842 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
DEC. 6 
ON A COLORADO RANCH. 
PRAIRIE SKETCHES. 
S. E. HOWARD. 
When we moved out to our claim, with only one neigh¬ 
bor within walking distance, and, I might almost add, 
within sight, there was one consoling thought in my mind: 
“ We must be out of the reach of tramps.” Those society- 
loving individuals would certainly frown upon our lonely 
undertaking and make no effort to find us. The house 
that “held down” our claim wasn’t half finished when we 
took possession of it. This statement will not surprise 
homesteaders, preemptors or any other kind of settlers in 
the West. If we were practically out of the world, we 
were not out of fashion in this respect. Before I had be¬ 
come in the least accustomed or hardened to the strange¬ 
ness of my surroundings, I turned my eyes, one morning, 
toward the western horizon, to fortify myself with a look 
at the grand and stately Rockies, when I saw that they 
were hidden from sight by a dusty looking cloud. On it 
rolled like a volume of fire-reddened smoke. Unaccus¬ 
tomed as I was to such a sight, it was really terrific. 
Lively breezes .began to play around me; a troupe of 
tumble-weeds came rolling merrily over the prairies; now 
and then a loose shingle went sailing through the air; 
boards began to rattle and chatter. The wide-spreading 
cloud came nearer. I was pelted with gravel, and my eyes 
were filled with the flying dust. This was what Colora- 
dians call a “zephyr”—one of our most disagreeable storms: 
a dust storm. 
I went into the house. As I closed the door a staging the 
carpenters had left struck the ground where I had been 
standing. The wind was becoming boisterous. I found 
the house transformed into an immense music box. 
Under the floor, where there was as yet no underpinning 
to keep it out, the wind roared and rumbled. Through 
the hollow walls it chased and howled. Escaping at the 
tiny cracks, it hissed and buzzed. All day everything I 
touched was gritty with the fine dust sifted upon it. 
When I was nearly worn out with the misery of it all, a 
second affliction came—a tramp, as I supposed. My natu¬ 
ral protector was miles away. My husband had gone to 
town on “imperative” business—although a call to weed 
a potato patch might admit of Its postponement. I didn’t 
tell him I was afraid of the wind and almost everything 
else, and suggest that he might stay at home and protect 
me. Oh, no ! I pretended to be bravery itself. 
But to return to my tramp : he was inside the door when 
I first saw him. Perhaps the wind was much to blame for 
his tramp-like appearance; I didn’t think of that at the 
time. He had a tousled look; bits of hay and straw stuck 
in his hair and beard, and suggested that he was in the 
habit of making bed-rooms of haystacks. He had a re¬ 
quest to make; they all want one thing or another. This 
man said, in a wheezing, creaking voice: “Would you 
let me come in and smoke, mar’m ?” Now, that was cool. 
Perhaps he did not suspect that I might even object to my 
husband’s smoking. I had long since made up my mind 
that the way to deal with tramps was to show them that 
one is not in the least afraid of them, so I replied in a curt, 
smart way: 
“ I guess there is room enough on the prairie for you to 
do your smoking.” Oh! the look of dignity and injured 
innocence that man gave me ! 
“ Very well, Mrs. Grayson, I will smoke on the prairie.” 
Now it was my turn to look, and I looked surprised. 
How did that man know my name ? I glanced out of the 
window ^nd saw a fine pony saddled and bridled, standing 
by the hitching-post. Do beggars travel on horse-back i 
Not in Uncle Sam’s domain. Just here my eldest, a boy 
of a dozen years, peeped from behind the stranger with an 
amused look on his face. I hadn’t noticed him before in 
my agitation. 
“This is the man papa bought my pony of,” said he, 
with evident delight at the situation. So my tramp was 
a ranchman, and a neighbor, if he did live four or five 
miles away. 
“ Yes, mar’m,” said that insulted individual. “ I knows 
Mr. Grayson well, mar’m, and he knows me. I’m a fam¬ 
ily man myself, I am. My wife and children lives in Iowy. 
I stays here because of my asthma, mar’m, and it’s for 
that I’m asking ye for permission to smoke.” I tried to 
apologize ; it was a delicate matter. John says I always 
lug him in to help me out of scrapes. I did it this time. 
“I haven’t got used to the West yet,” I said. “I 
wouldn’t blame any woman for taking my husband for a 
tramp; he hasn’t worn a white shirt since he went to thd 
mountains for lumber for his house, and the small boys 
called one to another as he passed: 
“ ‘There goes a man with a biled shirt on 1’ ” 
My tramp laughed as much as his asthma would let 
him, and being assured that he was welcome “ to smoke,” 
took live coals upon a shovel and put upon them some 
stramonium that he carried in his pocket, and inhaled the 
fumes. This relieved him and he stayed and talked some 
time. Alfred was full of boyish interest to hear about the 
“ round-up,” and “ broncho riding,” and “ cow-boys,” and 
“life on the plains” generally. Mr. Fairfield told him 
many interesting things. It was during his conversation 
that we first heard of Dan. 
