The Trail Drivers of Texas
Compiled and edited by J. Marvin Hunter
THE REAL COWBOY
By Eulah Rust Kirkland, Phoenix, Arizona
I wish I knew as much about cowboy life of today, as my father knows of the early cowboy days in Texas. I firmly believe that my love for the open range and a good cow pony is inherited. Good cow punching is just as much an art and just as appreciated, as it was when he was a boy. Of course there is not the range, or the wild cattle. Just the same, a ranch in New Mexico or Arizona could hardly be managed without good men who thoroughly understood their business. So, the real live cowboy still exists; here and over in Old Mexico, especially, and of course in South America.
I am sure that nothing would please our little world better than to see the old cow boys make a proposed trip to California. Also to re-establish the old trail. I am especially interested in that noted old trail ; and would like to make the trip from start to finish. For the old cowboys to make the trip to California would be one of the grandest things of this century, it would be history.
While I am not a man, I love to work with cattle ; and have spent a good deal of my time on the range in Southern Arizona. There is something about the way startled cattle raise their heads and look toward a horseback rider, that I enjoy. For me there is real pleasure in noting their earmarks at a glance ; and studying out their brands. Ranch life is not so exciting as it was in the early days. For one thing, when pay day comes the boys do not shoot up the town, as of old. Though the rustler is still with us, we handle him strictly within the law, but we do not love him any better than they used to thirty years ago.
I believe I could walk along the streets of any town or city and pick out the real cowboy, not by his clothes especially, but because one can nearly always notice that he has a very open countenance and almost innocent eyes and mouth. He is not innocent of course; but living in the open, next to nature, the cleaner life is stamped on his face, His vices leave no scars, or few, because old mother nature has him with her most of the time.
The cowboys in this part even, are rapidly passing out, for the wire fences and short horns are coming in. While in Texas last summer I noticed that very few kept up the old custom of good saddles, ropes, etc. Here, a good saddle, rope, boots, chaps and a good "cutting" horse are still the pride of any cowboy, for they are still very much needed.
In Old Mexico and along the line in Arizona, cow punching goes on in earnest. We still have the big round-up; the chuck wagons, the "remuda." Camped out for nights, the boys still tell old-time yarns and sing good old songs and play pranks on the tenderfoot they find in their midst.
Long live the cowboy, young and old. He is the American in my opinion.
(EDITOR'S NOTE. The above sketch was written in 1914, since which time Mrs. Kirkland has died. She was the daughter of C. H. Rust, of San Angelo, Texas, one of the active members of the Old Trail Drivers' Association.)
Compiled and edited by J. Marvin Hunter
THE REAL COWBOY
By Eulah Rust Kirkland, Phoenix, Arizona
I wish I knew as much about cowboy life of today, as my father knows of the early cowboy days in Texas. I firmly believe that my love for the open range and a good cow pony is inherited. Good cow punching is just as much an art and just as appreciated, as it was when he was a boy. Of course there is not the range, or the wild cattle. Just the same, a ranch in New Mexico or Arizona could hardly be managed without good men who thoroughly understood their business. So, the real live cowboy still exists; here and over in Old Mexico, especially, and of course in South America.
I am sure that nothing would please our little world better than to see the old cow boys make a proposed trip to California. Also to re-establish the old trail. I am especially interested in that noted old trail ; and would like to make the trip from start to finish. For the old cowboys to make the trip to California would be one of the grandest things of this century, it would be history.
While I am not a man, I love to work with cattle ; and have spent a good deal of my time on the range in Southern Arizona. There is something about the way startled cattle raise their heads and look toward a horseback rider, that I enjoy. For me there is real pleasure in noting their earmarks at a glance ; and studying out their brands. Ranch life is not so exciting as it was in the early days. For one thing, when pay day comes the boys do not shoot up the town, as of old. Though the rustler is still with us, we handle him strictly within the law, but we do not love him any better than they used to thirty years ago.
I believe I could walk along the streets of any town or city and pick out the real cowboy, not by his clothes especially, but because one can nearly always notice that he has a very open countenance and almost innocent eyes and mouth. He is not innocent of course; but living in the open, next to nature, the cleaner life is stamped on his face, His vices leave no scars, or few, because old mother nature has him with her most of the time.
The cowboys in this part even, are rapidly passing out, for the wire fences and short horns are coming in. While in Texas last summer I noticed that very few kept up the old custom of good saddles, ropes, etc. Here, a good saddle, rope, boots, chaps and a good "cutting" horse are still the pride of any cowboy, for they are still very much needed.
In Old Mexico and along the line in Arizona, cow punching goes on in earnest. We still have the big round-up; the chuck wagons, the "remuda." Camped out for nights, the boys still tell old-time yarns and sing good old songs and play pranks on the tenderfoot they find in their midst.
Long live the cowboy, young and old. He is the American in my opinion.
(EDITOR'S NOTE. The above sketch was written in 1914, since which time Mrs. Kirkland has died. She was the daughter of C. H. Rust, of San Angelo, Texas, one of the active members of the Old Trail Drivers' Association.)
