My Native Land Part 6

A Much Maligned Cla.s.s--The Cowboy as he Is, and as he is Supposed to be--Prairie Fever and how it is Cured--Life on the Ranch Thirty Years Ago and Now--Singular Fas.h.i.+ons and Changes of Costume--Troubles Encountered by would-be Bad Men.

Among the thoroughly American types of humanity, none is more striking or unique than the cowboy. This master of horsemans.h.i.+p and subduer of wild and even dangerous cattle, has been described in so many ways that a great difference of opinion exists as to what he was, and what he is.

We give a picture of a cowboy of to-day, and will endeavor to show in what important respects he differs from the cowboy of fiction, and even of history.

Sensational writers have described the cowboy as a thoroughly bad man, and, moreover, as one who delights in the word "bad," and regards it as a sort of diploma or qualification. Travelers over the region in which the cowboy used to be predominant give him a very different character, and speak of him as a hard-working, honest citizen, generous to a fault, courteous to women and aged or infirm men, but inclined to be humorous at the expense of those who are strong and big enough to return a joke, or resent it, if they so prefer.

We have spoken of the cowboy in two tenses: the present and the past.

Strictly speaking, we should, perhaps, have only used one, for many of the best judges say that there is no such thing as a cowboy in this day and generation. He flourished in all his glory in the days of immense ranges, when there was an abundance of elbow room for both man and beast, and when such modern interferences with the cattle business as the barb-wire fence did not exist. The work of cattle herding and feeding to-day certainly differs in a most remarkable manner from that of thirty and even twenty years ago, and the man has naturally changed with his work. Now, the cowboy is, to all intents and purposes, a farm hand. He feeds the stock, drives it to water when necessary, and goes to the nearest market town to dispose of surplus products, with all the system and method of a thoroughly domesticated man. Formerly he had charge of hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of branded cattle, which ranged at will over boundless prairies, and the day's work was frequently varied by a set-to with some unfriendly Indians or some exceptionally daring cattle thieves.

The very nature of his work used to make the cowboy somewhat desperate in his habits, and apt to be suspicious of newcomers. He was never such a terrible individual as has been frequently stated in print. His work confined him to a few frontier States and Territories, and hence he was a very convenient person to ridicule and decry. The man who met the average cowboy face to face, generally learned to respect him, and speedily appreciated the fact that it paid to be at least civil. Writers who never went within 500 miles of the nearest cattle ranch or cowboy's home, treated him with less courtesy and described him in all sorts of terms.

Dime literature, with its yellow covers and sensational pictures of stage robberies and the like, has always libeled the American cowboy to a most outrageous extent. As a result of the misapprehensions thus created, what is known as cowboy or prairie fever is quite a common disease among youths who are trying to raise a mustache for a first time. The feats of recklessness, the absolute disregard of conventionality and the general defiance attributed to the man who herds cattle on the prairie, seem to create a longing on the part of sensationally inclined youths, and many of these have cut their teeth and learned their lesson in a very different manner from what was expected.

Let us imagine for a moment the experiences of the young man from the East, who has convinced himself, by careful reasoning and reading, that nature intended him to s.h.i.+ne in the West. It is probable that he came to this most important conclusion many years before, and it is not unlikely that his first cowboy enthusiasm was fed by attacks upon the cat, with the nearest approach he could obtain to a rawhide whip. From this primitive experience, sensational literature, and five and ten-cent ill.u.s.trated descriptions of the adventures of "Bill, the Plunger," and "Jack, the Indian Slayer," completed the education, until the boy, or young man, as the case may be, determines that the hour has arrived for him to cast away childish things and become a genuine bad man of the West.

Just how he gets half way across the continent is a matter of detail.

