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DAILY SPORTING GAZETTE, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 24, 1893.

After the Derby Go See the Most Colossal, Interesting and Educational Horse Show of the Age.

THE (KEY) TO ALL.

Buffalo Bill's Wild West and Congress of Rough Riders of the World (COL. W. F. CODY)

The History OF THE Horseman's Art. _______ Every Style, Every Saddle, Every Seat, Every Method

Exemplified by

The Founders of Racing.

The Primitive Top-Weight Jockeys of Every Race and Nation.

Indians, Cossacks, Mexicans, Vaqueros, Texan Rangers, Bedouin Arabs.

(IMAGE)

The Centaur of the Prairie.

The American Cowboy. South American Gancho. Frontier Hunters. Western Scouts. English Calvary. German Calvary. French Calvary. United States Carriers.

For the first time on earth---a Concourse of Experts forming a School of Graduates in Equestrian Art.

Voted a World-Beater. 18,000 seats. Covered grand stand. Herds of Buffalo, Wild Steers and Bucking Bronchos.

Alley L. Illinois Central, Grip, Electric and Horse Cars All Stop at 63d Street Entrance. Admission, 50c. Children under 10 years, 25c.

Seats on sale at McIntosh's Library (Lyon & Healy's).

THE FREAT NINETEENTH CENTURY RACE, WON IN A CANTER, CHICAGO, 1893.

BY THE WINNER OF EXPOSITION RACES ON TWO CONTINENTS.

BUFFALO BILL

PEDIGREE: A line of Thoroughbreds since Adam.

PADDOCK--At the HORSEMEN'S MECCA--WILD WEST CORRAL, 63d St., opp. World's Fair, 5 Minutes from Washington Park. See the Great Race, Then the RACING RACES.

CONSOLATION PURSE FOR ALL VISITORS. NO BLANK TICKETS. ODDS ON SATISFACTION.

DAILY SPORTING GAZETTE, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 24, 1893.

After the Derby Go See the Most Colossal, Interesting and Educational Horse Show of the Age.

THE (KEY) TO ALL.

Buffalo Bill's Wild West and Congress of Rough Riders of the World (COL. W. F. CODY)

The History OF THE Horseman's Art. _______ Every Style, Every Saddle, Every Seat, Every Method

Exemplified by

The Founders of Racing.

The Primitive Top-Weight Jockeys of Every Race and Nation.

Indians, Cossacks, Mexicans, Vaqueros, Texan Rangers, Bedouin Arabs.

(IMAGE)

The Centaur of the Prairie.

The American Cowboy. South American Gancho. Frontier Hunters. Western Scouts. English Calvary. German Calvary. French Calvary. United States Carriers.

For the first time on earth---a Concourse of Experts forming a School of Graduates in Equestrian Art.

Voted a World-Beater. 18,000 seats. Covered grand stand. Herds of Buffalo, Wild Steers and Bucking Bronchos.

Alley L. Illinois Central, Grip, Electric and Horse Cars All Stop at 63d Street Entrance. Admission, 50c. Children under 10 years, 25c.

Seats on sale at McIntosh's Library (Lyon & Healy's).

THE FREAT NINETEENTH CENTURY RACE, WON IN A CANTER, CHICAGO, 1893.

BY THE WINNER OF EXPOSITION RACES ON TWO CONTINENTS.

BUFFALO BILL

PEDIGREE: A line of Thoroughbreds since Adam.

PADDOCK--At the HORSEMEN'S MECCA--WILD WEST CORRAL, 63d St., opp. World's Fair, 5 Minutes from Washington Park. See the Great Race, Then the RACING RACES.

CONSOLATION PURSE FOR ALL VISITORS. NO BLANK TICKETS. ODDS ON SATISFACTION.

Sunday Herald. June 26th.

THE SUNDAY HERALD, CHICAGO, JUNE 25.

BUFFALO BILL'S SHOW.

UNIQUE AMONG ENTERTAINMENTS.

"Rough Riders of the World," With Characteristic National Scenes From Many Countries - Col. Cody's Little Grand-daughter and Her View of the Fair.

