Chapter XVII: Introduction (12)

Since the preceding summer, Packard had, in the columns of the _Cowboy_, once more been agitating for the organization of Billings County. The conditions, which in the past had militated against the proposal, were no longer potent. The lawless element was still large, but it was no longer in the majority. For a time a new and naïve objection made itself widely heard. The stock-growers protested that if the county were organized, they would be taxed! The Mandan _Pioneer_ explained that, according to the laws of Dakota Territory, the nearest organized county was authorized to tax all the cattle and other stock in Billings County, and that "the only possible difference that could result in organization would be to keep the taxes at home and allow them to be expended for home improvements such as roads, bridges, schoolhouses, and public buildings." The cattlemen were not in a position to explain publicly what they probably meant, namely, that a board of county commissioners and a tax assessor sitting in Medora would have far less difficulty than a similar group sitting a hundred and fifty miles east in Mandan in following the mysterious movements of their cattle during the season when assessments were made. An active agent of the county might conceivably note that when Billings County, Dakota, was making its assessments, the herds could generally be found in Fallon County, Montana, and that when Fallon County was making its assessments, the cattle were all grazing in Billings. But even in the Bad Lands it was no longer politic to protest openly against what was palpably the public welfare, and the petition for the organization of the county received the necessary signatures, and was sent to the governor. "This is a step in the right direction," patronizingly remarked the Mandan _Pioneer_. "Billings County is rich enough and strong enough to run its own affairs."

Merrifield and Sylvane Ferris had been active in the work of organization, and were eager to "run" Bill Sewall for County commissioner. But that shrewd individual pleaded unfitness and lack of time and refused to be cajoled into becoming a candidate.

There is some doubt concerning the exact date of the first election. Roosevelt's diary would indicate that it was held on April 12th, but the paragraph printed in the Minneapolis _Tribune_ of April 15th would indicate that it was held on the 14th. Both statements are probably wrong, and the election in all likelihood was held on the 13th.

Roosevelt, having testified against the three thieves, returned to Medora late on the afternoon of election. There had been many threats that the party of disorder would import section hands from the neighboring railway stations to down the legions of the righteous. An especial watcher had been set at the polling-places. It was none other than Hell-Roaring Bill Jones. He was still on most cordial terms with his old intimates, the ruffians who congregated at Bill Williams's saloon, but he liked Roosevelt and the men who surrounded the young Easterner, and had cast in his lot with them. The effectiveness, as a guardian of the peace, of the man who had at the beginning of his career in the Bad Lands been saloon "bouncer" for Bill Williams was notable.

Roosevelt found a group of his friends at the polling-place.

"Has there been any disorder?" he asked.

"Disorder, hell!" said one of the men in the group. "Bill Jones just stood there with one hand on his gun and the other pointin' over toward the new jail whenever any man who didn't have the right to vote come near the polls. There was only one of them tried to vote, and Bill knocked him down. Lord!" he concluded meditatively, "the way that man fell!"

"Well," struck in Bill Jones, "if he hadn't fell, I'd of walked round behind him to see what was proppin' him up!"

The candidates for the various offices had been selected in a spirit of compromise between the two elements in the town, the forces of order securing every office except one. The county commissioners elected were "Johnny" Goodall, a blacksmith named Dan Mackenzie, and J. L. Truscott, who owned a large ranch south of the Big Ox Bow. Van Driesche, the best of all valets, was elected treasurer, and Bill Dantz superintendent of schools; but the forces of disorder could afford to regard the result without apprehension, for they had been allowed to elect the sheriff; and they had elected Joe Morrill.

Election night was lurid. Morrill, evidently desiring to make a good impression without serious inconvenience to his friends, served notice immediately after his election that there must be no "shooting up" of the town, but "the boys" did not take Morrill very seriously. Fisher, who had a room in Mrs. McGeeney's hotel next to Joe Ferris's store, found the place too noisy for comfort, and adjourned to the office of the _Bad Lands Cowboy_. The little shack was unoccupied, for Packard, having recently married, had moved his residence into one of the deserted cantonment buildings on the western side of the river. Truscott had neglected to secure a room in the hotel and Fisher invited him to join him in the _Cowboy_ office.

The day had been strenuous, and the two men were soon sound asleep. Fisher was awakened by a sharp object striking him in the face. An instant later he heard a round of shots, followed instantly by another shower of broken glass. He discovered that one of the windows, which faced the Tamblyn Saloon, was completely shattered. He shook Truscott.

"I guess," he said, "we'd better look for some place not quite so convenient for a target."

They adjourned to Fisher's room in Mrs. McGeeney's hotel. After all, noise was preferable to bullets.

"The boys" were full of apologies the next morning, declaring that they had not realized that the place was occupied. Packard, it seemed, had been publishing certain editorials shortly before dealing with the criminal responsibility of drunkards, and they just thought they would give the _Cowboy_ a "touching up."

Medora's new régime began with a call which Howard Eaton made upon Merrifield.

"Now that we're organized, we'll have some fun with Deacon Cummins," said Eaton, with a chuckle.

Eaton had apprehensions that the "Deacon" would ask for improvements, a road to his ranch, for instance, or possibly a bridge or two, so he suggested to Merrifield that they draw up a statement calculated to discourage any such aspirations. This was the statement as they finally submitted it to their fellow citizens:

We the undersigned do hereby solemnly covenant and agree to
hang, burn, or drown any man that will ask for public
improvements made at the expense of the County.