Sometimes the misguided youth is too proud to beg and too honest to steal, in which case he probably saves up his pocket money and buys a cheap ticket. The more romantic and strictly correct course to adopt is to start out without a dollar, and to beat one's way across the continent, so as to be thoroughly ent.i.tled to recognition on the prairie. Many a young man who has commenced the pilgrimage towards glorified badness, has had the fever knocked out of him before advancing 100 miles, but others have succeeded in getting through, and have arrived in Texas, Wyoming or Montana, as the case may have been, thoroughly convinced of their own ability to hold their own in all company.

The disappointment that awaits the adventurous one is almost too great to be expressed in words. If the cowboys were one-half as bad as they are painted, they would proceed to demonstrate their right to an evil reputation by murdering the newcomer, and stealing his wearing apparel and any money he might happen to have with him. Instead of doing this, the cowboy generally looks with amus.e.m.e.nt on the individual who has come so many miles to join him. The greeting is not of the exuberant character expected, and frequently the heart of the newcomer is broken by being told to go back to his mammy and spend a few years more in the nursery. A runaway tenderfoot just fresh from school is not wanted on the cattle ranch, and although Western farmers are too good-natured to resent very severely the liberty taken, they never flatter the newcomer by holding out any inducements or making any prophecies as to his future.

The writer met a runaway enthusiast of this character a few years ago.

His destination was the extreme West. As he did not know himself the State to which he was bound, he presumed that no one else did. When found, he had got as far as Kansas City, and hunger and lack of a place where he could sleep in comfort had cooled his ardor and inaugurated a vigorous attack of home-sickness. As the ideal cowboy life does not provide for feather beds or meals served in courses, it was suggested to the lad that possibly he was having a good experience in advance, and getting himself accustomed to the privations of the life he had decided to adopt.

This logic did not commend itself at all to the runaway, whose sole ambition now was to borrow enough money to telegraph a message of penitence to his father. A small sum necessary for the purpose was given him, and the dispatch sent. Within an hour an answer was received and money transmitted by wire to supply the lad with a ticket for his home, where it is exceedingly probable what little cowboy fever he had left in him was speedily removed in old-fas.h.i.+oned and regulation manner.

The cowboy must not be confounded with the cattle baron. Ten or twelve years ago, when a great deal of money was made out of raising cattle, there was an invasion of the prairie States by men who knew nothing whatever about cattle raising, but who had made up their minds to secure a fortune by raising steers. They took with them as inconsistent ideas as did the youth in search of adventure. Often they carried large sums of money, which they invested very lavishly in business, and they also took with them ridiculously fine clothes, patent leather boots, velveteen jackets, and other evidences of luxury, which made them very unpopular and very ridiculous in their new homes. Nine-tenths of these called themselves "cattle barons," and about the same proportion obtained a great deal of experience but very little money, while trying to revolutionize the cattle business.

It is not necessary to own cattle at all to be a cowboy, although many members of this interesting profession own a few beasts of their own and are allowed to have them graze with the other stock on the ranch.

Generally speaking, the term used to be applied to all those who were engaged in handling the cattle, and in getting them together on the occasion of the annual round-ups. The old-time cowboy did not have a very high reputation, nor was he always looked upon quite as leniently as his surroundings demanded. About twenty years ago, a well-known cattleman wrote the following description of the cowboy and the life he led:

"If any one imagines that the life of a cowboy or ranchman is one of ease and luxury, or his diet a feast of fat things, a brief trial will dispel the illusion, as is mist by the suns.h.i.+ne. True, his life is one of more or less excitement or adventures, and much of it is spent in the saddle, yet it is a hard life, and his daily fare will never give the gout. Corn bread, mast-fed bacon, and coffee, const.i.tute nine-tenths of their diet; occasionally they have fresh beef, and less often they have vegetables of any description. They do their own cooking in the rudest and fewest possible vessels, often not having a single plate or knife and fork, other than their pocket knife, but gather around the camp-kettle in true Indian style, and with a piece of bread in one hand, proceed to fish up a piece of 'sow belly,' and dine sumptuously, not forgetting to stow away one or more quarts of the strongest coffee imaginable, without sugar or cream. Indeed, you would hesitate, if judging it from appearance, whether to call it coffee or ink. Of all the vegetables, onions and potatoes are the most desired and the oftenest used, when anything more than the 'old regulation' is had. Instead of an oven, fireplace or cooking stove, a rude hole is dug in the ground and a fire made therein, and the coffee pot, the camp kettle and the skillet are his only culinary articles used.

