GIRLS ON A ROUND-UP 



In Which They Lived the Life of the Cowboys and Did a 



Creditable Share of the Work 



BY FLORENCE S. DUBOIS 







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■fit vV. 



HE big-hearted 

 people of the par- 

 ticular section of 

 the West which we 

 knew had given we 

 "girls" from the 

 East a good time 

 all summer. Wear- 

 rived late in May, 

 bought horses at 

 once from the In- 

 dians, and spent the 

 rainy June getting 

 acquainted with our newly acquired steeds 

 and exploring the country around the 

 Agency. The showers didn't disturb us 

 much as we rode through the yellow pine and 

 tamarack, the wet brush flapping against 

 the horses' sides, the rain-laden breeze full 

 in our faces — for we breathed the air of the 

 hills — the high hills — and "the sound of 

 snow-water and the sound of trees" was in 

 our ears. One of those afternoons the rain 

 ceased suddenly, the sun slanted through 

 the broken clouds on a slope of purple 

 lupine, and its rare fragrance was borne to 

 us with the smell of the wet soil. Away to the 

 northeast the snow-capped Mission Range 

 gave back the sun. Ah, that was a time to 

 remember! 



But this is not about the round-up. Yet 

 it conveys that we liked the people and the 

 country. In July we took a driving trip to 

 the northern part of the Reservation and up 

 there they said to us: "You girls seem to 

 like this country, we're going to round up 

 some beef cattle shortly, and will be out a 

 week or ten days. Do you want to come?" 

 Sure, we wanted to come. Visions of our- 

 selves as dashing Lucille Mulhalls floated 

 through our heads, and without delay we 

 returned to the Agency and made feverish 

 preparations for the event. 



These preparations were brief. If some 



of our friends back East, who had seen us 

 depart with two suit-cases for a two days' visit, 

 could have seen our long, lean saddle-rolls, 

 they would have smiled. Thus outfitted, we 

 started forth from the Agency, which was 

 fifty miles south of where the Cattle Owner 

 and his wife lived. She was to drive in a 

 mountain cart and "pack" their things, and 

 had told us we could (with an emphasis on 

 the "could," we thought) bring a suit-case, 

 but we decided to reduce our necessities to a 

 minimum, and haply thereby acquire merit. 

 This we certainly did, for as we loped our 

 horses up to the appointed meeting-place, 

 having learned to arrive with a flourish, and 

 announced that our luggage was all in the 

 saddle-rolls, we were rewarded by words 

 of unqualified approval. 



Our host went off about noon to arrange 

 for the night's camp, and at seven in the 

 evening two of us in the cart, with Pete for 

 driver, and three on horseback set out on 

 his trail. Our route had been thus outlined :, 

 "We'll cross the river, go over the hill 

 toward the setting sun, work the country 

 west and north and return by the arm of the 

 lake." Such a picturesque schedule almost 

 demanded the moon, which rose behind us 

 as we rode down to the river and onto the 

 crude flatboat that did service as a ferry. 

 Pete and another cowboy, Bob, rowed and 

 poled us across the swift stream which 

 formed the outlet of the large lake that 

 extended into the Reservation from the 

 north. The crossing safely made (despite 

 titters from the girls), we mounted the hill 

 on the other side and held a straight course 

 into the light of the setting sun. 



A rough but glorious ride brought us to 

 camp, which was pitched on the flat close 

 to the edge of the same river we had crossed, 

 only here it ran between steep banks and 

 the noise of its fall over the great rocks that 

 interrupted its course just above camp could 