Eaton and Merrifield signed it, together with a dozen others; then they laid it before Mrs. Cummins's husband for his signature. "The Deacon" took it with extreme seriousness, and signed his name to it; and there was no call for improvements from the solemn couple at Tepee Bottom.

The day after the election, the Little Missouri Stock Association held its semi-annual meeting. Roosevelt presided, "preserving," as he wrote to Lodge a day or so later, "the most rigid parliamentary decorum." He was elected a representative of the Association at the meeting of the Montana Stock growers' Association in Miles City, to be held a day or two later, and, after a hurried trip to Elkhorn Ranch with Merrifield, started west for Miles City, taking Sylvane with him.

Miles City was a feverish little cowtown under ordinary circumstances, but in April of every year, when the cattlemen of Montana and western Dakota gathered there for the annual meeting of the Montana Stockgrowers' Association, it was jubilant and noisy beyond description. For a week before the convention was called to order, stockmen from near and far began to arrive, bringing in their train thirsty and hilarious cowboys who looked upon the occasion mainly as a golden opportunity for a spree. They galloped madly up and down the wide, dusty streets at every hour of the day and night, knowing no sober moment as long as the convention lasted.

Roosevelt and Sylvane arrived on April 18th, taking what quarters they could get in the Macqueen House which was crowded to the doors and was granting nobody more than half a bed. The ceremonies began early next morning with a blast from the Fifth Infantry band from Fort Keogh, the army post two miles to the west.

Promptly at 9:30 A.M. [runs the story in the Minneapolis
_Tribune_] a procession was formed in front of the Macqueen
House, with the Fifth Infantry band at its head, followed by
carriages containing the officers of the Association and
ladies; next a cavalcade of wild cowboys just brought in
from the adjacent ranges, followed by about 150 cowmen
marching four abreast. The procession was about two and
one-half blocks long from end to end, and the line of march
was through the principal streets to the skating rink, where
the public meetings of the Association are held.

As the procession was nearing the rink, the horses of the
foremost carriage, containing the president, vice-president,
and secretary, took fright and dashed into the band. Both
horses took the same side of the tongue and made things
unpleasant. At this stage of the game President Bryan and
others abandoned the carriage, and Secretary R. B. Harrison,
with his large minute book, made a leap for life, and the
subsequent proceedings interested him no more. The
procession then broke up with a wild charge of cowboys,
accompanied with such yells as would strike terror to the
heart of the tenderfooted.

The actual meeting of the Stockgrowers' Association was, contrary to what might have been expected from its prelude, a thoroughly dignified affair. Roosevelt was, as one of the other stockmen later declared, "rather inclined to listen and take the advice of older men"; but it was significant that he was, nevertheless, elected to the Executive Committee as the successor of the Marquis de Mores as representative for Dakota Territory; and was appointed to one or two other committees of lesser importance.

"Roosevelt was of a restless, nervous, but aggressive disposition," said H. H. Hobson, of Great Falls, who was present at that meeting, "and took a keen interest in the proceedings. He was a great admirer of Granville Stuart, and was always on his side of every question."

The absorbing issues before the convention were the Texas fever and the overstocking of the range. Feeling ran high, and "the debates," as Hobson later remarked, "were more than warm. Roosevelt," he added, "was at all times eager and ready to champion his side."

At one of the sessions there was a fierce debate between two prominent cattlemen, which was renewed, after the meeting, at the Miles City Club. Each man had his hot partisans, who began to send messengers out for reinforcements. Most of the men were armed. It was clear that if hostilities once broke out, they would develop instantly into a miniature war.

Roosevelt saw that the situation was critical, and jumped to his feet. "If you can't settle your own difficulties," he cried to the two men who had started the quarrel, "why don't you fight it out? I'll referee."

The suggestion was received with favor. Roosevelt formed a ring and the two men expended their anger in a furious fist fight. Which man won, history does not record. The important point is that Roosevelt, by his resolute action, had prevented a fight with "six-shooters."

I have just returned from the Stockmen's Convention in Miles
City [Roosevelt wrote "Bamie" from Elkhorn on April 22d],
which raw, thriving frontier town was for three days
thronged with hundreds of rough-looking, broad-hatted men,
numbering among them all the great cattle and horse raisers
of the Northwest. I took my position very well in the
convention, and indeed these Westerners have now pretty well
accepted me as one of themselves, and as a representative
stockman. I am on the Executive Committee of the
Association, am President of the Dakota branch, etc.--all of
which directly helps me in my business relations here.

There is something almost touching in Roosevelt's efforts to persuade his sisters that his cattle venture was not the piece of wild recklessness which they evidently considered it.

This winter has certainly been a marvelously good one for
cattle [he wrote in another letter]. My loss has been so
trifling as hardly to be worth taking into account;
although there may be a number who have strayed off. I
think my own expenses out here this summer will be very
light indeed, and then we will be able to start all square
with the beginning of the New Year.

In another letter he wrote, "Unless we have a big accident, I shall get through this all right, if only I can get started square with no debt!" And a little later he sent "Bamie" a clipping from a review of his "Hunting Trips of a Ranchman," which referred to him as "a man of large and various powers in public matters _as well as shrewd and enterprising in the conduct of business_." "I send the enclosed slip," he wrote, "on account of the awful irony of the lines I have underscored; send it to Douglas when you write him."

