The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1901-09-29
WEST is UP TO DATE
GID SCENES OF THE FRONTIER
DAYS HAVE PASSED
AWAY
TUCSON; ARlz.; A MODERN CITY
Bowie Knives and BucISiDg BrOn-
choS Backed on the Stage
ny Bath Tubs and
Telephones.

TIE " est slips from or grasp. Civil
lzation. lying PROSTATE Oven our country
from New York to Frisco, has iald hef
fingers on the desert and eVeryN>'eI
You are conscious of her contact There
are spaces left between her fingers in the
Western country. fast narrowing spaces,
says a correspondent of the New York
Commercial Advertiser, but YOU must
search painfully to find them. Indeed,
you must begin the search soon. or you
Will not find them at ALE The bowie
knife is following the buffalo; the COM
peilng colt is passing.
After You cross the Rio Grande, some
how. You expect as Your right, bowie
knives and bucking bronchos, and instead
you so on finding telephones and bath
tubs. Nay, more. the latest magazines,
the New York paper golf clubs and Sir.s
who wear college colors. The drug stores
ia Tucson bear a discouraging resem-
1iance To the drug stores in the East.
There are the same showcases filled with
perfumes and toilet soaps; the same cool
ing drink signs on the soda water foun-
Jains. The drug clerk wears linen coat
and a silk dotted tie He has the same
weary-but-w willing look that all drug
clerks wear. Next door to him can be
bought Tuxedo coat. and across. the
street are displayed tennis rackets and
hammGcks.
A. the hungry tourist eye travels along
Congress street seeking the character
istic and picturesque, its bread and meat,
il is a Disappointing row of brick-front
stores that presents itself. There are dry
goods signs meat markets, barber shop
poles. opticians wooden eyeglasses and
other symbols Of the conventional bust
ness life. The tourists mind recurs to the
leagues of Slaring alkali desert and burn
Use Yesterday. And this was the goal. He
might as We'll be in Crestline. Still,
there is some promise in the leather-col-
Ored MeNicans. with their bad eyes and
their bold-frinSed hatbands. who shuttle
across the street or sit in silent rows on
the wooden cuTbing. And the horses, too,
couldn't be seen in CreStlne. There are
four of them standing in front of the sa-
loon. Their heads hang almost between
their knees: their ribs are visible and
their TANKS are SCARED with brands.
Each is supporting what seems more a
palanquin than a saddle. 1t has a high
and shining pommel and a cantel like
chair-5ack. From its sides dangle many
thongs Of buc6skin. and some of these
are i'm use holding ''sicker" or bundle
IN place. The tourist takes a long look
at the horses and the saddles and signs
hopefully. There must be a West where
they come from. While he stands there
idling. man comes out of the saloon,
vaults into one Of the saddles and walks
the horse away. He is dressed in overalls
and jumper, and with the exception of
ais spurs resembles Il machinist. He is
cowboy
The tourist with some misgivings for
his appearance. enters the saloon; he is
50 obviously a tenderfoot-an fastener
Stories OF tenGerfeet who were made to
dance With bullets fTing about their feet
or had their hats shot full of holes
have been haunting him for days In the
stories too. the tenderfoot always turn
ed the tables in some adroit manner that
won the admiration of his tormentors
The tourist pauSeS with his hand on the
swinging door and is sickening conscious
he coIld not turn a single table. There
Is only enc man standing at the bar
He wears ii seerSucker coat and duck
trousers. He has q handkerchief in onl
hand and a glass of beer in the other AS
the tourist enters he sets the empty
glass down, and says: Make it an
other, Bud' The bartender is a young
man with Il thin face, big nose and wet
hair He asks the tourist. politely
What is yours" The tourist drinks his
beer and wonders why the bartender
doesn't wear cavalry mustaches and why
he didnt growI, Name yer poison!" Al
q table near the bar are some men read
ing papers, None Of them pays the slight
est attention to the tourist. None of then
carries revolver. The tourist forgets hi:
deliveranee from the dancing and the
tat plugging. TITS just like saloor
anywhere" he sroans. Then he discover.
a back room. and ceases to groan There
Is no door between the bar and the bach
room; just an open, wide-arched en-
trance. The tourist stands in this ant