History of the World/History of the World (Bureau Development, Inc.)(1992).BIN/dp/0446/04460.txt

Text File | 1992-10-12 | 33KB | 475 lines

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$Title{Stories Of The Great West
The Round-Up: Part II}
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$Author{Roosevelt, Theodore}
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$Subject{herd
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horses
riders
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Title:       Stories Of The Great West
Book:        Part II: Stories Of Adventure
Author:      Roosevelt, Theodore

The Round-Up: Part II

The Work Of Rounding-Up

     The method of work is simple.  The mess-wagons and loose horse, after
breaking camp in the morning, move on in a straight line for some few miles,
going into camp again before midday; and the day herd, consisting of all the
cattle that have been found far off their range, and which are to be brought
back there, and of any others that it is necessary to gather, follows on
afterwards.  Meanwhile the cowboys scatter out and drive in all the cattle
from the country round about, going perhaps ten or fifteen miles back from the
line of march, and meeting at the place where camp has already been pitched.
The wagons always keep some little distance from one another, and the
saddle-bands do the same, so that the horses may not get mixed.  It is rather
picturesque to see the four-horse teams filing down at a trot through a pass
among the buttes - the saddle-bands being driven along at a smart pace to one
side or behind, the teamsters cracking their whips and the horse-wranglers
calling and shouting as they ride rapidly from side to side behind the horses,
urging on the stragglers by dexterous touches with the knotted ends of their
long lariats that are left trailing from the saddle.  The country driven over
is very rough and it is often necessary to double up teams and put on eight
horses to each wagon in going up an unusually steep pitch or hauling through a
deep mud-hole or over a river crossing where there is quicksand.

     The speed and thoroughness with which a country can be worked depends, of
course, very largely upon the number of riders.  Ours is probably about an
average round-up as regards size.  The last spring I was out there were half a
dozen wagons along; the saddle-bands numbered about a hundred each; and the
morning we started, sixty men in the saddle splashed across the shallow ford
of the river that divided the plain where we had camped from the valley of the
long winding creek up which we were first to work.

     In the morning the cook is preparing breakfast long before the first
glimmer of dawn.  As soon as it is ready, probably about 3 o'clock, he utters
a long-drawn shout, and all the sleepers feel it is time to be up on the
instant, for they know there can be no such thing as delay on the round-up,
under penalty of being set afoot.  Accordingly, they bundle out, rubbing their
eyes and yawning, draw on their boots and trousers, - if they have taken the
latter off, - roll up and cord their bedding, and usually without any attempt
at washing crowd over to the little smoldering fire, which is placed in a hole
dug in the ground, so that there may be no risk of its spreading.  The men are
rarely very hungry at breakfast, and it is a meal that has to be eaten in
shortest order, so it is perhaps the least important. Each man, as he comes
up, grasps a tin cup and plate from the mess-box, pours out his tea or coffee,
with sugar, but, of course, no milk, helps himself to one or two of the
biscuits that have been baked in a Dutch oven, and perhaps also to a slice of
the fat pork swimming in the grease of the frying-pan, ladles himself out some
beans, if there are any, and squats down on the ground to eat his breakfast.
The meal is not an elaborate one; nevertheless a man will have to hurry if he
wishes to eat it before hearing the foreman sing out, "Come, boys, catch your
horses"; when he must drop everything and run out to the wagon with his
lariat.  The night wrangler is now bringing in the saddle-band, which he has
been up all night guarding.  A rope corral is rigged up by stretching a rope
from each wheel of one side of the wagon, making a V-shaped space, into which
the saddle-horses are driven.  Certain men stand around to keep them inside,
while the others catch the horses: many outfits have one man to do all the
roping.  As soon as each has caught his horse - usually a strong, tough
animal, the small, quick ponies being reserved for the work round the herd in
the afternoon - the band, now in charge of the day wrangler, is turned loose,
and every one saddles up as fast as possible.  It still lacks some time of
being sunrise, and the air has in it the peculiar chill of the early morning.
When all are saddled, many of the horses bucking and dancing about, the riders
from the different wagons all assemble at the one where the captain is
sitting, already mounted.  He waits a very short time - for laggards receive
but scant mercy - before announcing the proposed camping-place and parceling
out the work among those present.  If, as is usually the case, the line of
march is along a river or creek, he appoints some man to take a dozen others
and drive down (or up) it ahead of the day herd, so that the latter will not
have to travel through other cattle; the day herd itself being driven and
guarded by a dozen men detached for that purpose.  The rest of the riders are
divided into two bands, placed under men who know the country, and start out,
one on each side, to bring in every head for fifteen miles back.  The captain
then himself rides down to the new camping-place, so as to be there as soon as
any cattle are brought in.