"Douglas" was Douglas Robinson, the husband of Roosevelt's sister Corinne, and distinctly the business man of the family.

Bill Sewall was apprehensive. "There was always a cloud over me," he said long afterward, "because I never could see where he was going to get his money. I tried to make him see it. He was going to buy land. I urged him not to. I felt sure that what he was putting into those cattle he was going to lose."

Roosevelt admitted that spring that Sewall's conviction, that the cows would not be able in the long run to endure the hard winters, was not without reason. "Bill," he said, after he had made a careful study of the herd, "you're right about those cows. They're not looking well, and I think some of them will die."

But on the whole the herd was in good condition. He had every right to believe that with average luck his investment would emphatically justify itself.

While I do not see any great fortune ahead [he wrote to his
sister Corinne], yet, if things go on as they are now going,
and have gone for the past three years, I think I will each
year net enough money to pay a good interest on the capital,
and yet be adding to my herd all the time. I think I have
more than my original capital on the ground, and this year I
ought to be able to sell between two and three hundred head
of steer and dry stock.

Sewall as usual, was less sanguine.

As for hard times [he wrote his brother that April] they are
howling that here, and lots are leaving the country. Lots
more would if they could. We are all right. Roosevelt is the
same good fellow he always has been and though I don't think
he expects to make much, his upper lip is stiff and he is
all right.

Meanwhile, he was hammering ahead on his Life of Benton. He was a slow and rather laborious writer, but his persistence evidently atoned for his lack of speed in composition, for whereas, on April 29th, he wrote his sister that he had written only one chapter and intended to devote "the next three weeks to getting this work fairly under way," by the 7th of June he announced that the book was "nearly finished."

"Some days," Sewall related afterward, "he would write all day long; some days only a part of the day, just as he felt. He said sometimes he would get so he could not write. Sometimes he could not tell when a thing sounded right. Then he would take his gun and saunter off, sometimes alone, sometimes with me or Dow, if he was around."

Occasionally he would "try out" a passage on Sewall. "Bill," he exclaimed one morning, "I am going to commit the unpardonable sin and make you sit down and listen to something I've written."

Bill was willing. The passage was from the first chapter of the biography of the Tennessee statesman and dealt with the attitude of the frontier toward law and order and the rights of "the other fellow." Bill gave his approval and the passage stood.

Day after day Roosevelt pushed forward into his subject, writing with zest, tempered by cool judgment. He did not permit an occasional trip to Medora to interrupt his work. He had a room over Joe Ferris's store, and after Joe and his wife had gone to bed, he would throw open the doors of the kitchen and the dining-room and walk to and fro hammering out his sentences.

"Every once in a while," said Joe later, "everything would be quiet, then after fifteen minutes or so he would walk again as though he was walkin' for wages."

Mrs. Ferris, who had a maternal regard for his welfare, was always careful to see that a pitcher of milk was in his room before the night's labors commenced; for Roosevelt had a way of working into the small hours. "The eight-hour law," he remarked to Lodge, "does not apply to cowboys"; nor, he might have added, to writers endeavoring to raise the wherewithal to pay for a hunting trip to the Coeur d'Alênes in the autumn.

I wonder if your friendship will stand a very serious strain
[he wrote Lodge, early in June]. I have pretty nearly
finished Benton, mainly evolving him from my inner
consciousness; but when he leaves the Senate in 1850 I have
nothing whatever to go by; and, being by nature both a
timid, and, on occasions, by choice a truthful, man, I would
prefer to have some foundation of fact, no matter how
slender, on which to build the airy and arabesque
superstructure of my fancy--especially as I am writing a
history. Now I hesitate to give him a wholly fictitious date
of death and to invent all of the work of his later years.
Would it be too infernal a nuisance for you to hire some of
your minions on the _Advertiser_ (of course, at my expense)
to look up, in a biographical dictionary or elsewhere, his
life after he left the Senate in 1850? He was elected once
to Congress; who beat him when he ran the second time; what
was the issue; who beat him, and why, when he ran for
Governor of Missouri; and the date of his death? I hate to
trouble you; don't do it if it is any bother; but the Bad
Lands have much fewer books than Boston has.

The Executive Committee of the Montana Stockgrowers' Association, of which Roosevelt was a member, had, in order to unify the work of the rounding-up of the cattle throughout Montana and western Dakota, issued directions at its meeting in April for the delimitation of the various round-up districts and the opening of the round-ups. The round-up for "District No. 6," which included the valley of the Little Missouri,

commences [so ran the order] at Medora, May 25, 1886; works
down the Little Missouri to the mouth of Big Beaver Creek;
thence up the Big Beaver to its head; thence across to the
Little Beaver at the crossing of the old government road
(Keogh trail); thence down Little Beaver to its mouth;
thence across to Northern Hash-knife Camp on Little
Missouri, and down to Medora. John Goodall, foreman.

Roosevelt apparently could not resist the temptation which the round-up offered, especially as its course would take him back in the direction of Elkhorn, and he deserted his study and entered once more into what was to him the most fascinating activity of the cowboy's life.

