A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 



I saw I had them going, and remarked, "Pool your 

 money, and pick your man," but it was the unknown, 

 the "sleight," and we wound up by putting it off, but 

 they quit "joshing" my riding. 



Some months later an inspector whom I had got 

 to know and love asked me, "Where in the hell did 

 you get to be such a wrestler?" I had really forgot 

 all about it, and asked, "Why?" Then he told me 

 that my boys were offering to bet the other outfits 

 that I could throw any man they would put up catch- 

 as-catch-can, or, as they put it, "You got to wrassel 

 his way; it's all sleight and if anybudy gets hurt he 

 has to grin it out." 



I never had to wrestle, but some years afterwards 

 I ran a footrace with a lad, who was just a kid "boss 

 wrangler" at the time of my "bluff," and he beat me. 

 Thereupon, throwing his hat down, he said: "Now, 

 damn your soul, I'll jes wrassel you catch-as-catch- 

 can." I told him that he had been off somewhere 

 taking lessons, and I did not want to hurt a good 

 man, anyway, because they were getting too scarce. 

 To which he replied, "Say, I believe you've been 

 runnin' a sandy all the time." I said, "O. K., kid, 

 but keep it dark." 



I have said that cowboys are diffident and unemo- 

 tional ; that is, on the surface. You can do things for 

 them, and while scrupulously polite in the etiquette 

 of the range they may not even say "thank you"; 

 but they never forget. Under that nonchalant ex- 



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