     Meanwhile the two bands, a score of riders in each, separate and make
their way in opposite directions.  The leader of each tries to get such a
"scatter" on his men that they will cover completely all the land gone over.
This morning work is called circle riding, and is peculiarly hard in the Bad
Lands on account of the remarkably broken, rugged nature of the country.  The
men come in on lines that tend to a common center - as if the sticks of a fan
were curved.  As the band goes out, the leader from time to time detaches one
or two men to ride down through certain sections of the country, making the
shorter, or what are called inside, circles, while he keeps on; and finally,
retaining as companions the two or three whose horses are toughest, makes the
longest or outside circle himself, going clear back to the divide, or whatever
the point may be that marks the limit of the round-up work, and then turning
and working straight to the meeting-place.  Each man, of course, brings in
every head of cattle he can see.

     These long, swift rides in the glorious spring mornings are not soon to
be forgotten.  The sweet, fresh air, with a touch of sharpness thus early in
the day, and the rapid motion of the fiery little horse combine to make a
man's blood thrill and leap with sheer buoyant light-heartedness and eager,
exultant pleasure in the boldness and freedom of the life he is leading.  As
we climb the steep sides of the first range of buttes, wisps of wavering mist
still cling in the hollows of the valley; when we come out on the top of the
first great plateau the sun flames up over its edge, and in the level, red
beams the galloping horsemen throw long fantastic shadows.  Black care rarely
sits behind a rider whose pace is fast enough; at any rate, not when he first
feels the horse move under him.

     Sometimes we trot or pace, and again we lope or gallop; the few who are
to take the outside circle must needs ride both hard and fast.  Although only
grass-fed, the horses are tough and wiry; and, moreover, are each used but
once in four days, or thereabouts, so they stand the work well.  The course
out lies across great grassy plateaus, along knifelike ridge crests, among
winding valleys and ravines, and over acres of barren, sun-scorched buttes,
that look grimly grotesque and forbidding, while in the Bad Lands the riders
unhesitatingly go down and over places where it seems impossible that a horse
should even stand.  The line of horsemen will quarter down the side of a
butte, where every pony has to drop from ledge to ledge like a goat, and will
go over the shoulder of a soapstone cliff, when wet and slippery, with a
series of plunges and scrambles which if unsuccessful would land horses and
riders in the bottom of the canon-like washout below.  In descending a clay
butte after a rain, the pony will put all four feet together and slide down to
the bottom almost or quite on his haunches.  In very wet weather the Bad Lands
are absolutely impassable; but if the ground is not slippery, it is a
remarkable place that can shake the matter-of-course confidence felt by the
rider in the capacity of his steed to go anywhere.

     When the men on the outside circle have reached the bound set them, -
whether it is a low divide, a group of jagged hills, the edge of the rolling,
limitless prairie, or the long, waste reaches of alkali and sage brush, - they
turn their horses' heads and begin to work down the branches of the creeks,
one or two riding down the bottom, while the others keep off to the right and
the left, a little ahead and fairly high up on the side hills, so as to
command as much of a view as possible.  On the level or rolling prairies the
cattle can be seen a long way off, and it is an easy matter to gather and to
drive them; but in the Bad Lands every little pocket, basin and coulee has to
be searched, every gorge or ravine entered and the dense patches of brushwood
and spindling, wind-beaten trees closely examined.  All the cattle are carried
on ahead down the creek; and it is curious to watch the different behavior of
the different breeds.  A cowboy riding off to one side of the creek, and
seeing a number of long-horned Texans grazing in the branches of a set of
coulees, has merely to ride across the upper ends of these, uttering the
drawn-out "eikoh-h-h," so familiar to the cattle-men, and the long-horns will
stop grazing, stare fixedly at him, and then, wheeling, strike off down the
coulees at a trot, tails in air, to be carried along by the center riders when
they reach the main creek into which the coulees lead. Our own range cattle
are not so wild, but nevertheless are easy to drive; while Eastern-raised
beasts have little fear of a horseman and merely stare stupidly at him until
he rides directly towards them.  Every little bunch of stock is thus collected
and all are driven along together.  At the place where some large fork joins
the main creek another band may be met, driven by some of the men who have
left earlier in the day to take one of the shorter circles; and thus, before
coming down to the bottom where the wagons are camped and where the actual
"round-up" itself is to take place, this one herd may include a couple of
thousand head; or, on the other hand, the longest ride may not result in the
finding of a dozen animals.  As soon as the riders are in, they disperse to
their respective wagons to get dinner and change horses, leaving the cattle to
be held by one or two of their number. If only a small number of cattle have
been gathered, they will all be run into one herd; if there are many of them,
however, the different herds will be held separate.

