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dismounted with a smile of quiet mastery from as meek a creature as ever stood on four legs.

He had no use, however, for a horse whose spirit ran altogether to ugliness. When he first went West, he doubted the theory of the natives that any horse was hopelessly bad. For instance, there was one in the sod-roofed log stable of Elkhorn who had been labelled "The Devil." Mr. Roosevelt believed that gentleness would overcome Devil. The boys thought it might if he should live to be seventy-five. After much patient wooing, Devil actually let Mr. Roosevelt lay his hand on him and pat him. The boys began to think that possibly there was something in this new plan of bronco busting.

One day, however, when his gentle trainer made bold to saddle and mount him, Devil quickly drew his four hoofs together, leaped into the air and came down with a jerk and a thud. Then he finished with a few fancy curves that landed his disillusioned rider a good many yards in front of him. Mr. Roosevelt sprang to his feet and on to the back of the animal. Four times he was thrown, and one of the onlookers has vowed that sometimes he could see twelve acres of land between him and the saddle.

Finally the determined rider manœuvred Devil out on to a quicksand, where bucking is impossible, and when at last he was driven back to solid earth he was like a lamb.

In this rough life of the range the young ranchman conquered forever the physical weaknesses of his youth and put on that rude strength which has enabled him to stand before the world, a model of vigorous manhood.

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LIFE ON THE PLAINS

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The young master of Elkhorn Ranch wins the respect of the honest plainsmen by his Rooseveltian frankness. — No use for "bad men." Knocking down a bar-room rowdy who commanded the Easterner to treat the crowd. - Calling down a notorious shooting man. - Teaching a French Marquis a new code of honor. Plain speaking to a corrupt sheriff. — Pursuing horse-thieves a hundred and fifty miles and landing them in jail. Fourth of July oration. - Hunting and writing his two pastimes.

THE young master of Elkhorn Ranch, brave, outspoken, and always ready to bear his full share of toil and hardship, was not long in winning the respect and hearty good-will of the bluff, honest men of the Bad Lands. They forgave him his Murray Hill breeding, his Harvard English, his gold-rimmed eye-glasses and his fringed Angora "chaps," or riding overalls, when they saw that he asked no favor, shirked no labor, and ran from no danger. They, the real plainsmen, had no more use than he for braggarts and brawlers, and he never hesitated to show his contempt for the swaggering "bad men" of his region.

While he was yet a stranger in the cattle lands the chance was thrust upon him to let it be known that he could not be bullied. It was in a tavern, where he was obliged to stay over night, and where the bar-room was the only lounging place. A noisy loafer, with pistols sticking out from under his belt, and breathing slaughter, picked on the quiet, blueeyed Easterner as the butt of his rough jests. As Mr. Roosevelt did not resent his talk, the bully finally made bold to order him to step up to the bar and treat the crowd to drinks. Mr. Roosevelt seemed not to object even to this form of insult and he came forward as if meekly to obey the command.

No one could know that as he crossed the room the stranger was studying a good old Harvard left hander, which, in another second, knocked the big ruffian flat on the floor. The pistol, which the fellow fired when, too late, he saw what was coming, went off harmlessly in the air. He looked up into the face of the "four-eyed tenderfoot," as the latter stood over him, ready to knock him down again, and there was a sickly grin on the once terrible countenance of this sadder but wiser "bad man." When he had handed up his "shooting irons," he was permitted

to rise and disappear from the scene of his humiliation, where all the spectators assured Mr. Roosevelt that he had "served him right."

Because he found himself in a community where many were supposed to go about with their fingers on the triggers of their “ guns," Mr. Roosevelt did not seem to change his habits of plain speaking. The older inhabitants of the Plains were amazed more than once by the frankness with which he stood up to men with several notches on the handles of their revolvers. The editor of The Bad Lands Cowboy has told of a scene of this kind which took place in his office, where Mr. Roosevelt used to drop in and gossip with his widely scattered neighbors. He had listened with manifest disgust to the low talk of one of the most noted "bad men" in the country, on the occasion which the editor has recalled.

Mr. Roosevelt knew that this man had well earned his repute for badness and was always ready to shoot up things on the least provocation. Nevertheless, when he was thoroughly tired of the fellow's tales, it did not occur to him to be afraid to say so. On the contrary, he looked him straight in the eye and, speaking in a low voice and "skinning his teeth,"

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