There were half a dozen wagons along [he wrote
subsequently]. The saddle bands numbered about a hundred
each; and the morning we started, sixty men in the saddle
splashed across the shallow ford of the river that divided
the plain where we had camped from the valley of the long
winding creek up which we were first to work.

By the 7th of June he was back at Elkhorn Ranch again on a flying visit.

I will get a chance to send this note to-morrow [he wrote
his sister "Bamie"] by an old teamster who is going to town.
I have been on the round-up for a fortnight, and really
enjoy the work greatly; in fact I am having a most pleasant
summer, though I miss all of you very, very much. We
breakfast at three and work from sixteen to eighteen hours a
day counting night-guard; so I get pretty sleepy; but I feel
as strong as a bear. I took along Tolstoy's "La Guerre et La
Paix" which Madame de Mores had lent me; but I have had
little chance to read it as yet. I am very fond of Tolstoy.

In "The Wilderness Hunter" Roosevelt, two or three years later, told of that "very pleasant summer" of 1886.

I was much at the ranch, where I had a good deal of writing
to do; but every week or two I left, to ride among the line
camps, or spend a few days on any round-up which happened to
be in the neighborhood.

These days of vigorous work among the cattle were themselves
full of pleasure. At dawn we were in the saddle, the morning
air cool in our faces; the red sunrise saw us loping across
the grassy reaches of prairie land, or climbing in single
file among the rugged buttes. All forenoon we spent riding
the long circle with the cowpunchers of the round-up; in the
afternoon we worked the herd, cutting the cattle, with much
breakneck galloping and dextrous halting and wheeling. Then
came the excitement and hard labor of roping, throwing, and
branding the wild and vigorous range calves; in a corral, if
one was handy, otherwise in a ring of horsemen. Soon after
nightfall we lay down, in a log hut or tent, if at a line
camp; under the open sky, if with the round-up wagon.

After ten days or so of such work, in which every man had to
do his full share,--for laggards and idlers, no matter who,
get no mercy in the real and healthy democracy of the
round-up,--I would go back to the ranch to turn to my books
with added zest for a fortnight. Yet even during these weeks
at the ranch there was some outdoor work; for I was breaking
two or three colts. I took my time, breaking them gradually
and gently, not, after the usual cowboy fashion, in a hurry,
by sheer main strength and rough riding, with the attendant
danger to the limbs of the man and very probable ruin to
the manners of the horse. We rose early; each morning I
stood on the low-roofed veranda, looking out under the line
of murmuring, glossy-leaved cottonwoods, across the shallow
river, to see the sun flame above the line of bluffs
opposite.

Almost every day he was off among the buttes or across the prairie with a rifle in his hand, shooting now a whitetail buck within a few hundred yards of the ranch-house; now a blacktail, in the hills behind. Occasionally, rising before dawn, he would hunt in the rolling prairie country ten or fifteen miles away, coming home at dusk with a prong-buck across his saddle-bow. Now and then he would take the ranch-wagon and one of the men, driving to some good hunting ground, and spending a night or two, returning usually with two or three antelope; and not infrequently he would ride away by himself on horseback for a couple of days, lying at night, as he wrote, "under the shining and brilliant multitude of stars," and rising again in the chill dawn to crawl upon some wary goat of the high hills.

After writing his sister on the 7th of June, he evidently stayed at the ranch for ten days to work on his Life of Benton. Then he was away with the round-up again. His diary succinctly records his progress:

June 18. Rode to Medora on Sorrel Joe.

June 19. Out on round-up with Maltese Cross wagon.

June 20. Worked down to South Heart.

June 21. Worked up Rocky Ridge.

June 22. Worked to Davis Creek.

Early next morning Roosevelt was in Medora.

The round-up is swinging over from the East to the West
Divide [he wrote to Lodge]. I rode in to get my mail and
must leave at once. We are working pretty hard. Yesterday I
was in the saddle at 2 A.M., and except for two very hearty
meals, after each of which I took a fresh horse, did not
stop working till 8.15 P.M.; and was up at half-past three
this morning.

They worked next day down to Andrews Creek.

While the round-up was camped at Andrews Creek an incident occurred which revealed Roosevelt's influence over the cowpunchers, not alone of his own "outfit." Andrews Creek was not more than a mile from Medora, and after the day's work was done, the cowboys naturally adjourned with much enthusiasm to that oasis for the thirsty. As the evening wore on, the men, as "Dutch Wannigan" remarked long afterward, "were getting kinda noisy." Roosevelt, who had also ridden to town, possibly to keep an eye on "the boys," heard the commotion, and, contrary to his usual habit, which was to keep out of such centers of trouble, entered the saloon where the revelry was in progress.

"I don't know if he took a drink or not," said "Dutch Wannigan" afterward. "I never saw him take one. But he came in and he paid for the drinks for the crowd. 'One more drink, boys,' he says. Then, as soon as they had their drinks, he says, 'Come on,' and away they went. He just took the lead and they followed him home. By gollies, I never seen anything like it!"

The round-up now worked southward. Roosevelt's diary gives its course from day to day.

June 24. To Gardiner Creek.

June 25. To Bullion's Creek.

June 26. Down Bullion's Creek.

June 27. To Chimney Butte.

June 28. Rode in to Medora.