Have you ever seen Buffalo Bill's wild west show? No? Then you have one of he rarest pleasures on earth still in store for you. It isn't a show merely. It isn't a cricus. It is in no sense an aggretion of curios. But it is the gathering together in one sweep the rough activities of 5,000 years. It is the strength, the virility, the physical prowess, the speed and the daring of forceful man in all the races from Abraham to Sheridan.

The company is a rather large one. There are perhaps 500 men and women in the em

ply of the management, and the exhibition they submit for the approval of thousands daily is a peculiarly interesting one. In the first place there are a good many interesting things up and down the plaza outside the amphitheater along which the tents and cabins of the various performers are ranged. And the avenues sepearating the rows of dwellings are crowded all day with visitors who are interested in the personal side of the life they see illustrated within the ring. Indians from the western plains, cossacks from other plains of the far-away east, French, German and English soldiers from the roughest military service in the world, all have their homes here, and all are willing to receive the addresses of friends and to tell them what they can of the homely side of life.

There is Little Johnny Burke No-neck, a Sioux lad who was found just alive after the battle of Wounded Knee, and who has been adopted by the gallant Major Burke, and brought here with his people after a tour almost around the world. There is a cossack prince from the land of the czar, who has the permission of his master to come here and show to western eyes a glimpse of vigor from the east. There are chiefs of the Sioux nation, expert rifle shots, both of men and women, and all about them are collected the accoutrements of life s they lvie it at home.

There is the kitchen and the great dining tents, presided over by Billy Langan, whose family requires 180 dozens of eggs at a meal, and other good in proportion; dark little Jose, from Mexico, who quit tring to ride bucking bronchos and turned his attention to hauling wood as a safer occupation. Jose came back to the show, limping from an injury received by falling under his load. He says he will ride all the bucking horses in the country before he will go to hauling wood again. "A mana know whata horse going to do," he says. "Don't knowa noting 'bouta load of wood."

But the show, after all, is inside, Let me tell you about it. A great square of ground inclosed on three sides by rising tiers of seats; a grand stand across the south end, opposed at the north by a stretch of stage scenery representing mountains and valley land. That is the theater. A "lecturer" perched on a pedestal in the near foreground tells the number exactly as you learn it from your programme at the play. The cowboy band at the back of the grand stand begins a rattling melody. There are

no Wagner strains in this cowboy band. It plays what the people want to hear. Its leader does not believe in giving people music that is distastful, as he might if music were medicine. There is a moment of silence and then the lecturer announces the entrance of the American Indians. The great gate at the northern end of the plaza opens and a hundred wild Indians gallop wildly into the quadrangle. The show has begun.

Yelling, leaning wagerly forward, lashing their steeds with short and harmless whips, sitting with naked legs close to the naked back of the horse, these wild men of the plains, vanishing remnant of a singular race, sweep past the eyes of the spectators, and take up position in line facing the stand. They sit there at characteristic rest. Their feet are drawn up here and there and rested on the backs of their horses. The animal is so much a part of themselves that they trat them as you would a couch, or a divan, or the broad bosom of the welcoming ground. There is another hoarse announcement from the lecturer - which you cannot understand - and out of the distant gate comes a company of French cavalry.

They are heavier men in appearance. Their horses are certainly larger, and they

run more ponderously. But it is a run. There is a stir and a thrill in the sight of that rushing company. It gives one a sense of force and freedom that nothing else cna impart. The gallop of a body of horses like a wonderful feat of human strength, goes down to the basis of man and stirs that spirit his soberer life has almost covered up. Then to the blatant air of "Die Wacht am Rhein," comes the German cavalry. They, too, sweep in splendid company front the length of the quadrangle, wheel to the left and salute you as they pass the grand stand, and then take up their position just in front og the French who preceded them.

Then cam the Mexicans, riding like centaurs, yelling like demons, clanking all the silver adoenments of their stange apparrel, sweeping low as they pass you, and ranging just in front of the Germans, armed and at rest. Then the cowboys, with Frank Hammitt in the lead - king of riders, and sturdiest of men. He sits his horse like a king on his throne. THere is not a jar of the shoulders, not a mobement of the hips. The man is part of the horse till the ride is done. There are English lancers, eith a gallant color bearer in the lead. And they ride to a goos old English air, bit the difference between their riding and that of the cowboys, is the difference between music and scolding.

