The Virginian | Page 4

always, since the beginning: a young man with his
temptations, a hero without wings.
The cow-puncher's ungoverned hours did not unman him. If he gave his
word, he kept it; Wall Street would have found him behind the times.
Nor did he talk lewdly to women; Newport would have thought him
old-fashioned. He and his brief epoch make a complete picture, for in
themselves they were as complete as the pioneers of the land or the
explorers of the sea. A transition has followed the horseman of the
plains; a shapeless state, a condition of men and manners as unlovely as
is that moment in the year when winter is gone and spring not come,
and the face of Nature is ugly. I shall not dwell upon it here. Those who
have seen it know well what I mean. Such transition was inevitable. Let
us give thanks that it is but a transition, and not a finality.
Sometimes readers inquire, Did I know the Virginian? As well, I hope,
as a father should know his son. And sometimes it is asked, Was such
and such a thing true? Now to this I have the best answer in the world.
Once a cowpuncher listened patiently while I read him a manuscript. It
concerned an event upon an Indian reservation. "Was that the Crow
reservation?" he inquired at the finish. I told him that it was no real

reservation and no real event; and his face expressed displeasure.
"Why," he demanded, "do you waste your time writing what never
happened, when you know so many things that did happen?"
And I could no more help telling him that this was the highest
compliment ever paid me than I have been able to help telling you
about it here!
CHARLESTON, S.C., March 31st, 1902
THE VIRGINIAN
I. ENTER THE MAN
Some notable sight was drawing the passengers, both men and women,
to the window; and therefore I rose and crossed the car to see what it
was. I saw near the track an enclosure, and round it some laughing men,
and inside it some whirling dust, and amid the dust some horses,
plunging, huddling, and dodging. They were cow ponies in a corral,
and one of them would not be caught, no matter who threw the rope.
We had plenty of time to watch this sport, for our train had stopped that
the engine might take water at the tank before it pulled us up beside the
station platform of Medicine Bow. We were also six hours late, and
starving for entertainment. The pony in the corral was wise, and rapid
of limb. Have you seen a skilful boxer watch his antagonist with a quiet,
incessant eye? Such an eye as this did the pony keep upon whatever
man took the rope. The man might pretend to look at the weather,
which was fine; or he might affect earnest conversation with a
bystander: it was bootless. The pony saw through it. No feint
hoodwinked him. This animal was thoroughly a man of the world. His
undistracted eye stayed fixed upon the dissembling foe, and the gravity
of his horse-expression made the matter one of high comedy. Then the
rope would sail out at him, but he was already elsewhere; and if horses
laugh, gayety must have abounded in that corral. Sometimes the pony
took a turn alone; next he had slid in a flash among his brothers, and
the whole of them like a school of playful fish whipped round the
corral, kicking up the fine dust, and (I take it) roaring with laughter.
Through the window-glass of our Pullman the thud of their

mischievous hoofs reached us, and the strong, humorous curses of the
cow-boys. Then for the first time I noticed a man who sat on the high
gate of the corral, looking on. For he now climbed down with the
undulations of a tiger, smooth and easy, as if his muscles flowed
beneath his skin. The others had all visibly whirled the rope, some of
them even shoulder high. I did not see his arm lift or move. He
appeared to hold the rope down low, by his leg. But like a sudden snake
I saw the noose go out its length and fall true; and the thing was done.
As the captured pony walked in with a sweet, church-door expression,
our train moved slowly on to the station, and a passenger remarked,
"That man knows his business."
But the passenger's dissertation upon roping I was obliged to lose, for
Medicine Bow was my station. I bade my fellow-travellers good-by,
and descended, a stranger, into the great cattle land. And here in less
than ten minutes I learned news which made me feel a stranger indeed.
My baggage was lost; it had