From Medora he wrote his sister Corinne:

I have been off on the round-up for five weeks, taking a
holiday of a few days when we had a cold snap, during which
time I killed two elk and six antelopes, all the meat being
smoke-dried and now hanging round the trees, till the ranch
looks like an Indian encampment. Since June 24th, I have
never once had breakfast as late as 4 o'clock. I have been
in the saddle all the day and work like a beaver and am as
happy and rugged as possible.

To "Bamie" he wrote:

If I did not miss all at home so much, and also my beautiful
home, I would say that this free, open-air life, without any
worry, was perfection.

The round-up ended in Medora, where it had begun.

You would hardly know my sunburned and wind-roughened face
[Roosevelt wrote "Bamie"]. But I have really enjoyed it and
am as tough as a hickory nut.

He evidently did not think he needed any vacation after the strenuous labors of the preceding weeks, for his diary records no interlude.

June 29. Rode back to Elkhorn Ranch with Merrifield.

June 30. Benton.

July 1. Benton; rode out with Bill Rowe to get and brand
calves.

July 2. Benton; rode out with Bill Rowe after calves; got
them into corral and branded them. Rode little black horse.

July 3. Rode up to Medora on Manitou.

Roosevelt had been invited to be the orator at Dickinson's first celebration of Independence Day, and, on the morning of the Fourth, accompanied by two New York friends, Lispenard Stewart and Dr. Taylor, and half the cowboys of Billings County, "jumped" an east-bound freight for the scene of the festivities.

Dickinson was in holiday mood. The West Missouri slope had never celebrated the Fourth with fitting ceremonies before and Dickinson, which, with its seven hundred inhabitants, considered itself somewhat of a metropolis, made up its mind to "spread itself." From near and far eager crowds streamed into the little town, on foot and on horseback. The _Press_ reported the celebration with zest:

A BIG DAY

The First Fourth of July Celebration
in Dickinson a Grand Success

An Epoch in the History of Our Town
that Will Long be Remembered

Addresses by Hon. Theodore Roosevelt
and Hon. John A. Rea

The first Fourth of July celebration, attempted in
Dickinson, took place last Monday. It exceeded the
anticipations of all and proved to be a grand success--a day
that will long be remembered. The day dawned bright and
cool. Early in the morning people began to arrive and by ten
o'clock the largest crowd ever assembled in Stark County
lined the principal streets. The train from the west brought
a number of Medora people, amongst them Hon. Theodore
Roosevelt, the orator of the day.

The first exercise was the parade, consisting of three
divisions, under charge of Chief Marshal Auld, assisted by
C. S. Langdon and Western Starr. About ten o'clock
everything was in readiness and the parade began to move,
headed by the Dickinson Silver Cornet Band. Following the
band were the lady equestriennes, a large number of ladies
being in line. They were followed by the members of Fort
Sumter Post G.A.R. and Onward Lodge R.R.B. Next came a
beautifully decorated wagon drawn by four white horses,
containing little girls dressed in white, representing the
States of the Union. This was one of the most attractive
features of the parade, and was followed by a display of
reaping and other farm machinery. The "Invincibles" were
next in line and created considerable mirth by their
fantastic and grotesque appearance. Citizens in carriages
and on horseback brought up the rear. After parading through
the principal streets the procession marched to the public
square and were dismissed.

"The trouble with the parade," remarked Bill Dantz long after, "was that every one in town was so enthusiastic they insisted on joining the procession, and there was no one to watch except two men who were too drunk to notice anything"; which was Dantz's way of saying that the "first exercise" was eminently successful.

Western Starr [continues the _Press_] was introduced by Dr.
V. H. Stickney, master of ceremonies, and read the
Declaration of Independence in a clear, forcible tone, after
which the entire audience joined in singing that familiar
and patriotic song, "America." The people then partook of
the free dinner prepared for the occasion. After dinner the
people were called to order and Rev. E. C. Dayton offered up
a prayer, followed by music by the band.

The speeches followed. The first speaker was a typical politician of the old school.

This is a big country [he said]. At a dinner party of
Americans in Paris during the Civil War this toast was
offered by a New Englander: "_Here's to the United States,
bounded on the north by British America, on the south by the
Gulf of Mexico, on the east by the Atlantic, and on the west
by the Pacific Ocean._"

An Ohio man followed with a larger notion of our greatness:
"_Here's to the United States, bounded on the north by the
North Pole, on the south by the South Pole, on the east by
the rising sun, and on the west by the setting sun._"

It took the Dakota man, however, to rise to the greatness of
the subject: "_I give you the United States, bounded on the
north by the Aurora Borealis, on the south by the precession
of the equinoxes, on the east by primeval chaos, and on the
west by the Day of Judgment._"

The politician proceeded with the eloquence of the professional "orator," and the audience applauded him vociferously. Then Roosevelt rose and spoke. He looked very slim and young and embarrassed.

I am peculiarly glad [he said] to have an opportunity of
addressing you, my fellow citizens of Dakota, on the Fourth
of July, because it always seems to me that those who dwell
in a new territory, and whose actions, therefore, are
peculiarly fruitful, for good and for bad alike, in shaping
the future, have in consequence peculiar responsibilities.
You have already been told, very truthfully and effectively,
of the great gifts and blessings you enjoy; and we all of us
feel, most rightly and properly, that we belong to the
greatest nation that has ever existed on this earth--a
feeling I like to see, for I wish every American always to
keep the most intense pride in his country, and people. But
as you already know your rights and privileges so well, I am
going to ask you to excuse me if I say a few words to you
about your duties. Much has been given to us, and so, much
will be expected of us; and we must take heed to use aright
the gifts entrusted to our care.

