In fact, homicide on the frontier, as compared with horse-stealing, is a peccadillo. The horse has a positive value; the thief, a negative one. Justice does not pursue the man who slays his fellow in a quarrel; but if it grasps the stealer of a purse on the prairie or of a horse from the herd, his last day has come. Yet he always has the chance of escaping capture, and of playing in other frontier cities the rôle of "elegant gentleman" on his earnings, reimbursing himself in a professional way; and he may continue in this career even if suspected, provided he does not ply his vocation in those communities which he honors with his presence when not engaged in prosecuting his business. Personal violence is, however, mostly confined to instances where it is for the profit of the aggressor. The traditional free-fight, or killing a man at sight, is rare, probably much rarer than in the Southwest. Benton, the head of navigation on the Missouri, was the place where, according to the story, the early morning visitor at the bar-room, before it had been swept out, expressed his surprise, although he knew the soil to be good for vegetables, at the excellence of its fruit, judging from the large size of the grapes he saw on the floor, when he was informed, "Stranger, them's eyes!"—the results of the preceding evening's amusement. Yet in two visits to Benton the writer saw not the least sign of violence even in amusement, although he would be sorry to have some Bentonians around his camp at night if the horses were not well guarded, or to meet them on the prairie without sufficient protection.
If a settlement becomes permanent and prosperous, whether through commerce, mining, or agriculture, the first settlers sell out as soon as they can get cash in hand, and seek new domains. There are men who have passed their manhood in taking out claims, building ranches, and "realizing" for better or for worse, on a journey from Texas to Montana, sometimes taking in California by the way. Very often the wife, children, and stock of the pilgrim accompany him. Often a cabin is put up and inhabited by a family, with a retinue of cattle, horses, pigs, and poultry in the barn, only to be deserted the next year on the mere report of some better claim to be found further on. There never seems to be any real misery among these shiftless people. Their children grow up sturdy and ignorant, their stock and chickens multiply as they journey on. It may be a new stage-route which gives them a year's sustenance, such as it is, by their squatting on good enough grass-land to be able to fill a hay contract. Or they may go to a point near which some new military post is about to be built, where they can raise some vegetables to sell to the troops before the company gardens become productive. Or they may take out a claim on some really good spot, where permanent settlers speedily follow them. But as soon as they can see flour, bacon, and tobacco, and find a little in the pocket for whiskey and clothes, sufficient to last for a year ahead, off they go again,—not so much like gypsies, who will often revisit the same spot, as like the Wandering Jew, pursued by an avenging angel, driving them from contact with steady and methodical people. Their household stuff is packed in their "prairie schooners," as their wagons are called, and on they move by easy stages, seldom taking the trouble to pitch a tent at night, the women sleeping in the wagons and the men on the ground beneath them. There is plenty of grass for the stock, and the weather is pleasant. There is no especial hurry or worry: it is only necessary to reach somewhere, in time to put up a log hut and a shed for the stock, for the winter's shelter. The little army of the United States, spread over a country as large as the Roman Empire, does its duty so well that there is only occasional danger from Indians roaming away from their reservations, and the military telegraphs are now so far extended that timely warning is usually given if war parties are out. So on they go, day after day, while at night comes an encampment which perhaps may be best described in these humorous words of Captain Derby, in "Phœnixiana," during a criticism upon a supposititious performance of an opera called "The Plains":—
The train now encamps. The unpacking of the kettles and mess-pans, the unyoking of the oxen, the gathering about of various camp-fires, the frizzling of the pork, are so clearly expressed by the music that the most untutored savage could readily comprehend it. Indeed, so vivid and lifelike was the representation that a lady sitting near us involuntarily exclaimed aloud at a certain passage, "Thar, that pork's burning!" and it was truly interesting to watch the gratified expression of her face when, by a few notes of the guitar, the pan was removed from the fire, and the blazing pork extinguished. This is followed by the beautiful aria, "O marm, I want a pancake," followed by that touching recitative, "Shet up, or I will spank you!" To which succeeds a grand crescendo movement, representing the flight of the child with the pancake, the pursuit of the mother, and the final arrest and summary punishment of the former, represented by the rapid and successive strokes of the castanet. The turning-in for the night follows; and the deep and stertorous breathing of the encampment is well given by the bassoon, while the sufferings and trials of an unhappy father with an unpleasant infant are touchingly set forth by the cornet à piston.
Nomadic habits, slight contact with anything human that is permanent, and freedom from the restraint which would be caused by the propinquity of neighbors, have fortified these people in self-conceit. Although they will in a few months desert all their acres for something more distant, yet the traveller who stops at their cabin and pays for bad food is required to "allow" that he has never seen a finer "claim" or tasted better victuals. In truth, never was good food so spoiled. The best venison of the country is sliced thin, put on cold grease in a frying-pan (they never think of first boiling the grease), and fried until it is as tough as a chip and as full of grease as an Englishman's crumpet. Once in Colorado a request to have an egg boiled was encountered by the statement that "the lady knew how to cook eggs—she fried 'em." And fried they were, being put in cold lard in proportions of three of lard to one of egg. Another "lady", at the hint that a gridiron might be used instead of the frying-pan for the venison, seeing an army officer present, remarked, "If you can't eat what we eat, you can go without. Don't see the use of troops anyhow. We pay for you. Understand Sitting Bull is going to Canada to fight Fenians. He will find somebody to fight there—never did here!" As the woman was paid five times the worth of her victuals, and as she, her "par" and her "mar" could not have remained twelve hours in their cabin had the military post near by been withdrawn, her sarcasms were a little ill-considered. These much-isolated people look upon themselves as Nature's aristocracy. Perhaps if Robinson Crusoe were a king, they might be feudal barons. Their social standing is sustained only by lack of neighbors. But on their own dunghill they have none to overcrow them.
The occasional traveller who may have been told that there were ranches on his trail, and that he need not take tents or camp equipage for cooking, will, if he be new to these people, or have regard for his digestion, find to his disgust that during his stay he is a vassal at the castle of Giant Despair. He is alluded to by his host as a "tender-foot,"—a word which is supposed to sum up everything that is contemptible. He may have scaled Alps or marched with armies, but a "tender-foot" he will be in the estimation of his host, until he may be forced by circumstances to live a hundred miles further out than any one else, or unless he learns to carry food to his mouth with his knife. On the other hand, the only term of opprobrium which can be felt by these people is that of "Missourian." Why this should be so construed it is difficult to say; but the name seems to imply all that is worthless and disagreeable. Settlers from Virginia and from Georgia are sure on first acquaintance to inform you of their place of nativity with a pride which assumes that to have been born there furnishes them with blue blood; but the Missourian only mentions the