"The life of the cowboy is one of considerable daily danger and excitement. It is hard and full of exposure, but is wild and free, and the young man who has long been a cowboy has but little taste for any other occupation. He lives hard, works hard, has but few comforts, and fewer necessities. He has but little, if any, taste for reading. He enjoys a coa.r.s.e practical joke, or a s.m.u.tty story; loves danger, but abhors labor of the common kind; never tires of riding, never wants to walk, no matter how short the distance he desires to go. He would rather fight with pistols than pray; loves tobacco, liquor and woman better than any other trinity. His life borders nearly upon that of an Indian.

If he reads anything, it is in most cases a blood and thunder story of the sensational style. He enjoys his pipe, and relishes a practical joke on his comrades, or a tale where abounds animal propensity.

"His clothes are few and substantial, scarce in number and often of a gaudy pattern. The 'sombrero' and large spurs are inevitable accompaniments. Every house has the appearance of lack of convenience and comfort, but the most rude and primitive modes of life seem to be satisfactory to the cowboy. His wages range from $15.00 to $20.00 a month in specie. Mexicans can be employed for about $12.00 per month.

The cowboy has few wants and fewer necessities, the princ.i.p.al one being a full supply of tobacco.

"We will here say for the benefit of our Northern readers, that the term 'ranch' is used in the Southwest instead of 'farm,' the ordinary laborer is termed a 'cowboy,' the horse used a 'cow horse,' and the herd of horses a 'cavvie yard.'

"The fame of Texas as a stock-growing country went abroad in the land, and soon after her admission to the Union, unto her were turned the eyes of many young men born and reared in the older Southern States, who were poor in this world's goods, but were ambitious to make for themselves a home and a fortune. Many of this cla.s.s went to Texas, then a new and comparatively thin and unsettled country, and began in humblest manner, perhaps for nominal wages, to lay the foundation for future wealth and success."

This is a very severe description, and relates to a cla.s.s of men who were found in the wildest parts of Texas shortly after the war. It certainly does not adequately describe the cowboy of the last twenty years. Another writer, who was himself for more than a quarter of a century engaged in the work of herding cattle, gives a much fairer description of the cowboy. He divides those ent.i.tled to this name into three cla.s.ses, and argues that there is something n.o.ble about the name.

He also claims that in view of the peculiar a.s.sociations, privations, surroundings and temptations of the cowboy, he is ent.i.tled to much credit for the way in which he has retained the best characteristics of human nature, in spite of his absence from the refining influences of civilization.

According to this authority, the first cla.s.s of cowboys include the genuine, honest worker on the prairie, the man who has due respect for the rights of all. He is scrupulously honest, but yet charitable enough to look leniently on the falling away from grace of his less scrupulous brothers, and he is loyal to a remarkable extent to every one who has a right to claim his friends.h.i.+p. In the second cla.s.s is placed the less careful cowboy, who is not quite so strict in his moral views, although no one would like to cla.s.s him as a thief. The story is told of the Irishman who found a blanket bearing upon it the Government mark "U. S."

Paddy examined the blanket carefully and on finding the mark shouted out: "U. for Patrick and S. for McCarty. Och, but I'm glad I've found me blanket. Me fayther told me that eddication was a good thing, and now I know it; but for an eddication I never would have found the blanket."

Reasoning of this kind is quite common among this second cla.s.s or division of the cowboy. It is not suggested that he is exactly a thief, because he would scorn the acts of the city light-fingered gentleman, who asks you the time of day, and then, by a little sleight-of-hand, succeeds in introducing your watch to a too obliging and careless p.a.w.nbroker at the next corner. But he is a little reckless in his ideas of what lawyers call the rights of individuals, and he is a little too much inclined, at times, to think that trifles that are not his own ought to be so.

