Calgary—A Cow-puncher—"Roping"—Life on a Ranch—A Calgary Hail-storm—“Gun-plays” and "Bad-men"—Sarci Indians.

Leaving the Agricultural College at Guelph on the start of the summer holidays of 1891, I took advantage of settlers’ cheap rates and went to Calgary, at the foot of the Rockies, to try and get some practical experience. After drifting round for a week, I found that green Englishmen were at a discount, but finally managed to get work with a Mr. Berney, who owned two ranches, one within three miles of town, and the other on Pine Creek, about thirty-eight miles out. Mr. Berney asked if I could ride, and on my saying yes, told one of the boys to bring out Bill and saddle him. I noticed all the family (consisting of four grown girls and two boys) and most of the men loitering round in front when I proceeded to mount, but thought nothing of it at the time. I rode Bill out a mile or so, circled him at a good speed, and rattled him up to the house, trying to show off, as a young lad will, in front of the girls; but I noticed they all looked very disappointed. After this trial I moved my baggage, and was duly installed, and Bill was turned over to me as a saddle-horse. I found out a month later the meaning of the trial and the girls’ disappointment. I had come in from town, taken off my saddle, and proceeded to ride Bill down to the creek to water; I had on a pair of box spurs (which are taboo in the cattle country), and, coming up the steep bank, I happened to touch Bill with one of the spurs, and the next second I knew what bucking meant. Luckily the ground was soft. George Berney told me then that the horse had originally belonged to a livery stable in town much frequented by cow-punchers, where, originally a bad bucker, he had been trained by means of cockleburrs put under his saddle blanket to become an expert. Every young man who came to the stable looking for a mount, and bragged of his riding, was given Bill. But one day a young Englishman, who insisted on saddling and doing for himself, rode Bill to a standstill, and in an English saddle! So Bill was sold for a song to Mr. Berney, and the family had hoped to see some fun when I mounted; only it happened to be Bill’s day off. I moved to the out-ranch, and learned to do many kinds of work, and found out that on a ranch one did many things besides ride, such as building log corrals seven feet high and sixty feet across, with two wings to guide the cattle right to the gate.

I built cattle stables, horse stables, and fences all out of logs of spruce, and during the five months I was there I broke twelve or fourteen horses to the saddle. None were very bad, and I was never thrown again in Calgary, though I had a rather nasty experience with a half-broken mare. She was seven years old, and had never had a rope on her, but in a couple of weeks, during odd times, I broke her and thought she was gentle. Her only fault had been rearing, and she never bucked or kicked. One day I put on my best tight riding-breeches and top-boots, and started off to show her to some friends of mine on Sheep Creek, about sixteen miles away. About a mile from our shack I had to cross Pine Creek, which has high steep banks, but luckily very little water. Going up the opposite bank the mare suddenly took it into her head to rear, and the next instant we were off the bank and into the creek. I fell clear on my feet; but the mare, falling square on her back, had buried the horn and pommel of the saddle in the bottom of the creek, and could not turn over. I grabbed her head, and could just keep her muzzle out of the water, though the rest of her was under. I shouted and shouted, and emptied my pistol, and did all I knew to attract attention, till finally, after about twenty minutes which seemed hours, the local scout of the mounted police came to see what was up, and helped me to get the mare out. My clothes were a sight, and I split the knees of my riding-breeches as I fell.

I had learned to rope fairly well on foot, but never made much of a success of it on horseback. By the way, the word “lasso” is never heard in the cattle country; the phrase is “roping.” After I had learned to rope stumps, and could catch Bill two throws out of three, I began to think I was a star. I went to a local round-up on Pine Creek, and went into the corral to get out a mare and yearling colt that belonged to us. I was rather nervous after I once was in, but made my throw after the approved fashion from the ground, and to my amazement captured the mare and colt in the same loop. I had a gay ten minutes; but some of the boys, after they got through laughing, came to my assistance, roped the mare by the legs, threw her, and got my rope off. In a corral it is not permissible to whirl a rope round your head, as it frightens the animals, but the throw must be made from the ground, where the coil is spread out. Only in Buffalo Bill shows, where it gives more flourish to the proceedings, and sometimes when roping from a horse at the gallop, is this done—i.e. whirling the rope—and I have seen good ropers, both in Canada and Texas, even in the latter case trail a rope behind and throw it with one forward swing. Another point about ropes is never to tie one to the horn of your saddle while riding, if you have anything at the other end. I had gone out one day to bring in a two-year-old heifer from a neighbouring ranch. After getting my rope on her horns, I took one turn round the horn of my saddle, and proceeded to pull her home, she protesting. After we had gone a few miles she quieted down, and I thought I would take a smoke. I tied my rope in two half-hitches to the horn of my saddle, got out my tobacco and papers, and proceeded to make a cigarette. Just then simultaneously my horse stopped dead and the heifer circled me on the dead run, and I could not get the brute of a horse to turn. I cut away the rope before it cut me in two, and gained another experience at the cost of a fine waxed linen rope and a sore waistband.

