Let us suppose that we have come upon some such modern ranch, down in this ancient part of the cattle range. Back of the home ranch house there is a mountain range, which seems to be only a few miles away, but which is really more than fifty miles distant. It may be that the presence of the mountains has something to do with the water supply of the ranch. There are known to be several springs up in the mountains, and indeed the ranch owner has also purchased these, and has erected near them log houses from the timber of the mountains near at hand, each house being the home of its own party of the range riders. Between the foot of these mountains and the "home ranch" there is no stream of water nor any sign of one, nothing but a dreary expanse of brown and gray desolation. Yet here, by the ranch house, protected by a heavy fence from the intrusion of the animals, there bursts up out of the ground a strong spring of fresh water, strongly alkaline to be sure, but exceedingly valuable. This spring is the raison d'etre of the ranch house at this point, out on the wide plain, and far from the shelter of the arms of the mountain.
The waters of the great spring, carefully led and utilized, form at a distance of a mile or so from the house a shallow expanse or pool to which the cattle, over a range of probably twenty-five or thirty miles, come regularly to drink. The range near the water is much eaten down, so the animals go far out upon the plains to feed. They do not come to water every day, perhaps sometimes not even so often as once in every other day. An idler at the water pool, lying in wait for the antelope which often come in to water with the cattle, may see far away upon the horizon, toward the middle of the day, long trails and columns of dust, which grow more distinct as the moments pass, until they are seen to be caused by the hurrying squads of cattle coming in to water. They depart as they came, upon a rapid gallop, and their habit is one of the most singular things of the cattle range. Northern farm cattle would perish here, but these are animals seasoned for generations to this environment.
The ranch house here is an edifice entirely distinct in type, the adobe, typical dwelling of the Spanish Southwest. Never was human habitation more nicely adapted than this to the necessities of the country which produced it. No heat can penetrate these walls, more than three feet thick, of the sun-dried native brick or "Mobe." The building is exactly the color of the surrounding earth, and stands square and flat topped, like a great box thrown upon the ground. The roof, which has but the slightest slant from ridge to eaves, is made of heavy beams which hold up a covering, two or three feet in thickness, of hard, dry earth. This roof serves to turn the rain during the short rainy season of midsummer, and moreover it stops the vivid rays of the half-tropic sun. Within the 'dobe it is always cool, for it is a peculiarity of this climate that the heat is felt only when one is exposed directly to the sun.
The interior of this ranch house is rather attractive, with its walls whitewashed with gypsum, its deep window embrasures, and its hard dirt floor swept clean, as though it were made of wood. A former owner, let us say a wild young man whose family wished him to settle down, but who could not long remain settled at anything, once sought to beautify this place. He put lace curtains at the windows, and at great expense brought out a piano from the railroad, one hundred and fifty miles away. He even essayed rugs and pictures. Other times have brought other customs. The present owner cares more for his water front than for his curtains. The cowboys are welcome to come into this house. They throw their saddles down upon the bed or into the bath tub which once the former owner cherished. They go to sleep under the piano. One has seen their spurs, as they slept, tangled in the lace curtains of the windows. There is no one to order otherwise or to care otherwise. Lace curtains have little to do with raising cattle. There is no woman about the place. Nearly a dozen men live here. The head of the domestic economy is the cook, a German who was once a sailor. The responsible man of the outfit is the foreman, whose name is Jim, and who may have come from Texas. One does not know his other name. Jim is dark-haired, broad-shouldered, taciturn, direct of gaze.
A second building, also of adobe, stands at a little distance from the main ranch house, and this serves as general quarters for the men as well as for kitchen and dining hall. The structure, oddly enough, follows very closely the plan of the ranch house seen in the Indian Nations. There are really two buildings, connected by a covered way or open-air hail, which is open in front, and which serves as saddle room and storage place for odds and ends. The beds are merely bunks where the men unroll their blankets. In this country no man travels without taking his blankets with him. The furniture of the kitchen is simple, the dishes mostly of tin or ironstone china. The cook, who was a sailor, never learned to cook. To suit the local taste he makes feeble efforts at the peppery Spanish methods. Butter and milk are, of course, unknown on this ranch, as they are on all the ranches of the genuine cattle range, although thousands of cows are all about. There is no historical record of any such event as a cowboy being asked to milk a cow, nor is it likely that anything so improbable ever happened, for had it occurred, the cowboy must surely have evidenced his feelings over such a request in a manner interesting enough to be preserved among the traditions of the range.
At table each man takes off his "gun," this being one of the little courtesies of the land, but no one removes his hat of deliberate intention. It is polite for a stranger arriving at the ranch to leave his belt and revolver hanging on the pommel of his saddle, or to lay them aside upon entering the house. This is delicate proof that he is not "looking for any one." The country at the time of which we write is wild and lawless, and human life is very cheap. Each cowpuncher rides on his daily work with a Winchester in the holster under his leg, and carries at his hip the inevitable .45 revolver. The latter he may use for a chance shot at an antelope or deer, a coyote or a wolf, and it is handy for the killing of an occasional rattlesnake — whose presence, curled up under the shade of a Spanish bayonet plant, the cow pony is sure to detect and indicate by jumps and snorts of the most intense dislike. In the hands of the cowpuncher the revolver is a practical weapon. One recalls that one evening a cowboy came into camp with the tails of four "crogers" (cougar — the mountain lion) which he said he had met in a body at a little piece of chaparral. He seemed to think he had done nothing extraordinary in killing these animals with his revolver. At times the foreman, Jim, has been known to bring home an antelope which he has killed with his "six-shooter," but this is a feat rarely performed, and only to be attempted successfully by a master of the weapon.
Each home ranch has a corral, and the corral of the Circle Arrow outfit is worthy of our consideration. It is constructed of the most picturesquely crooked cedar logs, and there is not a nail in its whole composition. It is lashed together with rawhide at each joint or fastening, the hide being put on wet, and drying afterward into a rigid and steellike binding, which nothing less than a cataclysm could shake loose or tear apart. We are here upon the Spanish-American cattle range, and since time immemorial rawhide has been the natural material of the Mexican.
Most of the cowboys employed on the Circle Arrow outfit are Mexicans, or "Greasers," as all Mexicans are called by the American inhabitants. Their high-peaked hats, tight trousers and red sashes make them picturesque objects. These men do not speak any English, being popularly supposed to be too lazy to learn it. The speech of the American cowpunchers, on the other hand, is nearly as much Mexican as English, and in common conversation many Spanish words are met, permanently engrafted upon the local tongue and used in preference to their English equivalents. For instance, one rarely hears the word "yes a" it being usually given as the Spanish "si" The small numerals, one, two, etc., are usually spoken in Spanish, as uno, dos, etc. A horse is nearly always called caballo, a man an hombre, a woman a "moharrie" (mujer). Even cattle are sometimes called vacas, though this is not usual. The cow man of any range clings closely to the designation "cows" for all the horned creatures in his possession. Every one says agua when meaning "water." The Spanish diminutives are in common use in the English speech of this region, as chico, cJiiquito. The cowboy will speak of the "cavvieyah" or "cavvieyard" (caballado) instead of the "horse herd." One hears poco tiempo instead'of "pretty soon"; and this expression as coming from a native he will learn all too well, as also the expression mañana (to-morrow), which really means "maybe sometime, but probably never."
There are many common descriptive words used in the ranch