     A plain where a round-up is taking place offers a picturesque sight. I
well remember one such.  It was on a level bottom in a bend of the river,
which here made an almost semicircular sweep.  The bottom was in shape of a
long oval, hemmed in by an unbroken line of steep bluffs so that it looked
like an amphitheater.  Across the faces of the dazzling white cliffs there
were sharp bands of black and red, drawn by the coal seams and the layers of
burned clay: the leaves of the trees and the grass had the vivid green of
springtime.  The wagons were camped among the cottonwood trees fringing the
river, a thin column of smoke rising up from beside each.  The horses were
grazing round the outskirts, those of each wagon by themselves and kept from
going too near the others by their watchful guard.  In the great circular
corral, towards one end, the men were already branding calves, while the whole
middle of the bottom was covered with lowing herds of cattle and shouting,
galloping cowboys.  Apparently there was nothing but dust, noise and
confusion; but in reality the work was proceeding all the while with the
utmost rapidity and certainty.

     As soon as, or even before, the last circle riders have come in and have
snatched a few hasty mouthfuls to serve as their midday meal, we begin to work
the herd - or herds, if the one herd would be of too unwieldy size.  The
animals are held in a compact bunch, most of the riders forming a ring
outside, while a couple from each ranch successively look the herds through
and cut out those marked with their own brand.  It is difficult, in such a
mass of moving beasts, - for they do not stay still, but keep weaving in and
out among each other, - to find all of one's own animals: a man must have
natural gifts, as well as great experience, before he becomes a good
brand-reader and is able really to "clean up a herd" - that is, be sure he has
left nothing of his own in it.

     To do good work in cutting out from a herd, not only should the rider be
a good horseman, but he should also have a skillful, thoroughly trained horse.
A good cutting pony is not common and is generally too valuable to be used
anywhere but in the herd.  Such an one enters thoroughly into the spirit of
the thing and finds out immediately the animal his master is after; he will
then follow it closely of his own accord through every wheel and double at top
speed.  When looking through the herd it is necessary to move slowly; and when
any animal is found it is taken to the outskirts at a walk, so as not to alarm
the others.  Once at the outside, however, the cowboy has to ride like
lightning; for as soon as the beast he is after finds itself separated from
its companions it endeavors to break back among them, and a young,
range-raised steer or heifer runs like a deer.  In cutting out a cow and a
calf two men have to work together.  As the animals of a brand are cut out
they are received and held apart by some rider detailed for the purpose, who
is said to be "holding the cut."

     All this time the men holding the herd have their hands full, for some
animal is continually trying to break out, when the nearest man flies at it at
once and after a smart chase brings it back to its fellows.  As soon as all
the cows, calves and whatever else is being gathered have been cut out, the
rest are driven clear off the ground and turned loose, being headed in the
direction contrary to that in which we travel the following day.  Then the
riders surround the next herd, the men holding cuts move them up near it and
the work is begun anew.

     If it is necessary to throw an animal, either to examine a brand or for
any other reason, half a dozen men will have their ropes down at once; and
then it is spur and quirt in the rivalry to see which can outdo the other
until the beast is roped and thrown.  A first-class hand will, unaided, rope,
throw and tie down a cow or steer in wonderfully short time; one of the
favorite tests of competitive skill among the cowboys is the speed with which
this feat can be accomplished.  Usually, however, one man ropes the animal by
the head and another at the same time gets the loop of his lariat over one or
both its hind legs, when it is twisted over and stretched out in a second. In
following an animal on horseback the man keeps steadily swinging the rope
round his head, by a dexterous motion of the wrist only, until he gets a
chance to throw it; when on foot, especially if catching horses in a corral,
the loop is allowed to drag loosely on the ground.  A good roper will hurl out
the coil with marvelous accuracy and force; it fairly whistles through the
air, and settles round the object with almost infallible certainty. Mexicans
make the best ropers; but some Texans are very little behind them. A good
horse takes as much interest in the work as does his rider, and the instant
the noose settles over the victim wheels and braces himself to meet the shock,
standing with his legs firmly planted, the steer or cow being thrown with a
jerk.  An unskillful rider and untrained horse will often themselves be thrown
when the strain comes.

