404 



RECREATION 



be distinctly heard. It was nearly eleven, 

 and our moon was low; the fire had sunk to 

 embers and we could see little beyond the 

 tent at which we had dismounted. We un- 

 saddled our horses and held the bridles as we 

 asked where they were to be led. "Turn 

 them loose," said our host, who seemed to 

 be the only human being in evidence, and we 

 obeyed with misgivings, anxious eyes fol- 

 lowing them as they wandered toward the 

 river. You see, they had cost us twenty-five 

 dollars apiece and we didn't want anything 

 to happen to them. But they were quite 

 safe, for they quickly joined the band of 

 ponies belonging to the outfit and would be 

 in the care of the horse-wrangler until 

 morning. 



The dusky outline of a big canvas-covered 

 wagon loomed up beyond the fire and meant 

 nothing more to us then than a picturesque 

 addition to the scene. One of the girls 

 walked toward it, but retreated hastily, 

 explaining that she had nearly stumbled 

 over a sleeping man. So we decided that it 

 was after camp bedtime and we would turn 

 in without delay. The mattresses covered 

 by four or five neatly folded quilts looked good 

 to us, and our flannel wrappers not nearly 

 so woolly as when we rolled them up in the 

 morning; so comfortably tucking ourselves 

 away, we slept a sound sleep in the big 

 outdoor night. 



Up at six in the morning we found much 

 doing in the camp. The big wagon at- 

 tracted us at once, for the end-gate, or tail- 

 board, let down from the back, propped by a 

 stake in the ground, formed a table around 

 which stood several cowboys disposing of 

 quantities of ham and eggs. Around the 

 fire stood pots and pans and from which 

 others of the crew filled tin cups and plates. 

 Oh, how good was the smell of ham upon 

 the keen morning air ! Well, if this was the 

 chuck-wagon, we were indeed glad to meet 

 it. But these real cowboys didn't look so 

 much like Remington pictures as we ex- 

 pected ; here was one in overalls, dark flan- 

 nel shirt, vest, small felt hat — named Bos- 

 ton, so the Cattle Owner's wife said, but 

 not realizing Boston's possibilities, we turned 

 from him to Pete. There were the big hat, 

 mackinaw, sheepskin " chaps," clinking 

 spurs, heavy quirt — all the attributes of the 

 picture cowboy — and as he stooped to fix 



the ornamental breast-strap on his pony, 

 our fingers twitched for a camera. A yell 

 from the men interrupted our contempla- 

 tion: " Jack's horse is bucking!" And sure 

 enough, it was. Jack, a well-built Indian, 

 sat his " pinto " with perfect calm, it bucking 

 all over the place — down the bank, along 

 the river edge, up the steepest part of the 

 bank again, and out on the flat — while his 

 sombrero, his countenance, and the heavy 

 braids over his shoulders remained equally 

 unmoved. His general get-up was more like 

 Boston's than that of Pete, and he was one 

 of the best all-around cattlemen on the 

 Reservation our host said — a little lesson 

 that signified "Fine 'chaps' do not neces- 

 sarily mean fine cowpunchers." Exclama- 

 tions and admiration from the girls moved 

 Jack no more than the bucking, except that 

 he sent a quiet smile in our direction as he 

 rode off on his subdued pony. 



Other men were saddling the ponies that 

 the Cattle Owner was roping down by the 

 river. This process, in addition to Jack's 

 riding, was as good as a Wild West Show, 

 which the grand-stand on the bank was 

 thoroughly appreciating. However, when 

 Cook looked up from a pan of eggs to say: 

 "Any time you girls want your breakfast, 

 it's ready," we "went to it " on a run. Hav- 

 ing kept our eyes on those who had break- 

 fasted before us, we found plates and cups 

 and provender in cow-camp method and 

 were soon eating a breakfast shocking to the 

 sensibilities of those who cannot compass 

 more than an orange, a muffin and a cup of 

 coffee. 



The day's work was to include us; we 

 weren't sure to what extent, only praying in- 

 wardly that we shouldn't be entirely in the 

 way, and after breakfast we rode off toward 

 the west with the Cattle Owner and the 

 Cattle Buyer, leaving our hostess to "keep 

 house." The way lay over flats and buttes, 

 the Owner and the Buyer telling tales, 

 until doubt entered into even our tenderfoot 

 enthusiasm, while we rudely and fre- 

 quently interrupted by requests for permis- 

 sion to round-up every stray calf we saw. 

 As this round-up was for beef cattle, not for 

 branding, we were told to wait for bigger 

 game. When we came to a draw where 

 cattle stood in the wet ground and lay on 

 near slopes, and we were told to collect those 