" Dan’s the boy ye should see ride,” he said. “ Dan can 
ride anything. He’ll catch any creature that ever saw a 
round-up, he will. Dan is a good boy, too. Why, mar’m,” 
he said, turning to me, “he’s just like a father to his 
mother’s children, and she a widow with three younger 
than him.” 
“ Where do they live ?” I asked. 
“His mother stays in town where she can get work, and 
the youngsters can go to school, but Dan is everywhere 
where there is any riding for him to do. This has been a 
bad day for me,” Mr. Fairfield continued. “ It’s the riding 
in the wind and dust that wheezes me up so ; clear days 
it’s pretty well I am. Did ye ever mind a band of six or 
eight horses that runs together by here, and one of them a 
sorrel ?” asked he of Alfred. Alfred had seen them. 
“It’s the sorrel I’m wanting. If ye’ll corral him and 
hold him for me it’s a $5 bill I’ll give to ye.” 
Alfred agreed to this proposition eagerly, and Mr. Fair- 
field mounted his pony and rode away. Horses become 
attached to one feeding-ground and seldom leave it unless 
driven away, and in that case they will return if possible. 
The fence dividing the public range from the more settled 
land ran through our claim, near the house ; our corrals 
were on the range side of the fence, so it looked as if 
Alfred, with his pony’s help, might drive a horse into one 
of them. 
When John returned from town a welcome quiet 
reigned, the wind had gone “down with the sun.” It 
would be hard to tell which enjoyed the most my tramp 
experience—Alfred in telling or John in hearing it. 
“Never mind, Master Alfred,” I said, “the laugh may 
be on my side some day.” 
John had heard in town that the cattlemen would soon 
start out on the spring round up, and as it would pass near 
us we looked forward with interest to seeing how the work 
we had heard so much about was carried on. 
“ We may see Dau,” said Alfred. 
“ What Dan ?” asked John. 
“ The broncho-rider Mr. Fairfield told about.” 
“ You will see him, I can promise you that,” John said, 
“ for I engaged him to day to come out and break horses 
for me before he has to start on the round-up.” 
Every day Alfred kept a sharp lookout for the band of 
wild horses with the sorrel pony among them. The pony 
Mr. Grayson had bought Alfred was a very intelligent 
animal. She had been broken by a cow-boy and knew just 
what was wanted of her in driving horses or cattle. It is 
the business of the rider, in chasing animals, to watch the 
creature he is pursuing and not the one he is on ; a well- 
trained “cow-pony” turns without being reined, as 
quickly as the creature it is after, and unless the rider 
holds himself in position to keep his seat, his pony will go 
out from under him. Alfred did not understand this part 
of cow-boy work. He saw the horses he was looking for 
coming one day, and without stopping for a saddle, sprang 
on to Gpysy’s back and started out to turn them toward 
the corral. Away he went like the wind! Down swept 
the pretty creatures in all their untamed beauty. It 
looked like an easy matter to get them into the corral, but 
just at the point of entrance they wheeled and were off. 
Gypsy wheeled too, and started after them; but her rider 
did not go with her; he went on an independent excursion 
after cactus thorns, and found them. More than that, he 
carried a great many away with him. His back resembled 
that of an enraged porcupine. It was warm weather and 
Alfred did not have on an overcoat, undercoat, or vest; he 
earnestly wished he had worn all three. I kindly under¬ 
took to pull out the thorns. Each was needle-pointed but 
came out a little hard as if slightly barbed. Alfred bore 
the torture bravely until several dozens were removed, 
then he grew nervous and feverish, and before the last 
was out, danced around to music of his own making, 
in a manner more edifying than helpful. He does not 
tease me any more about tramps; one or two allusions to 
“ cow-boy skill ” and “thorny beds of cactus ” have made 
him forget to do so. 
Besides, I came off with colors flying in my second 
tramp encounter. It was sundown when this one ap¬ 
peared ; he looked hungry and tired; he had good reason 
to be both, if he had walked from the nearest house in the 
direction from which he came. He meekly asked for a 
night’s lodging. Remembering my first experience, I 
thought it wise to err on the side of kindness. I had 
more than I knew how to attend to in my own affairs, for 
the children were down with the measles, but I said 
cheerfully: 
“Certainly, certainly, come right in ; my children have 
the measles; but there are some to spare, and if you never 
had them I don’t think you will get a better chance.” 
“No, mum! thank you, mum,” he said as he turned to 
go, the pleased expression that had come over his face at 
my unexpected cordiality, giving place to a look of fear. 
“ Wait,” I said, “ don’t you want some bread and 
butter ?” 
“ No, mum, thank you, mum,” came back to me as he 
stumbled over the cactus beds on his way to the distant 
settlement. 
Dan came: I was as curious to see him as Alfred was. 
He proved to be as much at home on horseback as a lady 
in a rocking chair. Alfred told him of his desire to capture 
the sorrel pony, and the first riding we saw Dan do was 
after him. He started out leisurely after the wild band, to 
excite them as little as possible. They were shy about en¬ 
tering the corral and escaped several times when he nearly 
had them there. Once corraled, it was an easy matter to 
throw the lasso on to the sorrel’s neck and hold him a cap¬ 
tive, while his mates galloped away—free once more. 