My life on the ranch was far from being all hard work, and so it is on most ranches, though probably I was more favourably situated than most, owing to the owner having a large family who were fond of amusement and could well afford it. We had picnics, surprise parties, and dances, in all of which we hands had our share, being treated as members of the family. The work, of course, was not neglected on these occasions, but so arranged as not to interfere, and if some one had to stay behind we took it in turns. The theory of a surprise party is as follows. A number of young people arrange to have a party at a certain person’s house; all the edibles are cooked beforehand and taken along by the guests, and the hosts are taken by surprise. But so many accidents occurred, such as the hosts going to bed early, or, worse, going out and locking up the house, that in practice notice is generally given to the hosts of the proposed surprise a couple of days beforehand. The people in the West are most hospitable—in fact, this applies to a great extent to all Canada. A stranger is always taken on trust till he proves himself unworthy. Riding past any ranch-house near a meal-time, the owner will call you to come in and eat, if he is at home. Should he be out, however, you will generally come across a note like the following pinned to the door: “Have gone ... will be back ... the key is under the stone to the right of the steps. Go in and make yourself at home.” This I have often done, hunting out his grub and cooking what I needed; and on one occasion, getting caught out at night, I fed my horse, ate supper, and went to bed. I woke up when the owner returned, smoked and talked with him (a complete stranger) till he was undressed, and turned in again till morning. In the morning you get up, help with the chores (odd jobs such as feeding the stable animals), have breakfast, saddle up, and depart.

Calgary is a beautiful place on the slope of the foothills, at an elevation of about 3400 feet, rather cold in winter, but delightful in the summer and fall. On the out-ranch, however, where there was a lot of timber, the winged pests—mosquitoes, gnats, horse- and deer-flies—made work in the woods very trying, more especially the two latter, whose bite will draw blood every time. The surrounding country, especially out towards Fort McLeod, is full of immense sloughs, where the wild slough grass will often grow to a height of five feet, and as much as 1000 tons can be cut off a single slough. But haying is made hard work by the gnats and mosquitoes.

It was while haying that I first saw a Calgary hailstorm. George Berney was running the hay-rack (which consists of an immense crate on wheels, so that it can be loaded and handled by one man) and I was raking, when, looking up, I saw terrible blue-black clouds rolling up the valley towards us, for all the world like Atlantic rollers. I shouted to George, lifted the rake, and headed for the house, about a mile away. By the time we had the horses safely in the stable and got over to the shack, the storm reached us. I have never seen its equal before or since. We could hear the roar of the hail long before it reached us, and when it did reach the clapboard roof it was deafening. One stone we measured was eight and a half inches in circumference, and seemed composed of about a dozen smaller ones congealed together. We had about twenty chickens killed; and some people lost heavily, losing even colts, calves, and pigs. The oat-crop, which was being harvested at the time, was so cut to bits and driven into the ground that not even straw was saved.

My first experience in Calgary was with the mounted police, for as we stopped at the station three policemen boarded our tourist sleeping-car, and while one stood guard at each door, the third walked over to one of the seats, lifted the spring cushion, and pulled out from the recess underneath a 2½-gallon keg of whisky. He asked the porter if it was his, and then asked every passenger, but all denied any knowledge of it. It was then taken outside, the head knocked out, and the whisky emptied on the ground. Of course the police had received previous notice from some one, possibly the very man who had sold it and knew its destination.