Cossacks follow, standing in the stirrups, wabing, shouting, twirling their guns - a dangerous crowd they seem as they take their position in the rapidly forming body of horsemen. And then come the Arabs, their long cloaks flying, their little horses bending low and fanning the earth with their sharp little hoofs. THey are like a leaf from "Aladdin." They are like a dream from Asia. There is an American girl alone - an

American girl who can tell you something of this country you call your home. She has lived her life in the wider west, and her friends are the mountains. She passes like a flash, but she helps her horse as he wheels about and faces you.

Buffalo Bill's Granddaughter.

And then, with a blare of trumpets and the noise of much shouting, comes the American cavalry from the distant entrance way. A pretty incident was added the day I visited the show. In the box below me sat Mrs. Cody, wife of Buffalo Bill, with her daughter and her daughter's daughter - the latter a bright little child of about 5 years. The little one had kept her place in the box till the Americans were heralded, and as the strains of "The Star Spangled Banner" welcomed the soldiers she slipped from her mother's side and began a little waltz of her own up and down the passageway be

tween the boxes. She held her hands above her head and pirouetted gracefully down and back, careless of the thousnads who had turned for the moment from the field to watch her dancing - and then darted back to her mother with a laugh of delight.

With a laugh of delight that was succeeded in a moment by a scream of pleasure and a baby salute from two white hands. For here was Buffalo Bill. He rode from the distant gate toward us, not with the wild rush of common men, but with the graceful movement of a master whose eminense was firm. His horse is the gift of General Miles - a splendid animal, as proud of his master as a horse can be, and as clean of limb as an Arab barb. There is a salvo of cheers as the king of scouts describes his circle, bowing to the left and right, then pausing for a moment here at our feet to lift his hat and smile his acknowledgments of our hearty welcome.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he says - and somehow it doesn't for a moment seem the formal address of a showman. "Ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you to this congress of nations, and "- but you lose the words there, for the cheers have not died out. But you catch in strong tones. "Rough riders of the world!" and the wide slouch hat is returned to the head as the handsome horse backs away from the stand and takes his position at the front of the solid square. The little grandchild of the leaders has never seen him at the head of his men. She is standing on her chair, clapping her hands and calling a rapturous greeting. The band is playing its swiftest music. Before you, in successive stages, rest the

links of that chain which begins with the horsemen of Araby and connects every race in every clime, ending with this group of Indians who seem born for the saddle and the rein.

Sure Shot Annie Oakley.

There is a swift breaking of ranks and the kaledioscopic marching and countermarching of the galloping horsemen back and forth before you till they vanish at last in the mimic mountains at the north of the ground. Annie Oakley, a girl who has made herself famous with the rifle, has suddenly appeared. No one knows where she came from, but here she is, while the last "rough rider" is still in sight, and there are her guns. A couple of young men have arranged her traps, and she bows to the grand stand, then turns to shoot. She makes a pleasant picture down there in the great quadrangle. She weats a short skirt, a tight-fitting costume, a cowboy hat, and the entire buckskin appearance of her garments adds to the picture of the fontier lass.

She is wonderfully accurate, breaking composition balls with an almost unerring accuracy. Two, three, four balls are thrown

into the air at one time and she breaks them, changing her double-barreled gun in the midst of the feat. And she is determined. She places her rifle on the ground

and walks back come twenty feet. The trap is sprung and she runs forward, snatches up the gun and fires. She is trying to break both balls. But the time is too short, and she misses one. She tries it again and again. It seems beyond the posisble. But she does it at last, and the whole great audience repays her with generous cheers. When she has done she bows widely to the audience and runs like a deer across the hundred yards of space to the flies. Every movement in that dash across the square is certiicate to the value of the school in which she has learned.

Postman of the Plains.