     Sometimes an animal - usually a cow or steer, but, strangely enough, very
rarely a bull - will get fighting mad and turn on the men.  If on the drive,
such a beast usually is simply dropped out; but if they have time nothing
delights the cowboys more than an encounter of this sort, and the charging
brute is roped and tied down in short order.  Often such an one will make a
very vicious fight and is most dangerous.  Once a fighting cow kept several of
us busy for nearly an hour; she gored two ponies, one of them, which was,
luckily, hurt but slightly, being my own pet cutting horse.  If a steer is
hauled out of a mud-hole its first act is usually to charge the rescuer.

Branding And Herding

     As soon as all the brands of cattle are worked and the animals that are
to be driven along have been put in the day herd, attention is turned to the
cows and calves, which are already gathered in different bands, consisting
each of all the cows of a certain brand and all the calves that are following
them.  If there is a corral, each band is in turn driven into it; if there is
none, a ring of riders does duty in its place.  A fire is built, the irons
heated and a dozen men dismount to, as it is called, "wrestle" the calves. The
best two ropers go in on their horses to catch the latter; one man keeps
tally, a couple put on the brands and the others seize, throw and hold the
little unfortunates.  A first-class roper invariably catches the calf by both
hind feet, and then, having taken a twist with his lariat round the horn of
the saddle, drags the bawling little creature, extended at full-length, up to
the fire, where it is held before it can make a struggle.  A less skillful
roper catches round the neck, and then, if the calf is a large one, the man
who seizes it has his hands full, as the bleating, bucking animal develops
astonishing strength, cuts the wildest capers and resists frantically and with
all its power.  If there are seventy or eighty calves in a corral the scene is
one of the greatest confusion.  The ropers, spurring and checking the fierce
little horses, drag the calves up so quickly that a dozen men can hardly hold
them; the men with the irons, blackened with soot, run to and fro; the
calf-wrestlers, grimy with blood, dust and sweat, work like beavers; while
with the voice of a stentor the tally-man shouts out the number and sex of
each calf.  The dust rises in clouds, and the shouts, cheers, curses and
laughter of the men unite with the lowing of the cows and the frantic bleating
of the roped calves to make a perfect babel.  Now and then an old cow turns
vicious and puts every one out of the corral.  Or a maverick bull, - that is,
an unbranded bull, - a yearling or a two-year-old, is caught, thrown and
branded; when he is let up there is sure to be a fine scatter. Down goes his
head and he bolts at the nearest man, who makes out of the way at top speed,
amidst roars of laughter from all of his companions; while the men holding
down calves swear savagely as they dodge charging mavericks, trampling horses
and taut lariats with frantic, plunging little beasts at the farther ends.

     Every morning certain riders are detached to drive and to guard the day
herd, which is most monotonous work, the men being on from 4 in the morning
till 8 in the evening, the only rest coming at dinner-time, when they change
horses.  When the herd has reached the camping-ground there is nothing to do
but to loll listlessly over the saddle-bow in the blazing sun watching the
cattle feed and sleep, and seeing that they do not spread out too much.
Plodding slowly along on the trail through the columns of dust stirred up by
the hoofs is not much better.  Cattle travel best and fastest strung out in
long lines; the swiftest taking the lead in single file, while the weak and
the lazy, the young calves and the poor cows, crowd together in the rear. Two
men travel along with the leaders, one on each side, to point them in the
right direction; one or two others keep by the flanks, and the rest are in the
rear to act as "drag-drivers" and hurry up the phalanx of reluctant weaklings.
If the foremost of the string travels too fast, one rider will go along on the
trail a few rods ahead and thus keep them back so that those in the rear will
not be left behind.

     Generally all this is very tame and irksome; but by fits and starts there
will be little flurries of excitement.  Two or three of the circle riders may
unexpectedly come over a butte near by with a bunch of cattle, which at once
start for the day herd, and then there will be a few minutes' furious riding
hither and thither to keep them out.  Or the cattle may begin to run and then
get "milling" - that is, all crowd together into a mass like a ball, wherein
they move round and round, trying to keep their heads towards the center and
refusing to leave it.  The only way to start them is to force one's horse in
among them and cut out some of their number, which then begin to travel off by
themselves, when the others will probably follow.  But in spite of occasional
incidents of this kind, day-herding has a dreary sameness about it that makes
the men dislike and seek to avoid it.

