--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Anthony W. Ivins collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 19 number: 8 published: 1916-06 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Anthony W. Ivins, "Traveling Over Forgotten Trails," *Improvement Era* 19, no. 8 (June 1916): 689–694.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1908unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1908unse start_page: 689 end_page: 694 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1916-06) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1908unse publication_year: 1916 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1916, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Traveling Over Forgotten Trails / |. ,w„. i^P fjm.lf i.-\y! 5 .'• -.' ;•"!: i. ,L,: Ht«Br!' tr, ^^™* % ,*SFf-^* Hn < ' J^JRf^H k*> Nf .v^sPIti '^iSEJ ^W^M Kt- l^r W;ji»W * '• "> JV 7*£ r^k*"' ,•; T^-'^ \^ h ' ' ' Inc V - rsSj^O V^5pT^iJ|| 1'-- eB^ Rr -* .."./ '>! A trustworthy cowboy, a successful cattleman, merchant and banker, a wise states- West; and man, and tried soldier, this man did his full part in the winning of the the keeping pace with its development, was at home either at the old-time round-up or new. Is the type disappearing as our civilization changes? Traveling Over Forgotten Trails BY HON. ANTHONY W. IVINS IV — The Old Time Round-up Only by contrast can the great changes which have occurred in human affairs during the lives of men now living be appreci- ated. I well remember that my father mowed with a scythe the grass which grew on his meadow cut the grain which grew in his ; field, with a cradle, and threshed it with a flail. I have worn clothino- made by my mother from cotton and wool which she cardedrspun and wove, and have studied by the light of a tallow dip, or a pine knot, because there was nothing better to be ob- tained. A man now sits on a machine and cuts ten acres of grass with less fatigue than he formerly mowed one at one operation ; he cuts, threshes, and sacks his grain. The cards, spinning-wheel, and loom have disappeared, and when one needs light, he presses button, and the electric current does the rest. a sharply drawn than between In nothing is this contrast more the old-time round-up and the new. The word is derived from the ; .90 IAI PR( >VEM ENT ERA Spanish verb rodear, to collect together, rodeo signifying the time and place where flocks and herds are to be gathered, in order that they may be inspected, classified, and counted. Notice is given that a new round-up is to be held at Logan, or Provo, that trains arrive and depart every two hours, that hotel accommodation is ample, charges reasonable, and the admission fee to the lectures only one dollar. We arrive with a rattling of car wheels, blowing of locomotive whistles, and the ringing of bells. The reception committee bids us welcome, while the band plays, "It's a long way to Tipperary." We go to our hotel, brush the dust from our clothing, put on a clean collarand, tak- ; ing from our grip the equipment which we have brought, a note book and several new- ly sharpened lead pen- cils, take our place in the lecture room, where a spectacled professor tells us how to make our land pro- duce greater crops of potatoes, corn and wheat which are the ; best breeds of cattle, horses and swine how to cure roup in chickens, and prevent scabbies in sheep. In the evening, 'we at- tend a grand ball. It This man knew little of soil analysis, or the rota- is storming outside, tion of crops; but at the old-time round-up, the man- agement of the herd, and the boys who handled it, but we do not mind it, was an easy task, no matter what the circumstances, or how great the number. for within the ball- room it is dry and warm. _ The place designated for the old-time round-up was at some spring, on the plains, or on the bank of a mountain stream. There was no rattling of car wheels nor screeching of whistles, no re- ception committee, no brass band. The gathering of the clans was heralded by the neighing of horses, the champing of bits, the jin- gle of spurs, and the shouting of orders, as the round-up boss assigned to each contingent its proper camping place. The boots TRAVELING OVER FORGOTTEN TRAILS 691 and clothing were strong and serviceable. A linen collar, or spec- tacles, would have created a sensation greater than sombrero, chaps, and jingling spurs would at Logan, and the wearer would have taken the chance of rough but good-natured handling by his companions. The evening was spent in adjusting equipment. A good horse, a strong saddle instead of a note book, a lariat for sharp- ; ; ened pencils, sharpened spurs. These were the indispensables. If it rained, we got wet and after the storm was over, we dried ; ourselves by the fire. Each man or party of men carried his own — commissary and cooked his own food not always according to the latest methods taught in domestic science. After the horses had been hobbled and turned out to graze, the camp was soon asleep, with the possible exception of a cowboy who drummed a jews-harp, played a harmonica, or hummed Annie Rooney, to Copyright, Detroit Photographic Co. A ROUND-UP ON A TEXAS RANCH the accompaniment of a mocking-bird which sang from the top of a nearby tree, or to the distant howl of a coyote. Not many audible prayers were said. The old-time cowboy was not a Phar- isee who prayed on the corners to be heard of men. but many silent petitions went up to the Throne of Grace in thanksgiving for favors received and blessings desired. The cowboy told the Lord he'd never lived where churches grow. He loved creation better as it stood on the day He finished it, so long ago, and looked upon His work and called it good. He knew that others found tinted window panes, the Lord in light that's sifted down through ; 692 IMPROVEMENT ERA and that he, too, had often found Him near in the dim, quiet starlight on the plains. He thanked the Lord that he'd been placed so well, that he had made his freedom so complete, that he was not a slave of whistle, clock or bell, or week-eyed prisoner in a walled up street. He prayed that he might live his life as he'd begun, that work be given open to the sky, that he might be a pardner of the wind and sun, and he'd not ask a place that's soft or high, to make him square