Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 October 1885 — Cowboys on a Drive. [ARTICLE]

Cowboys on a Drive.

A picturesque, hardy lot of fellows, these wild “cowboys,” as they sit on the ground by the fire, each man with his can of coffee, his fragrant slice of fried bacon on the point of his knife-blade, or sandwiched in between two great hnnks of bread, rapidly disappearing before the onslaughts of appetites made keen by the pare, invigorating breezes of these high plains. See that brawny fellow with the crisp, tightcurling yellow hair growing low down on the nape of his massive neck rising straight and supple from the low collar of his loose flannel shirt, his sunbrowned face with the piercing gray eyes looking out from under the broad brim of his hat, his lower limbs clad in the heavy “chaps”—or leather overalls —stained a deep reddish-brown by long use and exposure to wind and weather, his revolver in its holster swinging from the cartridge-filled belt, and his great spurs tinkling at every stride, as, having drained the last drop of coffee, he puts down the can, and turns from the fire toward the horses, picking up as he goes the huge heavy leather saddle, with its high pommel and streaming thongs of rawhide, that lias served him as a pillow during the night. Qufckly his “cayuse” is saddled, the great broad hair-rope girths tightly “sinched,” the huge bit slipped into the unwilling mouth, and with a bound‘the active fellow is in the saddle. Paw, pony, paw; turn your eyes till the whites show; lay your pointed ears back; squeal and kick to your heart’s content. Oh, buck away! you have found your master; for the struggle does not last long-. The practiced hand, tlie° heavy spurs, and stinging whip soon repeat the almost daily lesson, and with one last wicked shake of the head the wiry “cayuse” breaks into his easy lope, lind away go horse and rider to their appointed station on the flank of tlie great drove. The others soon follow, camp is broken, the wagon securely packed ready for the road, and the work of the day commences. Tlie cattle seem to know what is coming. On the edges of their scattered masses the steers lift their heads and gaze, half stupidly, half frightened, at the flying horsemen; as the flanks are turned they begin closing in toward one another, moving up in little groups to a common center. Now and then a steer or some young bull, more headstrong or more terrifled than his comrades, breaks away and canters off clumsily over the prairie. In a moment he is pursued, headed off, turned, and driven in toward the herd again. As they “close in mass”—to use an apt military phrase—“round up” on all sides by the swift-riding cowboys, they are gently urged onward by the drivers in the rear, until the whole herd is slowly moving forward, feeding as they go, in a loose wide column, headed toward the break in the mountains that indicates the mouth of the canon through which it is to pass. Very slowly and cautiously the herd moves forward: sometimes there is a halt in front; those in the rear crowd up more closely; very gently, and with soothing cries, the experienced cowboys urge them on again. It is ticklish work, for a momentary panic may drive scores of them down the precipitous sides of the mountain. And now the canon widens, and, succeeding the high rock walls and great trees, its sides gradually merge into gently rising, grass-covered slopes; the river, too, is broader, its surface shining like polished silver, and betraying its onward movement only by an occasional soft ripple and low lap-lap of the water against its overhanging banks, from which, breathing out the sweet fragrance of thousands of newly opened buds, the wild rose bushes hang down their slender branches. Away up the slopes, dancing and nodding their pretty heads in the soft breeze, the gayly colored wild flowers—yellow sunflowers, daisies, blue harebells—mingle their bright hues, melting into one another on the distant round hill-tops, covering them as with a carpet of the softest velvet.— R. F. Zogbaum , in Harper's Magazine.