     From 8 in the evening till 4 in the morning the day herd becomes a night
herd.  Each wagon in succession undertakes to guard it for a night, dividing
the time into watches of two hours apiece, a couple of riders taking each
watch.  This is generally chilly and tedious; but at times it is accompanied
by intense excitement and danger, when the cattle become stampeded, whether by
storm or otherwise.  The first and the last watches are those chosen by
preference; the others are disagreeable, the men having to turn out cold and
sleepy, in the pitchy darkness, the two hours of chilly wakefulness completely
breaking the night's rest.  The first guards have to bed the cattle down,
though the day-herders often do this themselves: it simply consists in hemming
them into as small a space as possible and then riding round them until they
lie down and fall asleep.  Often, especially at first, this takes some time -
the beasts will keep rising and lying down again. When at last most become
quiet, some perverse brute of a steer will deliberately hook them all up they
keep moving in and out among one another and long strings of animals suddenly
start out from the herd at a stretching walk and are turned back by the
nearest cowboy, only to break forth at a new spot.  When finally they have
lain down and are chewing their cud or slumbering, the two night guards begin
riding round them in opposite ways, often, on very dark nights, calling or
singing to them, as the sound of the human voice on such occasions seems to
have a tendency to quiet them.  In inky black weather, especially when rainy,
it is both difficult and unpleasant work; the main trust must be placed in the
horse, which, if old at the business, will of its own accord keep pacing
steadily round the herd and head off any animals that, unseen by the rider's
eyes in the darkness, are trying to break out.  Usually the watch passes off
without incident, but on rare occasions the cattle become restless and prone
to stampede.  Anything may then start them - the plunge of a horse, the sudden
approach of a coyote or the arrival of some outside steers or cows that have
smelt them and come up.  Every animal in the herd will be on its feet in an
instant, as if by an electric shock, and off with a rush, horns and tail up.
Then, no matter how rough the ground nor how pitchy black the night, the
cowboys must ride for all there is in them and spare neither their own nor
their horses' necks. Perhaps their charges break away and are lost altogether;
perhaps, by desperate galloping, they may head them off, get them running in a
circle and finally stop them.  Once stopped, they may break again and possibly
divide up, one cowboy, perhaps, following each band.  I have known six such
stops and renewed stampedes to take place in one night, the cowboy staying
with his ever-diminishing herd of steers until daybreak, when he managed to
get them under control again, and, by careful humoring of his jaded,
staggering horse, finally brought those that were left back to the camp,
several miles distant. The riding in these night stampedes is wild and
dangerous to a degree, especially if the man gets caught in the rush of the
beasts.  It also frequently necessitates an immense amount of work in
collecting the scattered animals.  On one such occasion a small party of us
were thirty-six hours in the saddle, dismounting only to change horses or to
eat.  We were almost worn out at the end of the time; but it must be kept in
mind that for a long spell of such work a stock-saddle is far less tiring than
the ordinary Eastern or English one, and in every way superior to it.

     By very hard riding such a stampede may sometimes be prevented.  Once we
were bringing a thousand head of young cattle down to my lower ranch, and as
the river was high were obliged to take the inland trail.  The third night we
were forced to make a dry camp, the cattle having had no water since the
morning.  Nevertheless, we got them bedded down without difficulty, and one of
the cowboys and myself stood first guard.  But very soon after nightfall, when
the darkness had become complete, the thirsty brutes of one accord got on
their feet and tried to break out.  The only salvation was to keep them close
together, as, if they once got scattered, we knew they could never be
gathered; so I kept on one side and the cowboy on the other, and never in my
life did I ride so hard.  In the darkness I could but dimly see the shadowy
outlines of the herd, as with whip and spurs I ran the pony along its edge,
turning back the beasts at one point barely in time to wheel and keep them in
at another.  The ground was cut up by numerous little gullies, and each of us
got several falls, horses and riders turning complete somersaults.  We were
dripping with sweat and our ponies quivering and trembling like quaking
aspens, when, after more than an hour of the most violent exertion, we finally
got the herd quieted again.

