92 Life and Sport on the Pacific Slope 



office. Once a week, perhaps, you get papers and 

 letters ; once a week you see a fresh face, hear the 

 tones of a fresh voice. The world wags on, but 

 you are out of it. To some this isolation is intoler- 

 able; to others, doubtless, it brings comfort and 

 content. The life grows upon one. You rise early, 

 feed your horse and yourself, and ride forth into 

 the hills. After a time you begin to know your 

 cattle ; you can see them, distinguish one from an- 

 other at a distance that surprises the tenderfoot. 

 If one is missing you are aware instinctively of 

 the fact, and glance skyward. A buzzard circling 

 slowly on motionless pinions advises you that the 

 beast is dead, or dying. Perhaps he has mired 

 down in some rotten ground, or is cast in a gulch, 

 or stolen. It is the business of your life to know 

 where the cattle are, and what may be their 

 condition. At certain seasons the calves must be 

 branded ; the beef cattle must be cut out, as the 

 phrase runs, the estrays must be given to their 

 lawful owners. These rodeos are the high days, 

 not the holidays, of ranch life. From the neigh- 

 bouring ranches ride the cowboys, and in the corrals 

 you will see them at work with the lasso and 

 branding-iron. Time was when cattle were roughly 

 handled. They came streaming across the hills, 

 the vaqueros shouting behind them and whirling 

 their reatas. Now quieter methods prevail. The 

 foreman instructs his men to drive the beasts 

 slowly, not to shout, not to swing the reata. He 

 wants his cattle tame. Even in the corral the 

 lasso is less used than formerly, and the skill of 

 the vaqueros is passing for lack of practice. Some 



