The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1874-11-06
Thd Ox-GOaders of California.

The "Bull-whacker" of the plains has
often been graphically described. The
California "critter" is near relative of
that genius. The scene as here describ-
ed is laid in the "Red Woods" of Sono-
ma Co., CAL,
The driver (or bull-puncher, as he is
technically called) provided 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
provoking beast. Years of goading give
him an exasperatinglv small store of
wisdom. Hence, not an hour passes but
some unfortunate brute, by his stupidity
or laziness, works the driver into an &C.
stacy of rage. Then, whang! prod and
whang! Blasphemy, howls, blood and
goads! Oxen are not infrequently killed
in these mad attacks. One prod behind
the horns sends the poor devil to where
logs anu PuhcneFs are not
The bull-puncher is a man of trials
Only a strong constitution can stand the
excitement of the trade. He must have
a born gift for profanity, or he never
need hope to reach high standing in
the profession. Mister" said the most
gifted puncher in the woods, "don't you
shout when yer hurt? Ezakly. Eff did
MT cuss when the bull is contrary, I'd
bust every blood vessel in my body in
less than no time" For the time being
the bull-puncher yearns for nothing but
to see his ten oxen pull together and
act at the same moment. Even years of
practice and perfect familiarity with his
cattle, who understand every word and
gesture, make this end not always SO
easy.
"Stand up, Bright! Yon, Brown,
shouts the puncher to the leaders, when
the chain has been hooked to the log.
Bright and Brown g-oan. "Sfand up,
Bright. You, Brownw comes louder, and
the puncher goes through a complicated
manual of harmless passes with the
goad. The oxen know perfectly well
that this is an ornamental preliminary
and take notice, accordingly, unless it be
to lock horns and low, as if in dread of
the coming war. If after two or three
repetitions of this willingness to get
ready is shown, the puncher 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 tortur-
ing start.
Vigorous thrusting and yelling pro-
duce signs of animation along the line;
ard an extra prod of the steel sets sever
al 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 punch
er 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 punch
er 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, blaspheming, and
believing, till the sylvan echoes make a
frightful uproar, the puncher leaps and
dances along the line, goading and.smit-
ing 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 perform
ance is gone through with again. The
puncher, in addition to all his other
woes, must pass through life up to his
ankles in mud. A man with a 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 skids.
Thus a gutter of soft slippery mud is
quickly formed. The log gliding
through this makes a sound oddly simi-
lar to a boat cleaving water, and the
puncher plods on, cursing and plunging.