FRONTIERSPIECE 



BEING AN ACCOUNT OF 

 THE FRONTIERS OF YESTERDAY AND TODAY 



We sat on the top rail of a corral fence, my pal and 

 I. We had ridden nearly one hundred miles over the 

 Montana Rockies, from Nine Quarter Circle Ranch 

 in the Taylor Fork country, loping into the little town 

 of Ennis in the Madison Valley to witness a local buck- 

 ing contest, the first I had ever seen. 



The top rail was the grandstand, the gaps between 

 the logs were the bleachers, well crowded by the people 

 of the little hamlet and the outfits that had ridden in. 

 Montana Whitey was riding old Glass Eye, a brute of 

 a bucker, who, not satisfied with trying to scrape off 

 his rider against the corral fence, nipped viciously at 

 the quickly-hauled-up legs of the ''grandstand" specta- 

 tors. Crash! A tenderfoot fell backwards thru an 

 automobile top, landing squarely, if unexpectedly, in 

 the lap of a lady. 



"Who's the tall, goodlooking cowboy, with the red 

 feather dangling Indian fashion from his Stetson? 

 The one in charge of the stakes," I asked Judge Call- 

 oway of Virginia City, who on the morrow was hold- 

 ing court in Ennis, but who now helped me hold down 

 the top rail. 



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