This prohibition of whisky, combined with the mounted police, has kept the North-West Territories from becoming, like Montana and Texas, a land full of “gun-plays” and “bad-men.” Not but what there has been whisky smuggled in in carloads of kerosene cans; there have also been “gun-plays” and “bad-men,” but they are the exception and not the rule, as further south. How easily a “bad-man” is made the following will show. A young fellow, well known and well liked round Calgary, got on a spree, and, after mounting his horse, proceeded yelling down the street. A city policeman (distinct from the mounted police) tried to arrest him. The puncher (cowboy) took down his rope, and galloping past the officer, roped him, and dragged him down the street at the end of the rope; finally he dropped the rope and rode off, leaving the officer seriously hurt. So far, only a Western version of what the university students used to do to the English police. But the sequel was different. The young fellow, instead of coming in the next morning, giving himself up, and taking his medicine, took to the hills, and it was up to the mounted police to bring him in. The open-house system I have mentioned before made it easy for him to live. But living in the hills and being hunted is demoralising, and the next thing was a “hold-up” of the Edmonton stage, for funds to leave the country, in which a man was killed. A reward was then offered for him, and people were warned not to harbour him. He was finally killed one night in town, shot from behind as he stood against the lighted window of a saloon looking in. Whether he was killed for the reward—which the killer was afterwards afraid to claim because of the young man’s friends—or whether it was a private grudge, no one ever knew, as the man who did it never came forward; or possibly he was killed for the money he took off the stage.

There is something peculiar about the air of the West which makes a man take readily to a gun and wish to be a law unto himself; but it is a strange fact that the worst “gun-men” the West has produced were easterners, and generally city-bred. Though in this case the mounted police had no success, they are generally on the spot when needed, as I saw on the Calgary racecourse one day. One of the onlookers called one of the jockeys a thief, and accused him of pulling a horse in the race. He had hardly finished speaking when the jockey, riding close up to the fence, slipped his stirrup-strap, and cut him over the head with the stirrup. They were both punchers, and their friends took it up, and two or three guns were drawn. But before anything occurred three mounted police rode up; one arrested the jockey, and the sight of the others soon restored peace.

The doctor for the Sarci Indian reservation, near Calgary, was Mr. Berney’s son-in-law. During the Riel rebellion the Sarci head chief promised that none of his bucks should go out; but, unfortunately, he fell sick, and the young bucks began to get restive, though as long as he was alive they did not dare to disobey the old chief. Dr. George told me he never had a case in his life where so much depended on his keeping his patient alive. However, the old man pulled through, and only a few stragglers joined the rebellion; had he died, Calgary would have been in the greatest danger. These Indians are a lazy, dirty lot, but have wonderful natural endurance. A mounted policeman told me of a chase an Indian on foot led him and a mounted comrade. They ran him eight miles before they captured him, and only twice did they get within roping distance of him, when he dodged like a rabbit. After leading them over the roughest ground he could find, he finally circled to where there was a herd of Indian ponies grazing, as his last chance. But one of the policemen headed off and stampeded the ponies, while the other, getting within striking distance, knocked the Indian down. The Blackfeet, though, are the only really troublesome Indians, as they are such inveterate thieves. A homesteader on the head of Sheep Creek came home one night to find his door-lock broken and all the food in the house carried off. While investigating, he found in a “draw” close to the house a camp of eight Blackfeet bucks enjoying his provisions. He kept his temper, and picking up what he could carry, took it up to the house. About his third trip he found out that the Indians were playing with him, for as fast as he could carry the stuff up they were carrying it back to the tepee. Then he lost his temper, and instead of going over to the nearest police scout and reporting the matter, he thought he would play a lone hand and scare the Indians. He pulled out his pistol, and throwing back the flap of the tepee, fired in two or three shots, without being very particular whether he hit any one or not. Unfortunately he killed one of them, and the others ran, being unarmed except for their knives. As soon as he realised what he had done, he caught his horse, came into town, and gave himself up. The police hustled him off to Regina, and that night his house was burned and his stock killed.

Of course the Calgary I am speaking about was Calgary of 1891, a town of about 5000 people; now it is a city of nearly 20,000, and the surrounding country is fast becoming a farming instead of a ranching section. Large irrigation works have been completed, and land is too valuable for grazing. The Indians mentioned here are very different from those to be seen in the States—for instance, at Pipestone, Minnesota. There the Indians used to hold their “truce of God” and smoked the pipe of peace, and they still frequent those rocks and hawk the pipes and other curios of soap-stone. But how changed from the braves of Ruxton and Cooper and Reid! The proud Pawnee now looks more like the degraded “digger Indians” of Mayne Reid! In the Dominion, however, the Indians have not been crushed as in the States; they were still formidable at the time of the Riel revolt some twenty years ago, and they can hold their own even now.now.