The Sunday herald and weekly national intelligencer., 1890-04-27

eyes, go West, young man, go West" re-
peated recently returned Washington mining
engineer, sarcastically, almost bitterly, when
Horace Greeley's advice was given by by
stander to reporter of TBE SUNDAY HERALD.
"Go West, and see some of the experiences that
have seen and if you don't come back willing
to live forever on So a week in Washington
rather than be q millionaire on the frontier
there is more of the savage in you than appears
on the surface l give you my word," the
young engineer continued, "Iwould rather have
81 ,OO0-a-year john Washington than an income
of $4,000 if l had to spend my life in one Of
those wild border towns or settlements. The
man who goes to the far West must make up
his mind to give up everything that makes life
worth living for civilized human being. l
don't mind hard times and hard work in the
mines and on the prairies, but the hard, brutal,
sodden, fotsam and jetsam of humanity that
you are forced to associate with in the towns
that's what sickens mans soul and makes him
long for the effete East, with all its slowness
and lack of get-up-git.
sLet me tell you of my first experiences in
one Of the towns that are still untouched by the
hand of progress. The first OF the typical bor-
der villages l struck was Caspar, Wyo., the
terminus of the Fremont, Elkhorn and Mis-
seur Valley Railroad, about two miles from
old Fort Caspar which now stands gaunt and
bare having long since been abandoned as
military post. This town contains about one
hundred permanent residents, mostly saloon
keepers, bartenders, gamblers, and few bad
women. The town itself is nothing more than a
collection of battered shanties set down in the
midst of an alkali plain, with here and there a
gaudy frame saloon. l arrived there at about
dusk one October day on freight train. The
passenger trains do not run so far, stopping at
Ely, about seventy-ive miles from Caspar. l
intended to make my way by trail into the min
eral district of Carbon County, some miles below
Caspar. Several bearded loafers were loung-
ing about the platform with their hands thrust
deeply into their pockets. They gazed upon
me with much curiosity, evidently thinking the
advent of stranger as quite an event. L in
qured of one of them the direction to the hotel,
and noticed as did so the rest of them smile
broadly, as if had perpetrated a good joke.
The man of whom / sought information looked
at me with smile of pity, characteristic of
these Westerners if ignorance of anything is
displayed. He said: Hotel, tenderfoot? Wall,
l guess yell have to put up with bunk on the
Blue Fronts floor
econ the floor said L; why, what's the mat
ter with bed?'
's'Aint got none, 'cept for 'emselyes, he re-
piled.
'''Queer hotel retorted-
"nTain't no hotel, stranger; it's saloon.
We amt got no hotel in Caspar.'
'''Isn't there any private family could Sc
cure a room with for night? questioned.
"'Nop Too burned exclusive
GAS there was nothing else to be done asked
where would find the Blue Front, which nfor-
nation the entire gang offered to supply, even
for 70 tlnr
which courtesy as they gaZed fondly ON the
much-begrimed bar, l repaid with drinks all
around. The Blue Front was long, low-ceil-
ing affair, with a narrow counter at one end,
hard-seated chairs along the sides, and two long
green tables at the other end, at which the game
of stud poker was in full blast. Nine or ten
men were seated at each table, with pile of sill
yer dollars or gold 'twenties' before them.
inquired of one Of my guides why the gold and
silver were used instead Of ivory or bone count
ers, generally used in gambling, and was told
they didn't have time for such things as time
was money, and that nothing less than dollar
was used. There was another room parttioned
off and furnished with three or four rough-look-
ing mattresses and accompanying Army blank
cts. was told to heave my grip and travelling
equipments in there and that after had eaten
my supper which was vile, and had seen the
fun, as they expressed it, could turn IN for
the night, providing got around early enough
81 wandered about the town, endeavorng to
find some respectable-looking person, and was
lucky enough to hit upon the only one, a ranch
supply dealer, and to him | contided my tale.
He enjoyed it heartily, and comforted me by
saying it had been his own experience year be
fore, when he first arrived. There was nothing
to be in the least interesting but the groups
of picturesque cowboys and the dainty-looking
tin-horn gamblers, as they are called, who tlaunt
their gaudy selves about in black velvetine jack
cts, light spring-bottom trousers, silk hats, and
patent-leather boots The shirts of these latter
gentlemen are generally extremely Byronic, with
rolling collars, big ties, and the old-fashioned
clock-shaped diamond scarf-pins stuck in the
ties. A curious thing was the quantity of play
ing cards scattered about the street, for there is
but one street. / spoke of this to my newly
made acquaintance, and was told that these
cards literally covered the plains for mile or
two out of town.
Cards. said he, 'arrive here by nearly every
train in bundles
"FrOm every saloon sounds of wild gaiety and
ear-splitting music were issuing, mingled with
the hoarse laughter and oaths of the wild-ook-
ing men, We strolled back to the Blue Front,
which, being the largest and lashiest saloon in
the place. had the greatest crowd. The fun had
already begun. AT one end of the long room a
man was hammering an agonizing waltz out OF
cracked piano. The floor was filled with
dancers, male and female, although most of the
dancing was stag, as there was lack of ladies.
But the men didn't seem to mind that, and
think rather preferred to dance with each other
than with the wretched-lookng women. We
were accosted by one of the floor managers,
who invited us to dance at charge of fifty
cents, which pleasure we denied ourselves,
wishing to observe the queer scenes around us.
One of the dancers, a wild-eyed rancher, evi-
IDENTIFY Just in for his time, as they call the yaca-
+;o, tbey FOL liza aVary six months in order tO oct