The Declaration of Independence derived its peculiar
importance, not on account of what America was, but because
of what she was to become; she shared with other nations the
present, and she yielded to them the past, but it was felt
in return that to her, and to her especially, belonged the
future. It is the same with us here. We, grangers and
cowboys alike, have opened a new land; and we are the
pioneers, and as we shape the course of the stream near its
head, our efforts have infinitely more effect, in bending it
in any given direction, than they would have if they were
made farther along. In other words, the first comers in a
land can, by their individual efforts, do far more to
channel out the course in which its history is to run than
can those who come after them; and their labors, whether
exercised on the side of evil or on the side of good, are
far more effective than if they had remained in old settled
communities.

So it is peculiarly incumbent on us here to-day so to act
throughout our lives as to leave our children a heritage,
for which we will receive their blessing and not their
curse.

Stickney, sitting on the platform as presiding officer, was struck by the contrast which Roosevelt offered to the man who had preceded him. The first speaker had been "eloquent" in the accepted meaning of the word; Roosevelt was not consciously eloquent at all. He talked as he always talked, simply, directly, earnestly, emphatically.

We have rights [he went on], but we have correlative duties;
none can escape them. We only have the right to live on as
free men, governing our own lives as we will, so long as we
show ourselves worthy of the privileges we enjoy. We must
remember that the Republic can only be kept pure by the
individual purity of its members; and that if it become once
thoroughly corrupted, it will surely cease to exist. In our
body politic, each man is himself a constituent portion of
the sovereign, and if the sovereign is to continue in power,
he must continue to do right. When you here exercise your
privileges at the ballot box, you are not only exercising a
right, but you are also fulfilling a duty; and a heavy
responsibility rests on you to fulfill your duty well. If
you fail to work in public life, as well as in private, for
honesty and uprightness and virtue, if you condone vice
because the vicious man is smart, or if you in any other way
cast your weight into the scales in favor of evil, you are
just so far corrupting and making less valuable the
birthright of your children. The duties of American
citizenship are very solemn as well as very precious; and
each one of us here to-day owes it to himself, to his
children, and to all his fellow Americans, to show that he
is capable of performing them in the right spirit.

It is not what we have that will make us a great nation; it
is the way in which we use it.

I do not undervalue for a moment our material prosperity;
like all Americans, I like big things; big prairies, big
forests and mountains, big wheat-fields, railroads,--and
herds of cattle, too,--big factories, steamboats, and
everything else. But we must keep steadily in mind that no
people were ever yet benefited by riches if their prosperity
corrupted their virtue. It is of more importance that we
should show ourselves honest, brave, truthful, and
intelligent, than that we should own all the railways and
grain elevators in the world. We have fallen heirs to the
most glorious heritage a people ever received, and each one
must do his part if we wish to show that the nation is
worthy of its good fortune. Here we are not ruled over by
others, as in the case of Europe; we rule ourselves. All
American citizens, whether born here or elsewhere, whether
of one creed or another, stand on the same footing; we
welcome every honest immigrant no matter from what country
he comes, provided only that he leaves off his former
nationality, and remains neither Celt nor Saxon, neither
Frenchman nor German, but becomes an American, desirous of
fulfilling in good faith the duties of American citizenship.

When we thus rule ourselves, we have the responsibilities of
sovereigns, not of subjects. We must never exercise our
rights either wickedly or thoughtlessly; we can continue to
preserve them in but one possible way, by making the proper
use of them. In a new portion of the country, especially
here in the Far West, it is peculiarly important to do so;
and on this day of all others we ought soberly to realize
the weight of the responsibility that rests upon us. I am,
myself, at heart as much a Westerner as an Easterner; I am
proud, indeed, to be considered one of yourselves, and I
address you in this rather solemn strain to-day, only
because of my pride in you, and because your welfare, moral
as well as material, is so near my heart.

It was a hilarious party of cowpunchers who took the afternoon train back to Medora. For a part of the brief journey Packard sat with Roosevelt discussing his speech.

"It was during this talk," said Packard afterward, "that I first realized the potential bigness of the man. One could not help believing he was in deadly earnest in his consecration to the highest ideals of citizenship. He had already made his mark in the New York Legislature. He was known as a fighter who dared to come out in the open and depend upon the backing of public opinion. He was reputed to be wealthy enough to devote his life to any work he chose, and I learned, on the return journey to the Bad Lands that day, that he believed he could do better work in a public and political way than in any other. My conclusion was immediate, and I said, 'Then you will become President of the United States.'

"One would suppose that I could remember the actual words he used in reply, but I cannot. I remember distinctly that he was not in the least surprised at my statement. He gave me the impression of having thoroughly considered the matter and to have arrived at the same conclusion that I had arrived at. I remember only this of what he said, 'If your prophecy comes true, I will do my part to make a good one.'"

XXIV

The road is wide and the stars are out, and the breath of night is sweet,
And this is the time when wanderlust should seize upon my feet,
But I'm glad to turn from the open road and the starlight on my face,
And leave the splendor of out-of-doors for a human dwelling-place.

