OUT WHERE THE WEST BEGINS 



lodge-poles pointing skyward, and, like mushrooms in 

 a night, a white tepee village had sprung up in the 

 picturesque cottonwoods near the Pendleton ford by 

 the old Oregon Trail. 



Even before the first day of the Round-Up, Main 

 Street, which shoots over a rise into wheat fields, 

 was in gala dress. Beneath the banners and flags 

 strung overhead, lifting lazily in the soft stir of air, 

 cowboys in gaudy shirts of red, blue, purple, yellow, 

 and green, and kerchiefs of many hues, cowgirls in at- 

 tractive dresses of fringed buckskin, and Indians with 

 multicolored blankets and beaded moccasins, move like 

 an everchanging chromoscope among the neutral- 

 clothed townsmen. 



Yes, it was "goin' to the Round-Up," as the lad had 

 said, which brought me like thousands of others to this 

 "biggest little city of its size" in the West. 



The term "Round-Up" is taken from the old range 

 expression meaning the "rounding up" — encircling and 

 herding together of the cattle previous to the spring 

 "branding," "cutting out," or fall "drive." When the 

 Round-Up is spoken of, the carnival held at Pendleton 

 is meant. It is a grand carnival of the frontiersman 

 in commemoration of that fine old life with its thrills 

 and its dangers, many phases of which have already 

 passed into history. 



The dynamic forces of modern "civilization" — ap- 

 plied science and industry — have caused most of the 

 old range country of the United States to be re-mapped 

 into town and homestead with astonishing swiftness. 

 In the old days — within the memories of men still in 

 the prime of life — the west country was essentially a 

 "cow country." Every ranch had its "cow hands" 

 who could rope and ride. Every ranch had its horses, 



11 



