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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (July 5, 1901)
(T)(5X5j00®f»\5X#X5X«k 5x§x ?X5X5®®1 | fOITtlOf JULY RIDINd AT dALERAj SYZyZVaYZv2VaYZ>'/7va..'(•Vai'ayTvayai* *)■)•'i•YaYsYWl • >• i• i• iiY*i• <• v•Y»Y«• • i•■•»•»• i• i• it* "Howly mother, gintlemin"’ argued Dillon, " ’tis a matt her av importlnce. Wild ye have another shootin' Donny brook? an’ me a-bearin' av all the divilment, same as twua last year? Wid the riputashun av the tamp, tool In the name av innisince. have ye no heads for an emergency?’’ Dillon was clearly In earnest, and when t man of his racial haraeteris tics is in earnest things ai» likely to happen, whether the scene of action be Spltsbegen or Timbuetoo. His indig nation at oui stupidity—at the mayor’s, the sheriff's, and mine—was offensive, hut we could offer no sug gestion that might starnd for us as combatant. There were men in the camp with otfi .i! titles, and men very prone to swift and accurate shoot ing, but these collectively were as naught before th ■ breath of Dillon. Galena was lik>* most other of North western mining towns; If at all distin guishable from them, it was by a slight accentuation of that air of bonhomie which is more or less apparent on the visages of a!, communities of the genus. Dillon owned md genially pre sided over one of the biggest and brightest and most hemircored of the c imbination saloons and gambling re sorts, The mayor, the sheriff, and I sat in a back room of the saloon, listening in tently to Dillon harangue. After he had given us every opportunity to sug gest ways and means for the day of en tertainment, fruitlessly, he elucidated to us his own idea of a program,which was voted on and adopted by unani mous and immediate consent. This narrative deals solely with the first number of the program, so you will be compelled to surmise the others from it. ‘‘We wull begin,” says Dillon, “in the morning”, wid what ye might dis hignate a toorymint This is the wray av it: We wull have rounded up a hunch av thim dlviis av bronchos, an' we wull also have rounded up a bunch av jolly lihoys, we wull beguile the lihoys to the backs av the broncos, an’ we will give the best busther av thim a foine i’at purs*—which he wull spind iminejutely This, ye may understhand. is legitirnut, wid excoitement enough to kape aff the raw idge av their tim per. This we wull—” but this is as much as concerns us A goodly purse was collected against the coining of the popular event. Dil lon's ‘ante” (his iwu word) was a hun dred, and a number of others came down handsomely But In the interval between the statement of the Idea ana the (lay of fulfillment there arose the necessity for some modification in the plans. Dillon had relied on procuring a number of bad ind unbroken horses, and on having th> many volunteer riders break them on time or some thing of that s .-ri. When the trial was made, however, it was found impos sible to bring together the required number of sure-enough bad horses; that is, horses which could lie depend ed on to make excitement under any circumstances; ho a big list of shapped and Kombreroed competitors could not, consequently, he accommodated. The morning of the Fourth dawned in ail the chant!: radiance of July in the foothills, such 1 day as recom penses a man for a year lived in a hut, 150 miles from th» nearest railroad artery, and, as they say in Montana, "only half a mile from hell.” Directly after breakfast those ranch people from the rival valleys, and from all adjacent sections, who had not been fortunate enough to get iu the night before, beg in to concentrate in the camp. Dillon drew me out to the veranda. "By me sowl, ’twull be beautiful,” says be. "We have a brace av the beasts as >vud miaharse the divil, an' the lihoys are foine an' achin' for the sport. Ye'll see ut the day. me son.” Ho was In merriest -pirits himself, and 1 should have enjoyed some of the ef fervescence of his rollicking blarney; lint his unawering sense of duty to the day compelled him to drink more fre quently that I had reason to believe my experience and capacity would permit, so I was forced to abjure his society. Aiioui iu n>> got on a tame .so me now, and announced thriding, and invited tin- contenting busters up to throw dice for choice of horse This called forth uproarious yells of applause Oue of the contestants, the North Valley rep resentative, was not present, but his mentor was, with full power to art. This latter, however, an old ranch fore man, with badly bowed legs and a crooked back,call. 1 out renewed cheers by remarking that he "reckoned it didn't make much difference about the throwiu*. as Curlew war satisfied with a'most any boss " But the South Valley contingent de murred at. this, and Dillon routed it as unparliamentary. So old Joe and the South Valley man cast for