Joyce KILMER

A few days after the celebration in Dickinson. Roosevelt went East. The political sirens were calling. He was restless for something to do that would bring into service the giant's strength of which he was becoming increasingly conscious, and, incidentally, would give him an opportunity to win distinction. He had been half inclined to accept an offer from Mayor Grace of New York to head the Board of Health, but Lodge, as Roosevelt wrote to his sister Corinne, thought it "_infra dig_," and he reluctantly rejected it. There were rumors in the air that he might have the Republican nomination for Mayor of New York if he wanted it. He went East, possibly for the purpose of investigating them, returning to Elkhorn early in August.

Roosevelt was unquestionably restless. He loved the wild country, but he had tasted all the various joys and hardships it had to offer, and, although he said again and again that if he had no ties of affection and of business to bind him to the East, he would make Dakota his permanent residence, down in his heart he was hungering for a wider field of action. The frontier had been a challenge to his manhood; now that he had stood every test it had presented to him, its glamour faded and he looked about for a sharper challenge and more exacting labors.

For a few weeks that August he half hoped that he might find them on the field of battle. Several American citizens, among them a man named Cutting, had been arrested in Mexico, apparently illegally, and Bayard, who was President Cleveland's Secretary of State, had been forced more than once to make vigorous protests. Relations became strained. The anti-Mexican feeling on the border spread over the whole of Texas, regiments were organized, and the whole unsettled region between the Missouri and the Rockies, which was inclined to look upon Mexico as the natural next morsel in the fulfillment of the nation's "manifest destiny," began to dream of war.

Roosevelt, seeing how matters were tending, set about to organize a troop of cavalry in the Bad Lands. He notified the Secretary of War that it stood at the service of the Government.

I have written to Secretary Endicott [Roosevelt wrote to
Lodge on August 10th], offering to try to raise some
companies of horse-riflemen out here, in the event of
trouble with Mexico. Won't you telegraph me at once if war
becomes inevitable? Out here things are so much behindhand
that I might not hear of things for a week. I have not the
least idea there will be any trouble, but as my chances of
doing anything in the future worth doing seem to grow
continually smaller, I intend to grasp at every opportunity
that turns up. The cowboys were all eager for war, not
caring much with whom. They were fond of adventure and to
tell the truth [as Roosevelt wrote later], they were by no
means averse to the prospect of plunder. News from the
outside world came to us very irregularly, and often in
distorted form, so that we began to think we might get
involved in a conflict not only with Mexico, but with
England also. One evening at my ranch the men began talking
over English soldiers, so I got down "Napier" and read them
several extracts from his descriptions of the fighting in
the Spanish peninsula, also recounting as well as I could
the great deeds of the British cavalry from Waterloo to
Balaklava, and finishing up by describing from memory the
fine appearance, the magnificent equipment, and the superb
horses of the Household Cavalry and of a regiment of hussars
I had once seen.

All of this produced much the same effect on my listeners
that the sight of Marmion's cavalcade produced in the minds
of the Scotch moss-troopers on the eve of Flodden; and at
the end, one of them, who had been looking into the fire and
rubbing his hands together, said, with regretful emphasis,
"Oh, how I _would_ like to kill one of them!"

Roosevelt went to Bismarck and found the Territorial Governor friendly to his project.

Hon. Theodore Roosevelt, of New York, the famous statesman,
ranchman, and hunter [runs the story in the Bismarck
_Tribune_], has been making inquiries since the announcement
of the Mexican difficulties as to the available volunteer
troops in the Northwest, and in the event of action being
required, it is confidently believed Mr. Roosevelt would
tender to the Government the services of an entire regiment
of cowboys, under his command. At a recent visit here he was
assured of two companies of Dakota cowboys to accompany
him. Mr. Roosevelt has been the captain of a company of
militia in New York, and no better man could be found to
lead the daring cowboys to a seat of war and no commander
would have more effective troops.

The war cloud blew over. Roosevelt evidently received a letter from Lodge explaining that the Mexican incident was of a trivial nature, for, on the 20th of August, he wrote him rather apologetically:

I wrote as regards Mexico _qua_ cowboy, not _qua_ statesman;
I know little of the question, but conclude Bayard is wrong,
for otherwise it would be phenomenal; he ought to be
idolized by the mugwumps. If a war had come off, I would
surely have had behind me as utterly reckless a set of
desperadoes as ever sat in the saddle.

It is no use saying that I would like a chance at something
I thought I could really do; at present I see nothing
whatever ahead. However, there is the hunting in the fall,
at any rate.

The season which began with Finnegan and Company was richer in varied experiences than it was in financial returns. Roosevelt recognized that there were already too many cattlemen in the business to make large profits possible.

In certain sections of the West [he told a reporter of the
Mandan _Pioneer_ in July] the losses this year are enormous,
owing to the drought and overstocking. Each steer needs from
fifteen to twenty-five acres, but they are crowded on very
much thicker, and the cattlemen this season have paid the
penalty. Between the drought, the grasshoppers, and the late
frosts, ice forming as late as June 10th, there is not a
green thing in all the region I have been over. A stranger
would think a donkey could not live there. The drought has
been very bad throughout the region, and there is not a
garden in all of it.

