Weekly journal-miner., 1912-07-24


 of which Mir, Roosevelt is the critic
 What I said to the judge tha, made Prescott laugh--at me in one way and at the judge in another might have been said to fifty men in Arizona had met. now at the top of the legal. or the railway. or the banking tree Men in high positions, once in jumpers and leath- CT chapararos and sombreros. were Faro players. and some were even professional gamblers. in the old days; and those days are not SO far away; for a man is pioneer in Arizona who has been there ten years. They were one with-and a, the top of--the life as it was: and they arc one with. and at the top of the life as it is.
 And yet to sojourn in the happy cities of Prescott or Phoenix or to stay in such blessed retreats from the worlds cares as Castle Hot Springs. in Yavapai county. or a, Ingleside, near Phoenix. out by Comeback mountain, is but to inn press the sojourner with the feeling that here is land of peace and pioneer comfort and safety. The Apache. the Mohave. the Piute arc no longer on the warpath. and the remainder of them may only be found in places to which their depre- dations and slaughterings gave a name such as Burnt ranch and Weeping springs. But those days of early settlement were as full of danger as of heroism. Here is an instance:
 When the Arizona broncho wishes to be safe for you and for himself he is the safest thing in the world: and when he wishes to be unsafe, life is merry chance. went up and down 'trails in Arizona which were almost perpendicular. and rough and stone -strewn. too: but there was little danger, for the broncho has. not the ten pound. but the thousand pound lookl His nose is to the ground. his eyes fastened on the trail, his footstep the most beautifully careful thing the mind can conceive. One foot placed before another eases, pre- serves the balance. adjusts the weight for another; and all this wonderful machinery of equipoise, stability, and safety you feel work ing under you like a delicate ma chine. Yet this sage pioneer of the trail, with his meticuious care of you and himself, was just wild range-pony. hunted down by the range-rider, driven. coaxed. or duped into corral, broken, saddied, bridled, and ridden all in one hour; wrenched out of his wildness, having his heart broken. and made into slave while you would eat your breakfast, He is not a beauty, he IS just a mongrel; but his legs and his feet are made of iron and steel and the work he does over awful trails, in rough and ragged country, strewn with stones and Hints and boulders and lava and scrub, week after week month after month, and year after year, would spoil the legs of thoroughbred in three days.
 Watch him with his pursuers after him, coming down Goat mountain, the wil'l thing that never knew any call except the snorting whistle of his kin' among the mesquite. grease wood. and buck-nut bushes. He flies down from the mountain as though a hundred devils were after him, leaping surcfootedly with the spring of jack-rabbit over and down a country made for mountain goats. He is running for his life---for his life and for his freedom. But be- hind him arc the broncho ponies whose hearts were broken last month, or last year. or five years ago. ridden by those who break ponies every week, and who would scale the Egyptian pyramids on a for n waoer Ard -.L.