choice, and the throw was Joe's. He gruffly chose the horse that should be nearer the corral gate. Then they shook out again tor precedence in order of rid ing. and this time the South Valley broncho buster won, electing to ride second. There was one other contest ant. who did not throw—hut I am an ticipating my story After these preliminaries all roads pointed corralward, the exodus even stripping Dillon's bar of Its deft at tendants The corral was situated at the open extremity of the gulch, on a flat of much lower level than that of Dillon's and the other main division of the town. When I got down the fiat was cleared for action, and the man called Curlew was preparing to ride. He had barely time to draw his sleeve across his perspiring face when the half-choked and bewildered pony had leaped, like a flash, to his feet; at the same frnetonal part of a second. Curlew was lightly ensconced in the saddle, stirruped and pulling off the pony’s hood Blinded by the sun. dazed and frightened by the weight on his back, the hay stood quivering for a short space. But a stinging cut from Curlew's quirt discovered his bond age to him. I’p he reared, straight and unhesitatingly, till, losing his bal ance. he dropped over backward with an ugly thud, the broad horn of the cow saddle digging into the ground just where Curlew should have been But the red-haired rider was to one side, waiting. He must have been quick as light, for 1 assure you the play of the pony was not slow. Again and again the bay rose in the air and repeated the backward fall. r'urlew each time eluding it and each time swinging in the saddle a3 the playful brute came to his feet. It was all incredibly rapid, and how the boy handled his long, loose-jointed legs is -yet a mystery to me. There were 12 of these backward half-somersaults in that 90-foot corral, and then the manoeuvre was over, forming merely an unostentatious prelude to the real tactics of the fight. With a shrill whistle of rage that brought my heart against my ribs the hay made several sharp sidelong jumps and then took to running. Through the corral gate, across the flat, up the steep pitch, and into the town he went, the whole company of inteffcsted spec tators following at their variously best paces. Curlew set him with swaying ease, the hackamore rope hanging loose in his hand; he made no attempt to stop or to guide. In the midst of the town the run ended in the inevitable buck, and thenceforth the fun waxed fast and fu rious. We were not mistaken in our horse; the brute was all his iooks in dicated—and more. The battle only lasted some 15 minutes, but in tha: short space of time he called into ac tive use every resource of equine trick ery and threw himself into every start ling contortion that horse anatomy permits of. He bucked straight and sideways, and turned and fell, and reared and kicked, squealing again and again in that fierce, unholy manner, till it seemed impossible that the plucky red-haired rider could longer endure the awful back-wrenching strain. A fall, too, meant death, for the horse would have slashed him be fore he touched ground or struck with trout feet as he lay. During the first 12 or 14 minutes of the fight that boy s life was not worth the value of a cigarette; between rage and fear the horse was stark mad, and had there been the sign of an opening would have leaped headlong into the repute! inferno a half a mile below. As the moments wore on and his whole repertoire of strength and strat egy was worked through, without in the least unfixing his rider, the white eyed pony began to lose heart; it was the first time that any man had been so tenacious of grip, and gradually his leaps became weaker and les3 vicious. Then Curlew's quirt and blood-seeking spurs urged him to more vigorous ef forts, but even these could not much longer sustain the engagement. Drip ping with blood and sweat, nearly dead with fatigue, he finally suc cumbed. and permitted himself to be guided by the rider at will. A hearty cheer burst from the crowd, and Cur lew, rather pale and weak, but ever smiling, was rapturously dragged from the saddle and carried into Dillon's, an inert monument of glory to his memory and—demonstrative friends. After the hero, his worshippers, the antagonistic party, and all outsiders had been duly refreshed, which re quired some little time, we bent our selves again to the matter in hand, and prepared to witness the second bout of the man against horse battle. There was almost as wide a differ ence of the two riders as between the bay and the buckskin. The South Valley champion was much shorter than Curlew, and better knit. If I had not seen the confusing dexterity of the lanky, red-haired boy, I should have esteemed this the likelier man. His movements were alert and he showed much experience; in complex ion almost black, with a bearded and somewhat