The writer, to whom we are referring, includes in cla.s.s three the typical cowboy, and the man used by the fiction writer as a basis for his exaggerations and romances. Into this cla.s.s drifts the cowboy who is absolutely indifferent as to the future, and who is perfectly happy if he has enough money to enable him to buy a fancy bridle or a magnificent saddle. These are about the beginning and the end of his ideas of luxury; although he enjoys a good time, he looks upon it rather as incidental and essential to pleasure. A steady position at a small salary, a reasonable amount to do, and fairly good quarters, const.i.tute all he looks for or expects. He is perfectly honest with all his indifference. He is often whole-souled and big-hearted, constantly allows himself to be imposed upon, but has an inconvenient habit of occasionally standing up for his rights and resenting too much oppression. He is exceedingly good-natured, and will often drive some stray cattle several miles for the convenience of a perfect stranger, and a man to whom he owes no obligation whatever.

It is said that such a thing as distress among the relatives or descendants of cowboys was impossible, because of the delightful tenderheartedness of men with rough exterior and whose daily life makes them appear hardened. The working cowboy is seldom rich, even in the most generous acceptation of the term. The small wages he earns are expended almost entirely on decorations for his horse or himself. Even when he succeeds in saving a few dollars, the money seems to burn a hole in his pocket, and he generally lends it to some one in greater need than himself. But every man working on a ranch has something to spare for the widow or children of a deceased brother, especially if he was killed in the course of his duties. An instance of this generous-hearted disposition might well be given, but it is sufficient to say that the rule is invariable, and that a promise made to a dying man in this respect is never forgotten.

Leaving for a moment the personal characteristics of the much-maligned cowboy, who has been described as everything from a stage-robber to a cutthroat, we may with profit devote a little s.p.a.ce to a consideration of his attire as it was, and as it is. In the picture of a cowboy in this work the modern dress is shown very accurately. It will be seen that the man is dressed conveniently for his work, and that he has none of the extraordinary handicaps to progress, in the way of grotesque decorations, which he had been thought to believe were, at least, part and parcel of the cowboy's wardrobe and get up. Certainly at the present time men engaged in feeding and raising cattle are almost indifferent as to their attire, wearing anything suitable for their purpose, and making their selections rather with a view to the durability, than the handsomeness, of the clothing.

But in years gone by, there was almost as much fas.h.i.+on changing among the men on the prairie as among the woman in the drawing-room. At the close of the war the first of the arbitrary dictates of fas.h.i.+on went out. A special form of stirrup was introduced. It was very narrow and exceedingly inconvenient, but it was considered the right thing, and so everybody used it. Rawhide was used in place of lines, and homespun garments were uniform. Calfskin leggings, made on the prairie, with the hair on the outside, were first worn, and large umbrella-like straw hats came into use. A little later it was decided the straw hat was not durable enough for the purpose. When excited a cowboy frequently starts his horse with his hat, and when he is wearing a straw, four or five sharp blows knock out of the hat any semblance it may ever have had to respectability and symmetry. The wide brim woolen hat was declared to be the correct thing, and every one was glad of the change. The narrow stirrup gave place to a wider one, and the stirrup leather was shortened so as to compel the rider to keep his knees bent the whole time. The most important change in fas.h.i.+on twenty years ago, was the introduction of tanned leather leggings and of handsome bridles. Many a man now pays two or three months' wages for his bridle, and since the fas.h.i.+on came in, it is probable that many thousand dollars have been invested in ornamental headgear for prairie horses and ponies. A new saddle, as well as bow and ta.s.sel decorations, also came in at this period, and it is to be admitted that for a time exaggeration in clothing became general. It is an old joke on the prairie that the average man's hat costs him more than his clothes.

