-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-
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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 "
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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.