sinister face—"Charley Raw lins, late av N'Mixico, an' bad whin he's dhrinkin.' ” as Dillon catalogued him. The buckskin pony remained in his downcast posture and allowed the New Mexican to saddle him unresist ingly, merely cocking his hairy ears— one forward and the other back—and watching behind through the tail of his slitted eye. I was standing along side old Joe during tills peaceful over ture. and noted the old man's chuckle, grim and ominous. Charley led his mount out from the corral to the flat, and Jamming his finely worked Mexican hat down over hia eyes, vaulted cleanly to his scat. The yellow pony waked up immediately and took the buck, not wildly and fe rociously. as the bay had done, but in a calm, matter-of-fact sort of way that convinced one it was his natural gait. Just as another horse might have gal loped or trotted, so did this beast buck, and for two blessed hours maintained the pace without a falter. Nor in all that heart-breaking period did his Tfn eal progress exceed 100 yards' It was most astonishing, not one superfluous movement was made: he simply kept on and on. each jump being alost semi circular. that is. landing with his head where his tail had started from, and Vice versa. This is what the eowpunchers call changing ends, and it is not difficult to imagine the effect of such a pro tracted merry-go-round sensation on the rider. The burking was neither high nor fierce, but the strain of that continuous swirl must have been rack ing. There was one slight variation which the scrubby buckskin allowed himself in his system, though this was of such nature as to lie rather discon certing to a rider with a head already far front steady. It was to turn in the air after the usual fashion, but instead ! of alighting on stiffened legs, to fall i clumsily on one side, the pony saving himself by bending his foreleg back under him. It wa3 an ugly trick to evade, and the black New Mexican must have been clear grit to hold his own so long. His face grew pallid and drawn, and after awhile his stom ach revolted. At the close of the second hour lie was helpless: his will was still In the thing, but bis body was limp and in effective, and the blood slowly trickled from his nose and ears. The pony still worked with the monotonous reg ularity of a steam exhaust, and the end was unquestionably near. I When it came, the man was sprawled j to one side, and the horse immedi ately lapsed into his usual drooping attitude of watchful sleepiness. Some of us ran to assist Rawlins, who lay Just as he had fallen, too weak to rise. But lie waved us bark; his face was malignant with shame and anger, and distorted by pain; altogether, with the pallor and the blood-streaked beard, he was not an exhilarating sight. Roll ing over to his side, he raised himself partially on an elbow, and before wa could close on him had drawn his Colt's and fired. The big gun spoke sharply, and with a moan that was al most human the buckskin pony lurched heavily to the ground. We reached Rawlins in time to take the smoking revolver from his nerve less grasp; but as he fell back again. I heard him muiter thickly: "There, curse ye. y' mud-skinned hell-hound! Ye'll wear no more men out!” The prostrate broncho-buster's friends had taken him up, and Dillon was in the midst of a brilliant address, awarding with much ornate language the purse to Curlew, when an incident in the form of anti-climax took the lloor from the speaker and wound up the sport with a hearty burst of good natured acclamation. I had the history of this incident afterward. It seems that the boys of j the town—the juveniles, I mean—had j organized and schemed to place an un registered and unexpected entry In the f contest; and their scheme was emi nently successful—and amusing. The camp supported a little half-breed youth of about 12 years, a marvel in his love for and command over horses; ; he must have been born and reared upon their backs, so easily did he be i come them. It was this urchin, Pe ' dro by name, who was elected to rep | resent the younger faction in the rid ! ing. There was one difficulty that j would have baffled most boys; no bad | horse was forthcoming, but Pedro was ! so extremely indifferent as to the na I ture or build of his mount that even ! this was an easy adjustment. At the ! extreme upper end of the town was a J butcher’s cow corral, and in it confined i a bunch of cattle new from the range; ; one of these, a great red and white I 4-year-old steer, was selected, and Pe i dro eagerly started on his ride to fame. Dillon was getting well warmed to his much-prepared and patriotic ora 1 tlon. when Pedro and the frantic steer | appeared, rushing down the pitch from j the town above. There was an unro ! strained howl from the assemblage, in which even Dillon joined, and the dirty, dare-devil brat shot out an an swering grin from the