     On another occasion while with the round-up we were spared an excessively
unpleasant night only because there happened to be two or three great corrals
not more than a mile or so away.  All day long it had been raining heavily and
we were well drenched; but towards evening it lulled a little and the day
herd, a very large one, of some two thousand head, was gathered on an open
bottom.  We had turned the horses loose, and in our oilskin slickers cowered,
soaked and comfortless, under the lee of the wagon, to take a meal of damp
bread and lukewarm tea, the sizzling embers of the fire having about given up
the ghost after a quite fruitless struggle with the steady downpour.  Suddenly
the wind began to come in quick, sharp gusts, and soon a regular blizzard was
blowing, driving the rain in stinging level sheets before it.  Just as we were
preparing to turn into bed, with the certainty of a night of more or less
chilly misery ahead of us, one of my men, an iron-faced personage, whom no one
would ever have dreamed had a weakness for poetry, looked towards the plain
where the cattle were, and remarked, "I guess there's 'racing and chasing on
Cannobie Lea' now, sure." Following his gaze, I saw that the cattle had begun
to drift before the storm, the night guards being evidently unable to cope
with them, while at the other wagons riders were saddling in hot haste and
spurring off to their help through the blinding rain.  Some of us at once ran
out to our own saddle-band.  All of the ponies were standing huddled together,
with their heads down and their tails to the wind.  They were wild and restive
enough usually; but the storm had cowed them, and we were able to catch them
without either rope or halter.  We made quick work of saddling; and the second
each man was ready, away he loped through the dusk, splashing and slipping in
the pools of water that studded the muddy plain.  Most of the riders were
already out when we arrived.  The cattle were gathered in a compact,
wedge-shaped, or rather fan-shaped mass, with their tails to the wind - that
is, towards the thin end of the wedge or fan.  In front of this fan-shaped
mass of frightened, maddened beasts was a long line of cowboys, each muffled
in his slicker and with his broad hat pulled down over his eyes, to shield him
from the pelting rain.  When the cattle were quiet for a moment every horseman
at once turned round with his back to the wind, and the whole line stood as
motionless as so many sentries.  Then, if the cattle began to spread out and
overlap at the ends, or made a rush and broke through at one part of the
lines, there would be a change into wild activity.  The men, shouting and
swaying in their saddles, darted to and fro with reckless speed, utterly
heedless of danger - now racing to the threatened point, now checking and
wheeling their horses so sharply as to bring them square on their haunches, or
even throw them flat down, while the hoofs plowed furrows in the slippery
soil, until, after some minutes of mad galloping hither and thither, the herd,
having drifted a hundred yards or so, would be once more brought up standing.
We always had to let them drift a little to prevent their spreading out too
much.  The din of the thunder was terrific, peal following peal until they
mingled in one continuous, rumbling roar; and at every thunder-clap louder
than its fellows the cattle would try to break away. Darkness had set in, but
each flash of lightning showed us a dense array of tossing horns and staring
eyes.  It grew always harder to hold in the herd; but the drift took us along
to the corrals already spoken of, whose entrances were luckily to windward.
As soon as we reached the first we cut off part of the herd, and turned it
within; and after again doing this with the second, we were able to put all
the remaining animals into the third.  The instant the cattle were housed
five-sixths of the horsemen started back at full speed for the wagons; the
rest of us barely waited to put up the bars and make the corrals secure before
galloping after them.  We had to ride right in the teeth of the driving storm;
and once at the wagons we made small delay in crawling under our blankets,
damp though the latter were, for we were ourselves far too wet, stiff and cold
not to hail with grateful welcome any kind of shelter from the wind and the
rain.

     All animals were benumbed by the violence of this gale of cold rain; a
prairie chicken rose from under my horse's feet so heavily that, thoughtlessly
striking at it, I cut it down with my whip; while when a jack rabbit got up
ahead of us, it was barely able to limp clumsily out of our way.

     But though there is much work and hardship, rough fare, monotony and
exposure connected with the round-up, yet there are few men who do not look
forward to it and back to it with pleasure.  The only fault to be found is
that the hours of work are so long that one does not usually have enough time
to sleep.  The food, if rough, is good; beef, bread, pork, beans, coffee or
tea, always canned tomatoes, and often rice, canned corn, or sauce made from
dried apples.  The men are good-humored, bold and thoroughly interested in
their business, continually vying with one another in the effort to see which
can do the work best.  It is superbly health-giving, and is full of excitement
and adventure, calling for the exhibition of pluck, self-reliance, hardihood,
and dashing horsemanship; and of all forms of physical labor the easiest and
pleasantest is to sit in the saddle.