The Raymer enterprise., 1910-11-17
Night on the Range.


The cattle mans life has its quiet
and poetical moments as well as its
hard riding and gun play, and glimpse
of that side of the life is given in the
following passage from Edgar Beecher
Bronson's book, "The Red Blooded,"
just published:
1.-The happiest period of my life was
my first FIVE years on the range in the
early seventies. Indeed it was an ex-
perience so happy that memory plays
me shabby trick. to recall its incidents
and fire me with longings for pleasure
l may never again experience. Its
scenes are all before me now, vivid as
if Of yesterday.
1.-THE night camp is made beside a
singing stream or bubbling spring;
the night horses are caught and staked;
there is, a roaring, merry fire of frag-
rant cellar boughs; q side of fat ribs
roasting on q spit before the fire, its
sweet juices Kissing as they drop into
the flames, and sending off odors to
drive one ravenous; the rich amber con-
tents of the coffee pot is so full Of life
and strength that it is well nigh burst
ing the lid with joy over the vitality
and stimulus it is to bring you. Supper
eaten, there follow pipe and cigarette,
jest and badinage over the day'sevents:
stories and songs of love, of home, of
mother; and rude impromptu epics re-
lating the story of victories over VIC
ious horses, wild beasts. or savage In
dians. When the fire has burnt low
and becomes mass of glowing Goals,
voices are hushed, the campis still, and
each, half hypnotized by gazing into
the weirdiy shifting lights of the dying
embers is wrapped in introspection.
Then, rousing, you lay down, your can
opy the dark blue vault Of the heavens,
your mattress the soft, curling buffalo
grass.
after night of deep refreshing
sleep you spring at dawn with every
faculty renewed and tense. Breakfast
eaten, you catch favorite roping
horse, square and heavy of quarter and
shoulder, short of neck, with wide
nervous nostrils, flashing eyes, ears
pointing to the slightest sound, past
ems supple and strong as steel, and of
a nerve and temper always reminding
you that you are his master only by
sutferance. Now begins the days hunt.
Riding softly through cedar brake and
mesquite thicket, slipping quickly from
one live oak to another, you come upon
your quarry, some great tawny yellow
monster with sharp pointed, wide
spreading horns, standing startled and
rigid, gazing at you with eyes wide
with curiosity, uncertain whether to at
tack or fly. Usually he at first turns
and runs, and you dash after him
through timber or over plain, the great
loop of your lariat circling and kissing
about your head, the noble horse be-
tween your knees straining every mus
Gle in pursuit, until, come to fit dis
lance the loop is cast. 1t settles and
tightens round the monsters horns, and
your horse stops and braces himself to
the shock that may either throw the
quarry or throw horse and rider to the
ground, helpless, at his mercy. Once
he Is caught, woe unto you II you can
not master and tie him, for struggle
is on, a struggle Of dexterity and intel.
ligcnce against brute strength and
fece temper, that cannot end until
beast or man Is vanquished."
From the Omaha News.
Nine indictments. charging ranchmen
Of western Nebraska with conspiracy