careening baA of his astonished steer. It was a thing to make the old gulch quiver with laughter. Some one had dressed the boy especially for the game; he had on a pair of heavy fringed, full-sized 8hapa, at least eight inches too long for him, and only kept from entirely covering his feet by the shanks of a pair of huge Mexican spurs, all bells and bangles. His impish face was sur mounted by a 5-inch sombrero, a heavy quirt in one hand and in the other a coil of rawhide lariat, which was ! looped only over the steer’s horns. ! And how that animal was twisting 1 himself, head down and tail up! But tho boy clung like a barnacle, by what means I have no conjecture. It is well j known that a steer has no withers, I that he can buck through the clnche3 ■ of any saddle, and a cowboy without a saddle is not formidable. Yet there was inai lean youin neatnen, nampereu by the awkward trappings they had put on him. perched on his arching, un girded steed with all the pert compos ure of a tomtit on a pump handle, j which is old Joe's simile. "Cum aff av that, ye young limb,” | shouted Dillon, as the steer rushed I madly by us; the boy waited, however, | till the crowd was passed, and then, ‘ skillfully twitching his rope from the steer's horns, slid harmlessly to the 1 ground. He could scarcely walk for | the grotesque accouterments, but when I he did reach us, the boys greeted him | riotously. “Give the money to the kid,” said i Curlew laconically. “That's a trick I can't do,” and midst clamors of com mendation and assent the half-breed urchin was given the purse. You cannot expect a doctor to Join an anti-treat society. MBBR'jryo' Ulljjjjlir ^m!!!y TfV1 »'▼’ mmi iTTi • mfTfTTri'iTfi 111 ri1111 i i ,Y. r■ * - --— -"• — - rJfJlLT /r— CaraM NathanH, General Washington wanted a man. It was in September, 1776, at the City of New York, a few days after the battle of Long Island. The swift and deep East River flowed between the two hostile armies, and General Wash ington had as yet no system establish ed for getting information of the en emy’s movements and intentions. He never needed such Information so much as at that crisis. What would General Howe do next? If he cross at Hell Gate, the American army, too small in numbers, and de feated the week before,might be caught on Manhattan island as in a trap, and the Issue of the contest might be made to depend upon a single battle; for In such circumstances defeat would In volve the capture of the whole army. And yet General Washington was com pelled to confess: ‘‘We cannot learn, nor have we been able to possess, the least Information of late." Therefore he wanted a man. He wanted an intelligent man, cool-head ed. skillful, brave, to cross the East River to Long Island, enter the en emy's camp and get Information as to his strength and intentions. He went to Colonel Knowlton, commandlg a re markably efficient regiment from Con necticut, and requested him to ascer tain if this man so sorely needed could be found In his command. Colonel Knowlton called his officers together, stated the wishes of Genera! Washing ton, and, without urging the enter /r\ CAPT. HALE DISGUISED AS A DUTCH SCHOOLMASTER, prise upon any individual, left the mat ter to their reflections. Captain Nathan Hale, a brilliant youth of 21, recently graduated from Yale college, was one of those who reflected upon the subject. He soon reached a conclusion. He was of the very flower of the young men of New England, and one of the best of the younger soldiers of the patriot army. He hud been educated for the minis try, and his motive in adopting for a time the profession of arms was purely A/WWWWWWWWWWWWVWWW patriotic. This we know from the familiar records of his life at the time when the call to arms was first heard. In addition to his other gifts and graces, he was handsome, vigorous and athletic, all in an extraordinary de gree. If he had lived in our day he might have pulled the stroke oar at New London or pitched for the college nine. The officers were conversing In a group. No one had as yet spoken the decisive word. Colonel Knowlton ap pealed to a French sergeant, an old soldier of former war3, and asked him to volunteer. "No, no,” said he. "I am ready to fight the British at any place and time, but I do not feel willing to go among them to be hung up like a dog.” Captain Hale joined the group o{ officers. He said to Colonel Knowl ton: "I will undertake it." Some of his best friends remon strated. One of them, afterwards the famous Gen. William Hull, then a cap tain in Washington's army, has re corded Hale's reply to his own attempt to dissuade him. "I think,’’ said Hale, "I owe to my country the accomplishment of an ob ject so important. I am fully sensible of the consequences of discovery and capture in such a situation. Hut for a year I have been attached to the army, and have not rendered any