Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 June 1887 — A Cowboy’s Hospitality. [ARTICLE]

A Cowboy’s Hospitality.

One hot afternoon, as we were approaching Big Dry Creek, a cowboy suddenly rode in sight on the crest of a ridge and came down the slope toward us at a swinging gallop. He sat as erect as a bronze statue, and had he been lashed to his horse like another Mazeppa he could not have sat more perfectly motionless in his saddle. Instinctively we straightened up our tired shoulders and sat erect also. Evidently he wanted to speak to us. So we rode forward to meet him, wondering the while whether his manner would be agreeable or irritating. After we had civilly exchanged how do-you-dos, he inquired if we had seen any horses since morning. He had lost some, and up to that time, 2 o’clock, had ridden about twenty-five miles in search of them. No, we had not seen any horses. So we fell to asking questions about trails, creeks and waterholes. We were getting a deal of information, when he suddenly evcloimed: “Looky here, fellers! The best thing you can do is to pull on to our ranch and put up for a while. It’s only twelve miles from here. Take the trail that turns off to the left, about three miles ahead. You won’t find anybody at home—the boys are all off on the round-up, you know—but just go right in and make yourselves at home.” “Isn’t the door locked?” “Thunder, no! We never lock doors in this country. Somebody might come along hungry, and want to get in to get some grub, or stay all night. If a cowboy wanted to get in, and found the door locked, he’d just simply break it down. ” “Aren’t you afraid of thieves ?” “Oh, no; nothing is ever stolen. A man’s upon his honor, you know; and, besides, if a feller’d ever really steal anything out of a shack the country’d soon be too hot to hold him. Anybody that comes to a shack hungry is expected to go in and get a square meal, and stay all night if he wants to. ” “Isn’t that privilege often abused?” “No; hardly ever. Say, you’ll find a cow up at the ranch and you can milk her, if you want to. There are plenty of eggs about the stable; if you want ’em go for ’em. Just make yourselves at home, and stay as long as you like. I’ll be glad to have yer company.” A few more remarks were exchanged, and then our cowboy gathered up his reins and said: “Well, I’ve got to finish my circuit, twenty miles more, I reckon; so I must be moving. So long. I’ll see you at the ranch about sundown.” And flinging the last remark over his shoulder at us, his pony galloped rapidly away; a moment later he rode over the ridge and disappeared.— W. T. Hornaday, in the Cosmopolitan.

At Terre Haute, Champaign County, Ohio, Mr. Charles F. Powell was Postmaster, and he writes: “I have a fine lot of Polish chickens. I gave them St. Jacobs Oil on a pill of bread for the croup. It cured them. The next morning I could not tell which of the chickens had been sick." Profits of Monte Carlo Gambling. The results of a day at Monte Carlo to the proprietors of the Casino and to the principality of Monaco are testified in the boxes, weighted w.th gold, carried away before the very eyes of the losers. It is said that each table wins from £1,500 to £2,000 a day, which shows a gross gain from the eight tables of from £12,000 to £16,000. These sums must be multiplied by 335 to show the probable yearly income, as the traffic season never ceases from January to December, and Sundays are the busiest days of the year. This explains the prosperity of Monaco; the pretentiousness of its government, the wealth of its Prince, the freedom from taxation of its inhabitants, its building of cathedrals, and keeping a bishop.— Court Journal. Mr. Arthur Shurtleff. Parker, Dakota. writes: “St. Jacobs Oil will cure one thing not advertised. It cured a wart on my finger which I had for years.” Price Fifty cents. . •