2 watch the motion pictures of 
ild west and the cowboys, I 
how many, if any of the 
yrs, ever were west of the Missis- 
yi, and if any of them ever saw 
real out of doors and the free 
t which they try to portray. 
he cowboy is pretty nearly gone 
n the United States, and this 
try loses its most natural and 
wesque character with the pass- 
TCilizstinn, emigration, cheap 
the barbed wire fence have 
ed him off the great stage—and 
ill never ‘‘come back’’. The 
le picture shows and the popular 
sl will still keep in him front 
the footlights, but in real life the 
rboy has gone down for the 
3 
nd he has been gone for several 
rs. The ranches still employ 
e riders, but they are not the 
_ Western cowboys. They are 
ire d men’’ now, and they get out 
1 pl ow for cane; help cut Johnson 
. in the fall, clean out windmill 
, help butcher the hogs, brand 
“sheep and knock soto. The old 
rboy of romance has gone. 
3ack in the big dry land ranches 
| will find the old-time cow 
cher, but you will see a dozen 
err counterfiets while you hunt 
You will see the ‘‘lunger’’ 
the nerve-hunter, the fellow 
ting for a stomach and the weak- 
5 who is searching for a nerve 
tory, long before you will find 
‘ol d time cowboy—the fellow who 
b: pezett up in the saddle and 
is as handy with the rope as the 
he west is full of ‘‘soft shell’’ 
rboys—young fellows who have 
about all the gaits, and who, as a 
hance come out west to cet a 
rip on life. Their fathers pay 
ght, and the first tariff is a 
y-out—a new saddle, Rode- 
boots, a $10.00 Stetson hat, sil- 
mounted gal leg spurs, a Mex- 
— quirt, silver-trimmed bridles 
' post cards to send back 
ut, the old-time cowboy, the fel- 
a ho has been up and down the 
Fe trail; who has stood guard 
buneh of hundreds of cattle, 
a 0 knew that the lighting of a 
e.or the-rustle of a slicker 
nt a stampede; the fellow who 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
are 
= 
a ee eee ET Ee eer erent 
23 
WHAT Is LEFT OF THE COWBOY. 
F Stories of the Real Wt shesCoan the Counterfeit. 
Life of the Southwest Cowpuncher. 
(By M. J. Brown, Eprror Lirttz Vauuey, N. Y. , Hus) 
would ride his pony at the head of 
a frenzied, thirst-mad mob of cattle 
—that fellow is pretty nearly out of 
the running in the today’s wild west. 
Once in a while you will find him 
—when a big bunch of cattle is go- 
ing east, to pasture or market. Then 
it is that he is hunted out and put 
back in the game. 
Years ago I lived with the cow- 
boys in west Texas. Since then I 
have seen the real breed in New 
Mexico and Arizona, and such types 
are bred, not made, and the breeding 
is running out. 
On my last trip to the southwest 
I found a few of the real cowboys. 
The three-years’ drowth had made 
the big fellows pull out with their 
cattle, and there was a big bunch 
going north, for range and the mar- 
kets. 
We fell in with the camp wagon 
near Torrance and stayed over night 
with the outfit. We were not 
invited, we just unhitched and 
stayed. They never think to ask 
you to stop at a sheep or cow camp. 
Everything is as free as beer and 
sandwiches at an alderman’s picnic. 
And when night comes, when the 
herd is bunched and the guards set, 
then the fellows come stringing in to 
camp and to supper. And what a 
two ‘hours before bed time! It 
makes one feel like chucking all the 
cares and worries of the east and 
joining this great Lodge of Out of 
Doors—to be elected for the long 
term. 
The cook is the whole thing in a 
cow outfit, and his word is law. He 
goes by some woman’s nickname— 
Mary, Susan or Jane—but he rules 
like a Diaz. It’s an unwritten law 
that what the cook says goes and 
the whole bunch will help him to en- 
force his rules. 
For instance a man must never 
leave his tin plate or coffee cup on 
the ground when he has finished eat- 
ing. If he does, he is a ‘‘sheep man”’ 
and the punishment is to lay him 
over the wagon tongue and lay on a 
certain number of blows with a leg- 
gin. And they lay them on hard. 
The whole bunch helps in the punish- 
ment, and the law-breaker is de- 
prived of his gun until the next 
morning—lest he forget, and use it. 
There are many camp rules, many 
of them necessary and sanitary, and 
Characteristics and 
they simply gO, Whenever there is 
an opportunity. e a bath and 
any of the boys’ fail to improve it, 
the cook orders all hands to impose 
it. 
The only reason that cigarettes do 
not get in their perfect work on 
these fellows is that the life they 
lead counteracts the effects. Many 
of these boys smoke a large-sized 
package of Durham-every day- But 
the open air and the every-hour ex- 
ercise seem to be the Stronger and 
health wins. Aman who ‘smokes 
Duke’s Mixture is a ‘‘sheep man’’ 
and they make him: get: outside’ the 
circle. 
I lay awake in the night. (the nov- 
elty drove sleep) and Tistened to the 
cigarette wheezing of this dozen 
cowboys, and it seemed to me asthma 
would kill them all before morning. 
The first move a cowboy makes, 
when the east grows red, is to roll a 
cigarette. Then comes two or three 
cups of coffee, so strong it will color 
the tin cup then - more cigarettes, 
then breakfast. They roll the cig- 
arettes from brown papers, never 
wet them, but hold the paper around 
the filling with three fingers. 
The magazine pictures and the 
picture shows always have the cow- 
boy in ‘‘spats’’—pants made of 
sheep hides, but it is very unusual 
to see them worn. Their purpose is 
to protect the cowboy’s clothes when 
riding through brush. They are 
heavy and hot and they are seldom 
worn. j 
After supper, after the story 
telling and smoking, it is a novel 
sight to watch the different punch- 
ers. One will go out a few rods, 
build a little fire for light, and using 
his saddle for a desk, write a letter 
—perhaps to a sweetheart he left 
down in Pecos or maybe to his 
mother in Amarillo. Three or four 
will get around the fire and play 
poker, using matches or toothpicks 
for stakes, and recording the win- 
nings or losings—to be squared up 
pay day. Some would gather 
around me and the driver and ask 
for news of the Mexican outbreak, 
while others would roll up in the 
blankets and go to sleep. 
The fare is bread, beans and ba- 
con, day in and out. Sometimes the 
eook will open a few cans of toma- 
toes, but this is a treat. The bread 
is stirred and baked in a skielet— 
what we would gall short.cake. It 
is served in pone’ as big as-a plate, 
and each man breaks off about what 
he thinks he can get away with— 
2 Aecreons ep eceanmeenmnninaanns + 
seery oy Rees epi 
Continued to page 26. 