material service, while receiving a compensa tion for which I make no return. I wish to be useful, and every kind of service necessary for the public good becomes honorable by being neces sary.” He spoke, as General Hull remem bered, with earnestness and decision, as one who had considered the mat ter well, and had made up his mind. Having received his Instructions, he traveled fifty miles along the Sound as far as Norwalk, in Connecticut One who saw him there made a very wise remark upon him, to the effect that he was “too good looking” to go as a spy. He could not deceive. “Some scrubby fellow ought to have gone.” At Nor walk he assumed the disguise of a Dutch schoolmaster, putting on a suit of plain brown clothes and a round, broad-brimmed hat. He had no diffi culty in crossing the Sound, since he bore an order from General Washing ton which placed at his disposal all the vessels belonging to Congress. For several days everything appears to have gone well with him, and there is reason to believe that he passed through the entire British army with out detection or even exciting suspi cion. Finding the British had crossed to New York, he followed them. He made his way back to Long Island, and near ly reached the point opposite Norwalk where he hand originally landed. Ren dered, perhaps, too bold by success, he went into a well-known and popular tavern, entered into conversation with the guests and made himself very agreeable. The tradition is that he made himself too agreeable. A man present, suspecting or knowing that he was not the character he had as sumed. quietly left the room, commun icated his suspicions to the captain of a British ship anchored near, who dis patched a boat’s crew to capture and bring on board the agreeable stranger. His true character was Immediately re vealed. Drawings of some of the Brit ish works, with notes In Latin, were found hidden in the soles of his shoe3. Nor did he attempt to deceive his cap tors, and the English captain, lament ing, as he said, that "so fine a fellow had fallen into his power,” sent him to New York in one of his boats, and with him the fatal proofs that he was a spy. September 21st was the day on which he reached New York—the day of the great Are which laid one-third of the little city in ashes. From the time of his departure from General Washing ton’s camp to that of his return to New York was about fourteen days. He was taken to General Howe’s head quarters at the Beekman mansion, on the Hast river, near the corner of the present Fifty-first street and First avenue. It is a strange coincidence that the house to which he was brought to be tried as a spy was the very one from which Major Andre departed when he went to West Point. Tradi tion says that Captain Hale was ex amined in a greenhouse which then stood in the garden of the Beekman mansion. Short was his trial, for he avowed at once his true character. The British general signed an order to his provost marshal directing him to receive into his custody the prisoner convicted as "I ONLY REGRET THAT I HAVE BUT ONE LIFE TO LOSE FOR MY COUNTRY.” a spy, and to see him hanged by the neck "tomorrow morning at day break." Terrible things are reported of the manner in which this noble prisoner, this admirable gentleman and hero, was treated by his jailer and execu tioner. There are savages in every large army, and it is possible that this provost-marshal was one of them. It is said that he refused him writing materials, and afterward, when Cap tain Hale had been furnished them by others, destroyed before his face his last letters to his mother and to the young lady to whom he was engaged to be married. As those letters were never received, this statement may be true. The other alleged horrors of the execution it is safe to disregard, be cause we know it was conducted in the usual form and in the presence of many spectators and a considerable body of troops. One fact shines out from the distracting confusion of that morning, which will be cherished to the latest posterity as a precious ingot of the moral treasures of the Ameri can people. When asked if he had anything to say, Captain Hale re plied: “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.” The scene of his execution was prob ably an old graveyard in Chambers street, which w>as then called Barrack street. General Howe formally noti fied General Washington of his execu tion. In recent years, through the in dustry of investigators, the pathos and sublimity of these events have been in part revealed. A few years ago a bronze statue of the young hero was unveiled in the New York City Hall Park. It is great ly to be regretted that our knowledge of this^noble martyr is so slight- but wo know enough to be sure that ha merits the veneration of his country inen. J The man who marrle* for money merely trades his liberty for a meal ticket.