THE DESERT AND THE ROSE 199 



rude log cabin so that he may whip the mountain 

 streams for trout. To this type of "furriner," as 

 the mountaineer dubs him, the host will hold forth 

 lengthily over the chip fire at night or under the 

 stars, thus furnishing much racy material to the 

 auditor capable of appreciating and remembering it. 

 The mountaineer of the South is himself, and only 

 himself — "different," as the saying is. 



Not so the South Western mountaineer, though 

 he has his points. But the types have little in com- 

 mon. The Southerner, no matter how poororplain, 

 will enthuse at the sight of a blooded horse. In- 

 numerable times have I reined in mv thoroughbred 

 mare on some lonely woodland road that a man driv- 

 ing a sorry team to an old wagon mav get down and 

 go over her exhaustively and judicially, discuss 

 everv detail and demand her pedigree while handl- 

 ing her with positive adoration. "Howdy, Mam !" 

 was the usual greeting. "Whan* you buy that fine 

 mah'?" The passion for a good horse is a passion 

 with everv trueborn Virginian, having its origin 

 probablv in his English ancestry and fostered by 

 the old-time planters, whose constant custom it was 

 to import thoroughbreds and from such noble stock 

 build up strains of their own, each strain named for 

 the plantation responsible for it. The Western 

 mountaineer would look on such foolishness with 

 contempt, and boast himself solely on the utility 

 of the uncomely beast that drags or carries him six- 

 tv or so miles per diem, as also on its abilitv to en- 

 dure hardship or even ill usa^e. Good blood has 

 no appeal for him, and his horse eye is conspicuous 