Many a cowboy earning $30.00 a month has spent three times that sum on his saddle alone. More than one man earning $25.00 a month has invested every cent of his salary in silver buckles for his strange looking hat.

Equally extravagant is the average man as to his saddle, bridle, and even spurs and bit. Those who talk so much about the bad habits of these people, will hardly credit the fact that many a cowboy abstains from liquor and tobacco for an entire year at a stretch, simply because he wants to purchase some article of attire, which he thinks will make him the envy of the entire ranch.

The cow pony is worthy of as much attention and thought as the cowboy.

It is often said that the latter is hard and cruel, and that he uses his pony roughly. This is far from being correct. Between the cowboy and his pet pony there is generally a bond of sympathy and a thorough understanding, without which the marvelous feats of horsemans.h.i.+p which are performed daily would be impossible. Perhaps in the preliminary breaking in of the pony there is more roughness than is quite necessary.

At the same time, it should be remembered that to subdue an animal which was born on the prairie and has run wild to its heart's content, is not a very simple matter. The habit of bucking, which a Texas pony seems to inherit from its ancestors, is a very inconvenient one, and an expert rider from the East is perfectly helpless upon the back of a bucking pony. The way in which he mounts a.s.sures the animal at once that he is a stranger in those parts. A natural desire to unseat the daring stranger becomes paramount, and the pony proceeds to carry out the idea.

At first it moves quietly and the rider congratulates himself on having convinced the animal that resistance will be ill vain. But just as he begins to do this the animal gets down its head, arches up its back, something after the manner of an angry cat, leaps into the air and comes down on the ground with its four legs drawn together under it, perfectly stiff and straight. The rider seldom knows how it happened. He only knows that it felt as though a cannon ball had struck him, and that he fell off most ungracefully.

A pony never bucks viciously when a cowboy is riding it. It has learned by long experience that the process is distinctly unprofitable. Breaking in a pony and convincing it that the way of the transgressor is hard, is one of the difficulties of prairie life. When, however, it is once accomplished, an almost invaluable a.s.sistant has been secured. The staying powers of the cow pony are almost without limit. He will carry his master 100 miles in a day, apparently with very little fatigue. In point of speed he may not be able to compete with his better bred Eastern cousin, but in point of distance covered he entirely outcla.s.ses him. a.s.suming an easy gait within its powers of endurance, a pony of the prairie will keep it up almost indefinitely. At the end of a very long ride, the man is generally more fatigued than his steed. The latter, after being relieved of its saddle and bridle, rolls vigorously to get rid of the stiffness, and, after an hour or two, is apparently in as good condition as ever.

The charm connected with cowboy life is found in the disregard of strict rules of etiquette and ceremony, and in the amount of fun which is considered to be in place around the prairie fire. We have already seen that the wages paid to cowboys are, and always have been, very small.

The hours that have to be worked, and the hards.h.i.+ps that have to be encountered, seem to combine together to deter men from leading the life at all. We know that it does neither, and that it is seldom there is really any dearth of help on the prairie or among the cattle herds. The greatest delight is derived from jokes played at the expense of smart tenderfeet, who approach the camp with too much confidence in themselves. The commonest way of convincing the newcomer that he has made a mistake is to persuade him to ride an exceptionally fractious pony. The task is generally approached with much confidence, and almost invariably ends in grief. If the stranger can retain his seat and thus upset the rehea.r.s.ed programme, the delight of the onlookers is even greater than their disappointment, and the newcomer is admitted at once into the good fellows.h.i.+p of the crowd.

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 a.s.sured. 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 pa.s.senger 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 hards.h.i.+p, 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 circ.u.mspection and, if he survives the process, his behavior is usually modified to fit his new surroundings. A tragic ill.u.s.tration 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 pa.s.sengers and frequently flouris.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sengers 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 pus.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sing 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.

A crowd gathered as the train rolled on, leaving the tough man where he had fallen. Of course the man who killed him, a gambler of the town, was fully exonerated at the inquest, and was never even indicted for the killing.