240 SADDLE AND CAMP 



buster." At a recent gathering all of them had 

 been unseated by a bull owned by the hotel 

 keeper, save one man, who had not yet at- 

 tempted to master the animal. He swaggered 

 around in hairy chaps, high-heeled boots, and 

 with a big revolver on his belt. He asked them 

 to bring the bull out and he would show the de- 

 feated ones how to ride it. For a time it seemed 

 as though we were to have an exhibition of wild 

 bull riding, but the landlord killed our hopes 

 with the statement that the bull was out on the 

 range and it would require several hours to 

 bring him in. 



I asked a quiet man next me who the boast- 

 ful one was. 



"Oh, he's a feller works around. He's dig- 

 gin' a well for a ranchman up here now." 



"Why," said I, "I thought from his outfit he 

 was a cowpuncher." 



"What, him!" exclaimed my informant. 

 "He'd stampede a bunch o' steers with his 

 yawp. He can bust broncs though. He is 

 some rider." 



A young man, dressed in khaki and evidently 

 not a native of the valley, had supper with us 

 in the evening, and I learned that he was the 

 Reverend Robert M. Beckett, an Episcopal 

 clergyman stationed in Jackson. From him I 



