material the Indian face, strong, serene, dignitled --oh, there is no such dignity in all the world as radiates from this last of a dying race, riding for the white man to seo as their an cestors rode for their own gloritlcation. It is almost as if they said: "You have killed us off you you!" And we look about us, at- each other and at. our selves, frivolous and cynical, and back at tlieir solemn mien as they ride by in slow delil head UP, facing the Great Stillness looking out calmly, with dignity, with assurance and t tell you, it grips. One squirms and looks away -and then looks back egain with sometlilnz not dust in the eyes. -And still they come on. bucks, squaws, girls, children, babies, all handsomely capariKoned, all riding with that calm dignity hundreds of them. They wind into the arena, form a huge serpentine fljiure, and pause like statues for inspection. "You have killed us" that is what the exhibit says. "You think we were not worth saving to the race of men? Very well, we go." Yon find yourself gulping I don't know why you do, though. It's such a dignified protest; hardly a protest; such dignified submission but to the will of a mightier than man, with heads up, serenely facing the Great Stillness. Incitement Bea-las Again. Cowgirls galloped in for the relay race and every one became alert again. There were bucking contests among buckaroos of noted mettle for the world's championship, riding devlish little outlaws well deserving their pic turesque names: Crooked River, Casey Jones, Cyclone. Bear Cat, Speedball, Mrs. Wiggs. Skyscraper, Sealion, Hot Lake, Handsome Harry. Sledge Ham mer. Hot Foot, Long Tom, Whirlwind, Butter Creek and Gavlotta. The audi ence was on its feet again, yelling itself black in the face; and then there were more Indian races and quick change races, standing races, and last of all. as a Brand wlndup, the wild horse race. If you have ever seen a bunch of ponies on the range, heads up, manes and tails flying, nostrils sniffing, eyes challenging, you can imagine what It is like when such a hunch eame tear ing along the race track, the cowboys after them full tilt with ropes ready, "Bad horses, every one of 'em," a cattle man declared, rubbinr hi hands and smelling blood. When 20 or 30 had heen captured tho real contest began; the spirited pony at one end of the rope choking and gasp ing, but fighting, every inch of him: the mounted cowboy at the other. Tho stunt Is to hold, bridle, sadd'e, mount and ride the pony around the rltiti. Mind you, this is a pony right off tho range. A cowboy afoot, brkllo and blind. ir in hand, cautiously approaches his pony. The pony rears and fights him off: tho cowboy tries from the side; the pony flashes about, quick enough to dcft-nt the rider's purpose. He next slips along the rope and gets his arm about the pony's neck; the pony gives a des perate sideways jerk, snaps the rope, and goes tearing down the race track, the cowboy hanging fasti; in some cases he is dragged by the rupu: often he is under the pony's body, but skillfully avoids the hoofs: but he never gives up that Is, hardly ever. At last tho buckaroo gets a halter over the out law's head, then a blinder a gunny sack tied across his eyes; sometimes he throws the pony ami another cowhov sits on his head while he cinulirs uii the saddle. Funics Flnully ( onqurreil. This operation is being repeated -0 30 times; you are dizzy trying to watch the progress of them all: and finally they become one" writhing, jumping, gasping, throwing, pitching, spirit, some of it In horse flesh, some in man flesh, but all intense, and tireless. After perhurs half an hour of struggle, the ponies are bridled, blinded and saddled: many stand cowed in then first blindness, trembling with fear: it Is nervous fear none are really hurl: each pony has two boys, one at the head, holding fast, the other at tho stirrup. The signal is given to mount, every man filngs himself across his pony, the blinders are jerked loose, uiel then begins the biggest time of the whole show. Bucking real buekiim; you thought you had seen burking he fore; well, you hadn't. The. little wild outlaws seem to know every twist h.--sible to muselo. tendon and bene. Thcv hoop themselves, they bunch Ihelr l-g, they twist and shiver and shako ami corkscrew, they whirl and rear an "sunfish." "Meanest horse on earth," the eld cattle man explodes, his eye on a pe culiarly wicked bronco. "Hie kind that'd beat his wife." And all the time the. buckaroo rides straight up the most of them hi right hand waving his sombrero, hi' left gripping the bridle, while he tries to figure on the next move of the mad little beast under him and get there first! Why they're not killed H thn unending question. Every tooth me.-1 rattle; eyes must rock In their buck ets: bones must he Jarred to a Jeliy. The outlaws prow more frantic with thwtr unsuccess. Fences Mean Nolhlnn. They break down the arena feme. Jumping through or over it. and the sound of crashing timber mingles Willi the roar of the multitude. We are close enough to hear the ponies' Paul ing and gasping, to hear the hum, deep breathing of the hoys; and iluw upon it all as man jjains, or i on makes a point, comes the yell of the 30,000 spectators; it comes as from one vast throat thnt must roar or die. You don't hear many "Let 'er buck's now; it's got to be too elemental for words; only sound comes. .vt last, a pony dashes off with his rider a cowboy has won over the will of the beast; be is greeted with one long deafening roar from the grandstand and bleach ers; another wins; then another; aii'l off they go in the long dash aronn't tho track. Time is called; the remaining un conouered uonle;; are driven off. The crowd, utterly exhausted, drops for .' moment back Into their seats, no lesi used up than are the buckaroos and the ponies. "And it's a whole your brfore there another!" I heard a dignitary from an Eastern college murmur It almost de spairingly, as i pulled myself limply m my feet, and dazedly followed 1 1 crowd away BARON'S DAUGHTER AMUSES Curious Appeal to' Lover of Pumli Animals lb lleurii in Wihl. LONDON'. Sept. IS. f Special, j Th" following curious appeal t (overs or dumb iinlinals has just been Issued by the Hon. Paulino Craiistoini to tie residents of "the garden island of Eng land" the isle of Wight. .Paulino Cranstoun, it may b-j explained, is daughter of the eleventh Lord Cruns totin. whose Scottish barony became extinct when he died In 1 and sh" writes: "A little over two years age, wlP-u the Hon. Pauline Craiistoun's two old carriage horses died, she decided, in memory of the many happy drives they had given the late Lady Cranstoun. with herself, to fill ihe vacant places with two poor horses whoso useful lives deserved a spell of rest. The cases brought to her notk-e have been so pitiable and deserving that in true pity she has extended the original number until there arc now 13, includ ing donkeys and two pit ponies (one blinded in the pits, the other with an Injured bock). A baby donkey is now added to the list, called the Lady Vic toria Kldlet, as a lucay name, The means of carrying this work on have been almost entirely provided by the Hon. P. Cranstoun, but now that Queen Alexandra nas Known net- gen erous appreciation it has been decided' to ask the co-operat irn of the w hole island and to place the work on a pub lic basis." This curious mingling of snobbery, sentimentality, and gnuinv sympathy has been much langl.ed at. but the lsl of Wight has taken kindly to It" largely on the strength of the support of Queen Alexandra.
