190 AT THE SIGN OF THE STOCK YARD INN 



have been bulls, for example, like the enormous 

 flesh-carrier Young Abbotsburn of Canadian and 

 Columbian Exposition fame, that carried wonderful 

 carcasses of thick-cutting beef. His head was the 

 head of a feeder, short and broad, but there was 

 little or no expression in his countenance; none of 

 that commanding clear- the -way presence that dis- 

 tinguishes the "I am here" type of the vigorous 

 male. All over his physiognomy was written docil- 

 ity and "I don't give a rap what happens so long 

 as I get my meals." And he sired but few out- 

 standing cattle. History must give him credit for 

 the champion show cow Mary Abbotsburn; but she 

 came near being the one exception that proved the 

 rule. Not so, however, with Baron Victor. His 

 was a lordly port. A glance from him, like the 

 royal request, was an understood command. Not 

 that he was ugly, for he was not, but he knew 

 what he had come into the cattle kingdom for, and 

 insisted upon his proper rights and prerogatives as 

 master of the harem. A few younger bulls were 

 usually allowed to run with him for company. 



It is now near thirty years ago. It may be that 

 memory is not as trustworthy as in my earlier days; 

 it may be that the sharp contrast of type presented 

 at that date heightens the effect; but I am bound 



