OF A RANCHMAN 25 



wander out on the broad prairies stretching 

 back of them, or come down to the river 

 bottoms. 



My home ranch-house stands on the river 

 brink. From the low, long veranda, shaded 

 by leafy cotton- woods, one looks across sand 

 bars and shallows to a strip of meadowland, 

 behind which rises a line of sheer cliffs and 

 grassy plateaus. This veranda is a pleasant 

 place in the summer evenings when a cool 

 breeze stirs along the river and blows in the 

 faces of the tired men, who loll back in their 

 rocking-chairs (what true American does not 

 enjoy a rocking-chair?), book in hand 

 though they do not often read the books, but 

 rock gently to and fro, gazing sleepily out 

 at the weird-looking buttes opposite, until 

 their sharp outlines grow indistinct and pur- 

 ple in the after-glow of the sunset. The 

 story-high house of hewn logs is clean and 

 neat, with many rooms, so that one can be 

 alone if one wishes to. The nights in sum- 

 mer are cool and pleasant, and there are 

 plenty of bear-skins and buffalo robes, 