The Trail Drivers of Texas
Compiled and edited by J. Marvin Hunter
THE REAL COWBOY
By Eulah Rust Kirkland, Phoenix, Arizona
I wish I knew as much about cowboy life of today, as my father knows of the early cowboy days in Texas. I firmly believe that my love for the open range and a good cow pony is inherited. Good cow punching is just as much an art and just as appreciated, as it was when he was a boy. Of course there is not the range, or the wild cattle. Just the same, a ranch in New Mexico or Arizona could hardly be managed without good men who thoroughly understood their business. So, the real live cowboy still exists; here and over in Old Mexico, especially, and of course in South America.
I am sure that nothing would please our little world better than to see the old cow boys make a proposed trip to California. Also to re-establish the old trail. I am especially interested in that noted old trail ; and would like to make the trip from start to finish. For the old cowboys to make the trip to California would be one of the grandest things of this century, it would be history.
While I am not a man, I love to work with cattle ; and have spent a good deal of my time on the range in Southern Arizona. There is something about the way startled cattle raise their heads and look toward a horseback rider, that I enjoy. For me there is real pleasure in noting their earmarks at a glance ; and studying out their brands. Ranch life is not so exciting as it was in the early days. For one thing, when pay day comes the boys do not shoot up the town, as of old. Though the rustler is still with us, we handle him strictly within the law, but we do not love him any better than they used to thirty years ago.
I believe I could walk along the streets of any town or city and pick out the real cowboy, not by his clothes especially, but because one can nearly always notice that he has a very open countenance and almost innocent eyes and mouth. He is not innocent of course; but living in the open, next to nature, the cleaner life is stamped on his face, His vices leave no scars, or few, because old mother nature has him with her most of the time.
The cowboys in this part even, are rapidly passing out, for the wire fences and short horns are coming in. While in Texas last summer I noticed that very few kept up the old custom of good saddles, ropes, etc. Here, a good saddle, rope, boots, chaps and a good "cutting" horse are still the pride of any cowboy, for they are still very much needed.
In Old Mexico and along the line in Arizona, cow punching goes on in earnest. We still have the big round-up; the chuck wagons, the "remuda." Camped out for nights, the boys still tell old-time yarns and sing good old songs and play pranks on the tenderfoot they find in their midst.
Long live the cowboy, young and old. He is the American in my opinion.
(EDITOR'S NOTE. The above sketch was written in 1914, since which time Mrs. Kirkland has died. She was the daughter of C. H. Rust, of San Angelo, Texas, one of the active members of the Old Trail Drivers' Association.)
Compiled and edited by J. Marvin Hunter
THE REAL COWBOY
By Eulah Rust Kirkland, Phoenix, Arizona
I wish I knew as much about cowboy life of today, as my father knows of the early cowboy days in Texas. I firmly believe that my love for the open range and a good cow pony is inherited. Good cow punching is just as much an art and just as appreciated, as it was when he was a boy. Of course there is not the range, or the wild cattle. Just the same, a ranch in New Mexico or Arizona could hardly be managed without good men who thoroughly understood their business. So, the real live cowboy still exists; here and over in Old Mexico, especially, and of course in South America.
I am sure that nothing would please our little world better than to see the old cow boys make a proposed trip to California. Also to re-establish the old trail. I am especially interested in that noted old trail ; and would like to make the trip from start to finish. For the old cowboys to make the trip to California would be one of the grandest things of this century, it would be history.
While I am not a man, I love to work with cattle ; and have spent a good deal of my time on the range in Southern Arizona. There is something about the way startled cattle raise their heads and look toward a horseback rider, that I enjoy. For me there is real pleasure in noting their earmarks at a glance ; and studying out their brands. Ranch life is not so exciting as it was in the early days. For one thing, when pay day comes the boys do not shoot up the town, as of old. Though the rustler is still with us, we handle him strictly within the law, but we do not love him any better than they used to thirty years ago.
I believe I could walk along the streets of any town or city and pick out the real cowboy, not by his clothes especially, but because one can nearly always notice that he has a very open countenance and almost innocent eyes and mouth. He is not innocent of course; but living in the open, next to nature, the cleaner life is stamped on his face, His vices leave no scars, or few, because old mother nature has him with her most of the time.
The cowboys in this part even, are rapidly passing out, for the wire fences and short horns are coming in. While in Texas last summer I noticed that very few kept up the old custom of good saddles, ropes, etc. Here, a good saddle, rope, boots, chaps and a good "cutting" horse are still the pride of any cowboy, for they are still very much needed.
In Old Mexico and along the line in Arizona, cow punching goes on in earnest. We still have the big round-up; the chuck wagons, the "remuda." Camped out for nights, the boys still tell old-time yarns and sing good old songs and play pranks on the tenderfoot they find in their midst.
Long live the cowboy, young and old. He is the American in my opinion.
(EDITOR'S NOTE. The above sketch was written in 1914, since which time Mrs. Kirkland has died. She was the daughter of C. H. Rust, of San Angelo, Texas, one of the active members of the Old Trail Drivers' Association.)
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