and generous with all he knew that he was careless some- ; times, when in town, but never let them call him mean or small. He asked the Lord to make him big and open, like the plains on which he rode, to make him honest, like the horse he loved so well clean like the wind which blows behind the rain, free as the hawk that circles down the breeze. He prayed to be forgiven when some- times he forgot, the Lord knew the reasons which were hid, he knew about the things that gall and fret, he knew him better than his mother did. "Just keep an eye on all that's done and said," he prayed, "just right me always when I turn aside, and guide me on the long, dim trail ahead, which stretches upward toward the Great Divide." Such was the old-time cowboy. Not all alike, there were good and bad among them, as there are among merchants and bankers, doctors and lawyers, preachers and politicians. We were camped at Green Spring, on a high, volcanic plateau covered with thick forests of cedar and scattering pine trees. Our plans for the following day included a drive from Pen's Pockets and Kelly's Spring, which would take us to the rim of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. We knew that it would be a day of action, for the cattle were wild and the country rough. The boys were my own employees, as trustworthy, brave and competent as ever rode the range. Al, Eph, Andrew, Jimmie, Johnnie, George, Dave, Jode, Charley and Henry, each one a worker and an expert in his line. The morning star was still shining, the first streaks of day showed in the east, when Charley called, "Chuck." Soon after, Jode and Johnnie came in with the horses, and by the time it was fairly light, we were mounted and on the trail. The country was covered with grass, and appeared comparatively smooth, but we knew that underneath the grass were treacherous reefs of vol- canic rocks, which made fast riding dangerous, and in some places impossible. Below Pen's Pockets we came out on one of those open parks, so common in the mountains, covered with grass and a few scat- tering trees, and bordered by a heavy growth of cedars. As we entered it, a herd of wild cattle broke from the timber and went thundering down the slope. We knew them well, the old white cow and her red companion, neither of which had ever been TRAVELING OVER FORGOTTEN TRAILS 693 marked nor branded, and each with several generations of her own offspring, as wild as the antelope of the plains. With heads down and tails flying they dashed down the flat, while we, sep- arating into two parties, started in pursuit. A dozen quirts were flying, a dozen horses, each as eager as his rider to be the first to cut those cattle off from the timber, swept down the park. I was riding on the east side, and by me rode Jode, on Sorrel Johnnie, one of my best horses. As he grad- ually drew away from me, Jode smiled he would be the first to ; head the herd, but just then I saw one of those hidden piles of rocks in the grass, and reined my horse to the left. Jode saw it, Johnnie saw it, but too late. With a mighty bound he tried to clear it, but failed his horse stumbled and fell with such force that ; Copyright, Detroit Photographic Co. DRIVING A BUNCH ON A TEXAS RANCH his neck was broken as his head struck the rocks. Jode, with the dexterity characteristic of the real cowboy, freed himself from the saddle and was but slightly hurt. I called to him to return to camp and get another horse, and rode on. As we neared the herd, ropes were untied from the forks of saddles, and loops prepared. Dave, who was mounted on Mark, dashed before the onrushing herd, and the red cow, with a vicious lunge, drove her horn into the horse's shoulder. As_ Henry, on Chug, rode in from the opposite side, his horse fell in a pile of rocks, rolling him a number of yards, fortunately in the direction of a small tree, for the white cow, with horns set, was after him, and he only avoided her by scrambling behind the cedar. By this time we were all there. Ropes hissed through the air and settled with unerring accuracy over the heads and feet of the leaders of the herd. In less time than it has taken to tell the story, the worst of the cattle were hog-tied on the ground, and the remainder running in a circle on the flat. Henry, looking from behind the Cedar tree, said: "Boss, if — 694 IMPROVEMENT ERA you don't knock that white cow's horns off before you let her up, I want my time ; I'm going home." One horse killed, two injured, two men somewhat damaged, but still on the job, a number of wild cattle tied down, and the remainder of the herd under control, the boys declared it to have been twenty minutes of life worth living. That was the real, old-time round-up. It is gone forever. The evolution of the age has brought other conditions; we have learned better ways of accomplishing the things we have to do. The Shorthorn and Hereford have taken the place of the Longhorn the Saddler, of the Cow Pony. ; The homesteader and dry-farmer have driven the big cattle man from the ranges, and the college graduate has taken the place of the picturesque, old-time cowboy, but we must admit that the cat- tleman and cowboy, with the old-time round-up, had their place in the winning of the West, and that they filled that place with honor! It Can be Done Somebody said that it couldn't be done, But he, with a chuckle, replied That maybe it couldn't but he would be one Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried. So he buckled right in, with the trace of a grin — On his face if he worried, he hid it; He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn't be done —and he did it. Somebody scoffed, "Oh, you'll never do that At least, no one has ever done it." But he took off his coat, and he took off his hat. And the first thing we knew he'd begun it. With the lift of his chin and a bit of a grin, Without any doubting or quiddit, He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn't be done — and he did it. There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure; There are thousands to point out to you, one by one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Then take off your coat and go to it; Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing — That "cannot be done" and you'll do it. — -From The Medical Herald ("Author unknown).