Sewall was aware of that fact to his sorrow, for the garden he himself had planted and tended with infinite care had died between dawn and dusk on that memorable Fourth of July on which Roosevelt addressed the citizens of Dickinson.

They say dry years are best for cattle [he wrote his
brother]. If so, this must be a nice one and they do seem to
be doing well so far, but if we have much snow next winter
it looks to me as if they would have short picking.

The prospect was not engaging. But, though Roosevelt was not getting much financial return on his rather generous investment, he was getting other things, for him at this time of far greater value. He who had been weak in body and subject to racking illnesses had in these three years developed a constitution as tough and robust as an Indian's. He had achieved something beside this. Living, talking, working, facing danger, and suffering hardships with the Sewalls and the Dows, the Ferrises and the Langs, and Merrifield and Packard and Bill Dantz and Hell-Roaring Bill Jones, and countless other stalwart citizens of the Bad Lands, he had come very close to the heart of the "plain American." He loved the companions of his joys and labors, and they in turn regarded him with an admiration and devotion which was all the deeper because of the amazing fact that he had come from the ranks of the "dudes."

They admired him for his courage and his feats of endurance, but, being tender-hearted themselves, they loved him for his tenderness, which had a way that they approved, of expressing itself, not in words, but in deeds. Bill Sewall had a little girl of three, "a forlorn little mite," as Roosevelt described her to "Bamie," and it was Roosevelt who sent the word East which transported the child, that had neither playmates nor toys, into a heaven of delight with picture blocks and letter blocks, a little horse and a rag doll.

His warm human sympathy found expression in a dramatic manner a day or two before his departure late that August for the Coeur d'Alênes. He was rounding up some cattle with his men near Sentinel Butte, twenty miles west of Medora, when word came that a cowpuncher named George Frazier had been struck by lightning and killed, and that his body had been taken to Medora. Frazier belonged to the "outfit" of the Marquis de Mores, but he had worked for Roosevelt two years previous, digging post-holes with George Myers in June, 1884. Roosevelt knew that the man had no relatives in that part of the world, to see that a fitting disposition of the body was made, and instantly expressed his determination to take charge of the arrangements for the funeral.

"We will flag the next train and go to Medora," he said.

The next train, they knew, was "No. 2," the finest train running over the road. It did not, on the surface, look probable that it would stop at a desolate spot in the prairie to permit a handful of cowboys to get on. "They won't stop here for nuthin'," one of the men insisted. "By Godfrey, they'll have to stop!" Roosevelt retorted, and sent a man down to the track to flag the train.

The engineer saw the warning signal and slowed down, but did not stop. The cowboys dashed alongside the engine, firing shots in the air. The engineer, believing that he was being held up by bandits and that the next shot might be aimed at himself, brought the train to a standstill. There was a wild scramble among the passengers; even the train crew expected the worst. Valuables were hurriedly secreted. "I don't believe," remarked George Myers afterward, "some of the passengers ever did find all the things that was hid away."

Leaving their horses in charge of one of the cowboys, Roosevelt, followed by Sylvane Ferris, Merrifield, Myers, and Johnny Goodall, boarded the train. The conductor was resigned by this time to a hold-up; but when he discovered the actual nature of their mission, he flew into a rage and threatened to put them all off.

"You be good," cried Roosevelt, "or you'll be the one to get off!" His vigorous advice was supplemented by impressive injunctions from other members of the party. When they finally did get off, it was at Medora.

A salvo of profanity from the train crew followed them. "You'll hear from this!" thundered the conductor. They did not hear from it. It would not have greatly disturbed Roosevelt if they had. He opened a subscription to cover the expenses of the funeral. Everybody "chipped in," and the unfortunate received the burial that a God-fearing cowpuncher deserved.

Roosevelt went with Merrifield west to the Coeur d'Alênes, in northern Idaho, almost immediately after Frazier's funeral. He was to meet a hunter named John Willis, who was to take him and Merrifield out after white goat. He had never met Willis, but his correspondence with him had suggested possibilities of interest beside the chase. Roosevelt had written Willis in July that he had heard of his success in pursuit of the game of the high peaks. "If I come out," he concluded, "do you think it will be possible for me to get a goat?"

The answer he received was written on the back of his own letter and was quite to the point. "If you can't shoot any better than you can write, I don't think it will be."

Roosevelt's reply came by wire. "Consider yourself engaged."

It would have been strange if, after this epistolary exchange, the two men should not have been rather curious about each other's personalities. Roosevelt, descending from the train at a way-station in the mountains, found a huge, broad-shouldered man his own age, waiting for him, The man was not over-cordial. He did not, he later admitted, regard Roosevelt's corduroy knee-pants with favor.

Roosevelt, knowing how to catch a hunter, showed Willis his guns. "Will you go on a trip with me?" he asked.

"I am going to start out day after to-morrow for a three or four weeks' hunt," Willis answered. "If you want to go along as my guest, you are welcome to. But I want to tell you before we go, I won't take any booze."

"Why do you say that?" asked Roosevelt, thoroughly interested in this strange creature.

"Why, I've an idea you are some brewer's son who's made a lot of money. You look as if you'd been raised on beer."

Roosevelt roared with delight. "I want to make a contract with you," he said. "I will give you twenty-five dollars for everything that you show me in the way of game."

"I don't want it," said Willis gruffly.

"Then I will buy the grub."