“To whom does the money belong, mamma ? ” asked 
Alfred in an anxious whisper. 
“ If any one has earned it, you have,” said Dan with a 
ringing laugh. Mr. Fairfield thought the same and Alfred 
laid his $5 carefully away till he should earn enough to 
buy a whole “cow-boy outfit ” for himself and pony. To 
boys of his age few things seem more desirable. 
In the evenings I had time to talk with Dan and learn 
something of his life. Finding that I was really interested 
in him and his family, he talked very freely. 
[To be continued.] 
One cent will mail this paper to your friend 
in any part of the United States, Canada or 
Mexico, after you have read it and written 
your name on the corner. 
IN THE SANCTUM. 
T H E new weekly house-keeping journal to which Marion 
Harland lends her name as editor in chief, has some¬ 
what to say about the stock company mentioned some 
time ago by the daily papers as having been incorporated 
for the purpose of organizing a normal school for the train¬ 
ing of domestic helpers. 
. * * * 
In deference to the American spirit of independence, spe¬ 
cial pains are takeu in many institutions—notably some of 
the sanitariums—to use the term “helpers” instead of “ ser¬ 
vants ” in speaking of those who perform the work, what¬ 
ever It may be, and the idea seems to work well. This by 
the way. 
* * * 
In the company above referred to, the names of Mrs. 
Gen. Logan, Miss Willard, Mrs. J. Ellen Foster and Miss 
Kate Sanborn are mentioned. We do not feel certain that 
two prominent women with such known differences of 
opinion as Miss Willard and Mrs. Foster (the latter of 
whom has formed a split off Woman’s Temperance Union 
In direct opposition to Miss Willard’s well-known views) 
are really working together in this new enterprise, but we 
give the statement for what it is worth. 
* * * 
The plan is somewhat similar to some others which we 
have noted for the information of our readers. It con¬ 
templates a graded course of study, consisting of practical 
lessons in cooking, the various branches of care-taking 
about the house, washing and ironing, nursing and mis¬ 
cellany, which last includes glass polishing, table service, 
and various small yet important duties An applicant 
may follow up but one branch if she so chooses, and the 
diploma of merit is expected to serve as a “ character ” at 
all times. 
* * * 
Apt pupils, those showing mental ability, will be given 
higher training in such branches as hygienic cooking, 
sanitation, the arts of picture and curtain hanging, laundry - 
ing laces, etc. Inducements will be offered to bring in the 
bright girls who usually go into the factories and shops, 
both from the city and the country round about. 
If we understand the matter aright, none are debarred 
from trial, but in order to hold her place a girl must prove 
sober, honest, industrious, cleanly and capable. She 
must also have good health. As nursing is one of the 
things taught, it is possible that here is an opening for the 
inquirer who had not the requisite education for the reg¬ 
ular nurses’ schools. 
Deserving women will be provided with good positions, 
and even permitted to make their home at the school when 
out of employment, both specially helpful features. In¬ 
deed it would seem that the helpfulness of the institution 
would be limited only by its capacity, which is the sorely 
limiting feature of nearly all the trainiug-schools. 
* * * 
That beautiful little magazine, Woman and Home, has 
a severe word for the divided skirt, characterizing it as “ a 
sham promulgated as a money-making scheme,” and more 
than hinting that there is no “reform” connected with 
the garment, as “ this * divided skirt ’ contains from three 
to four times the amount of material used in an ordinary 
skirt.” 
* * * 
There is quite a tendency latterly to accuse the beauti¬ 
ful “apostle of reform,” Mrs. Jenness-Miller, of thinking 
more of the money to be made than of the reform itself. 
With regard to the garment in question, it does take more 
cloth than one ordinary skirt; if it is to take the place of 
two or more, it must do so, unless the wearer’s creed is the 
latter-day and manifestly false one that “ a dress skirt 
hangs better without any other skirt under it.” But we 
believe it to be impossible to put “ three to four times ” 
the ordinary amount of material into a divided skirt, un¬ 
less it is made with deep kilts, which is not at all neces¬ 
sary except when the garment is to be worn as an outside 
skirt for a bicycle or similar suit. 
&Ui.$fcUa»cou.o' '^dvatRinfl. 
In writing to advertisers, please mention The K. N.-Y. 
Really a Good Thing. 
"After trying any unmber of soaps, we have settled 
down on Packer’s Tar Soap as the best of all, whether as 
a toilet or a medicinal soap. It is remarkably pure, cleans¬ 
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diseases, among which we particularly name Seborrhcea 
of the scalp, Dandruff, Chafing and Itching. It contains 
the balsamic virtues of the pine in a high degree, and is 
softening and refreshing to the skin. We commend it, 
without hesitation, as the most satisfactory soap that we 
have ever used ."—(Medical and Surgical Reporter, Phila.) 
Sold by all Druggists, 25 cents. 
iif Mention The Rural New-Yorker und enclose 10 cents In.stamps 
for sample cake) to 
The Packer Mfg. Co., 100 Fulton St., N. Y. 
