The Modern Cowboy Tells Tall Tales

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 234, 2 October 1937, Page 7 (Supplement)

The Modern Cowboy Tells Tall Tales

(Br ALICE ROGERS HAGER.)

Fanciful Stories of Life on the Range.

CODY, Wyoming.

smug about It, ask a lean and lanky citizen what kind of fur decorated the miniature chaps she had' bought for her child in one of the local mail order shops. . "Why, ma'am," drawled the cowboy, without a change of expression on his poker face, "that's Montana Hammerhead. There's lots of them in the Eastern part of the State and they're right dangerous. They have long tails, with • a flat hammer end, and if you aren't watchin' careful, they'll whip that tail around your neck and slice off your head quick as scat!" Riding home from a long day in the hills, Ray, the wrangler, will beguile the miles with stories of his pet mule, "Joe," now gone to that bourne from which even animal travellers never return. "That was the best mule I ever had," he muses, as he jogs along. "He was pure white and smart as paint. I trained him to do a lot of things, but his best trick was catching jack rabbits. He was so fast you couldn't even see him move. I remember one morning we started out to hunt us a passel of rabbits for supper. We didn't see any at first but pretty soon Joe spotted one. He took out after it and kept a movin' right along. The rabbit was sure scared he was so scared that when we come to a cTiff he kept right on going and Joe with me aboard right after him. "That cliff was all of a thousand feet high and for a minute or two I was a mite wobbly myself. But when I saw we was groin* down too fafit, I just up and hollers 'whoa' and Joe he whoaed right where he was. After that I let him down real easy and at the bottom, there was Mr. Rabbit, so plum exhausted I just reached down out of the saddle and picked him up by the

H'HKIR apurs jingling, their chaps I slapping against their saddle skirts with tha dry aound of leather on leather, their hats—ten-gallon or less— cocked at rakish angles for the benefit of admiring tourists, the cowboys are riding the summer trails of ranch and rodeo this year in much the same manner a* their fathers rode in the"days of Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill Hickok.

The humour immortalised by Will Rogers (Bill seems to be nam* in the high country) is just as dry and pungent as ever, just as American 1b tone, and the philosophers of the old time cattle drives have sons who like nothing better, given a proper audience, than to cock their heels higher than their Beads and discourse of matters that have filled their long and lonely hours during winter months. The cowboy, in other words, is far from being a "vanishing American." His ranch may boast many modern trappings and hi* road* may be accessible to other cars as well as the seemingly indestructible Model T. He may do a lot of his dad's round-up and trail camp routine of rope and bronc ride on the rodeo lot on the fourth of July, hut like the Colonel's Lady and Jury hes tha same under the skin. Tough and wary and "able to take it" still a little contemptuous of the dude Easterner who prefers to be soft and snug in cities, he Uvea the life of ranch and range and cattle raising as the men who broke the Indian hold on the wild lands of tins mountain and prairie West. Many Tall Tales. Tall stories are his specialty. To-day, on a ranch verandah, I heard a woman, just out from New York, and somewhat

ears. Hw only trouble was that he'd run off most of his fat and wasn't much good for eating. That Joe was a great mule." A Rattlesnake Thriller. Real tales of danger are not so frequent, although the dangers are real and frequent enough. Court Du Rand, who runs elk, buffalo and dudes on his spread in the central part of Montana, can occasionally be persuaded to tell a rattlesnake tale that, with the proper camp fire setting and a coyote chorus in the background, gets over the requisite number of thrilla per listener.

"I was herding cattle some years ago," he will begin, "and when night came on, a big storm arrived with it. It was early spring and the cattle were still pretty gimpy and I was alone with them. I got them bedded down and built my fire, but the rain was so bad it wouldn't stay lit. I was just about used up, hav ing been in the saddle for the better part of three days and I knew I'd have to get some rest. But with that storm I knew there was a chance of a stampede. So I staked my horse a few feec away, where I could get him in a hurry, ate a snack of cold bacon and laid out my bedroll and crawled in. It was pitch dark—l couldn't see my hand in front of my face.

"I was just getting settled comfortable, but with one ear on the cattle, when I heard another sound so close to me I couldn't miss it. Eight away I knew what the matter was. fd made my bed on to,p of a rattlesnake hole and the rattler wanted to get out. He was whirring right underneath me. Boy, was that a pickle! If I stayed where I was, he couldn't get through my tarp at me, but I wasn't going to get any sleep either. And you never know with one of those fellows just what they'll do.

"Finally, however, I decided what I'd do. I got my legs out of 'the roll, grabbed it at both ends and made a wild leap into the dark that must have carried me from a sitting position a good 10ft. It pretty nearly finished the cattle and by the time I had got them quieted down, there wasn't much sleep left in me. The rain was over then and I managed to get a fire going and sat up beside it the rest of the night. I never did find that snake in the morning, but I surely was ready for him any time he decided to come and get it.—it A.N.A.