Public ledger. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1865-1893, 1874-10-05
A California "BuII.Puncher."

The scene described is IN the redwoods
of Sonoma county, California:
The driver (or bull.puncher, as he is
technically called) provides himself
with a yard or two of hickory stick,
tipped with steel goad an inch long,
and this pretty instrument is as busy as a
drumstick perpetually. The OK, with all
his acknowledged virtues, is most pro-
voking beast. Years of goading give
him an exasperatingly small store Of
wisdom. Hence not an hour passes but
some unfortunate, by his stupidity or
laziness, works the driver into an ecstacy
OF rage. Then whang prod and whang
Blasphemy, howls, blood and goads
Oxen are not unfrequently killed in
these mad attacks. One prod behind the
horns sends the poor devil to where logs
and punchers are not The bull-puncher
is man of trials. Only a strong con-
stitution can stand the excitement of
the trade. He must have born gift for
profanity, or he need never hope to
reach high standing in the profession.
Mister" said the most gifted puncher
in the woods, don't yer shout when yer
hurt2 WE'LL it l didn't cuss when the
bull is contrary, I'd bust every blood
vessel in my body in no time" For the
time being the bull puncher yearns for
nothing but to see his ten oxen pull to-
gether and act at the same moment.
Even years of practice and perfect ia.
miliarity with his cattle, who understand
every word and gesture, make this end
not always so easy.
Stand up, Bright You, Brownl"
shouts the puncher to the leaders, when
the chain has been hooked to the log
Bright and Brown groan. Stand up,
Bright You, Brown" comes louder,
and the puncher goes through a compli-
Gated manual OF harmless passes with
the goad. The oxen know perfectly well
that this is an ornamental preliminary,
and take no notice accordingly, unless
il be to lock horns and low, as il in dread
of the coming war. If after two or three
repetitions of this a willingness to get
ready is shown, the punchcr is calm.
If not, he jabs an innocent OK near him,
and swears at the leaders, who below,
and strive with their horns, each to keep
the other from making the tortuous start.
Vigorous thrusting and yelling produce
signs of animation along the linei and
an extra prod of the steel sets several
of the hinder oxen tugging. That is the
moment for the leaders to start, but in
spite of the cries of the puncher, they
scarcely lower their heads again, and
continue their lowing and hooking; so
the opportunity is lost. Now the
puncher stands forth alone. Such a
bowling shrek of tape-worm blasphemy
never was heard outside of the woods.
He dances and he foams, and tearing up
knots and billets, rains them at the re-
fractory leaders, who are beyond the
reach Of his goad. Perhaps the puncher
throws down his hat and stamps upon
that article of raiment as he screams.
Happily, a small log from his raging
hand starts the leaders Now, shouting,
yelling, cursing, blsspheming and bel
lowing, till the sylvan echoes make
friehtful uproar, the puncher leaps and
dances along the line, goading and
shifting till the united strength is brought
to bear, when the log plows slowly over
the shiny road till the next stoppage,
and then the whole soul destroying per
formance is gone through with again.
The puneher. in addition to all his other
woes must pass through life up to his
ankles in mud. A man with couple
Of mules drawing a sled on which pair
of barrels are fixed, spends his time in
dashing water over the ground before
the log on its way to the road of skids.
Thus a gutter of soft, slippery mud is
quickly formed. The log gliding through
this makes sound oddly similar to
boat cleaying water, and the puncher
plods on, cursing and prodding.