LET 'ER BUCK 



men have turned their attention also to manufacture, 

 merchandise, banking and law, and are the brains of 

 this marvelous passion play of the West. Then come 

 the range types that delight the painter and molder of 

 clay, vigorous, keen eyed, modest, and primitively 

 natural and likable. You see all the familiar charac- 

 ters you have become acquainted with at the tryouts 

 or seen in the contests. 



There, too, you see the old time West literally 

 stalking in the flesh. The floats of the hunter, the 

 pioneer, the Indian, the gambler and others symbolize 

 its epic episodes. There go the oxcart, the chuck- 

 wagon, the freighter, the prairie schooner and the In- 

 dian travois. No advertising, no autos or any modern 

 innovations are allowed to mar the historic pictur- 

 esquesness of this revival of the past, then come the 

 Indians in a swirl of color and trappings which sight 

 is alone worth your long journey. 



That heavy-set packer with the long string of pack 

 mules is Bill Russell. Bill's hospitable ranch home 

 nestles invitingly under a grove of trees just this side 

 of Walla Walla. The old hide packs, so well "hitched" 

 on, have a history, too — they are what the Indians 

 didn't want or didn't have time to take when they were 

 left strewn along the slopes of the Little Big Horn 

 after the Custer massacre. Bill's father was with Reno 

 at the time they gathered some of them up, so here 

 they are. 



Anyone would know by the way that old-timer 

 maneuvers the reins of one of the stagecoach outfits 

 that it is but second nature, and so it is to old Dave 

 Horn who has handled reins, brake and lash over the 

 trail on his daily runs from Cayuse to Umatilla in the 

 old days, and has been recognized for years as the 



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