The pony express rider comes like a hint from a forgotten book. Right before you, and at the farthest point in the quadrangle, stands by a pony, saddled ready for the road, and held by a stableman. The carrier of the mail, that postman of the plains, rides at top speed from his shelter behind the mimic hills, flies like a swallow around the western border the grounds, leans far over as he rounds the sharp corner, and dashes with topmost speed right up to the standing horse at the station. Before he has reached that standing horse the rider has leaped to the ground. He seems only to have touched the sod when he bounds again into the air and

grasps the horn of the saddle on the waiting horse. But that horse is off like the wind. The rider has not yet mounted. How he clings to the side of the beast, how he rises at length till he canget astride, how he settles himself, mail bags in hand, and stoops to urge the pony to greater speed - all these are marvels. They do not seem marvels while you read of them. But if you look on it you see the work which 2,000 miles of desert and 10,000 Indians made necessary thirty and even twenty years ago. Arrived at the farther station the changing of horses is as instantly done, and again the rider is away on a fresh steed. I had forgotten the pony express rider. This passage in the show brought him back.

And it was an index. The fuller chapter was that age when "movers" went over the western plains in slow wagons, their all colleeted in the little space behind them, their hopes fixed on the distant gold fields, or the equally impossible valleys where farms should gladden them. Two wagons of this kind came slowly out of the hills and moved about the square. The scout went before them. Their cattle and dogs followed behind. There were tired woman and puzzeled men in the front of the wagon. You could see the look of weariness, the proof of desolate wastes passed over, in every feature of their faces.

And the Indians attacked them. Flying upon them like a swarm of locusts, shooting, yelling, riding in a hundred different directions at once, puzzling the eye and frightening the heart, those scoutages of the plains had surrounded the emigrant train. Of course we knew it was all a play. We knew nobody would be killed. We knew the rescue party would arrive on time, and that all would be well. There is no thought of peril. But the picture is a good one. While you are not troubled, you are reminded of the times when this was terribly, fearfully real. And it is a chapter not so very far distant even to-day that it has lost its human interest.

Dance of the Dervish Man.

There was a very pretty picture that might have been missed in the rush of Buffalo Bill and his resuers. Bessie Farrell, who had been riding with the train in the character of a daughter of the emigrants, had retreated behind one of the wagons, and sat there, as a terrified maiden might, till the battle was done and the Indians rode away in a cloud of dust and to the pattering beat of a hundred bullets. It was only a detail in the picture, but it added to and perfected what was already an accurate representation.

There was an exhibition of riding and weapon handling by the Arabs. They are wonderful horsemen, and as clearly possessed of the waste lands of the east as the Indians are of those in the west. But it is an older possession, a title that seems ancient in every movement of these its men. For the dervish was among them. He stepped before his fellows when the first came on the ground, took his position on the little platform of wood, perhaps eight feet square, put out his arms and swung around in a slow, measured motion that was never for an instant varied through the thirty minutes of their exercise. How he maintained his poise, with what art he preserved his place, by what skill be revolved then unvarying while they went forward with acrobatic performances, no one can know. But he was the one wonderful figure in the whole weird act.

Johnny Baker presents an exhibition of fancy shooting. He is good, but not more so than is Miss Oakley, and while he was applauded he was not so successful in his efforts as was the girl. Then the Mexicans showed how the laries is thrown, while other riders illustrated the use of the boias as a weapon both offense and defense. Miss Oakley and Miss Warrell rode a race that was by no means came. One feature of the show is the absence of the hippodrome. There is an earnestness, a life and spirit in every act which lends it an additional charm. Which young lady had the honor of winning makes no difference. That they both rode well and that their ponies did all they could is the only point of interest in the matter. And of tha thtere was no shadow of doubt.

Buffalo Bill gave an exhibition of glass ball breaking while riding full tilt on his excellent horse. Then there was a buffalo hunt with real, live buffalos who ranged and ran as if at their home in the plains. There was an Indian attack at a settler's house, the surprise, the fight, the retreat, and then the grand finale of all the "rough riders," and the show was done.

There need be no comment on the show. It is what it pretends to be. There is not an act from first to last but is instinct with life, and none but is filled with interest from the opening to the close of the day.

Chicago NEWS JUNE . 26. #

AMY LESLE AT THE FAIR.

Finds a Mine of Good Stories in the Hospital Tent of Buffalo Bill. ----------------

SOME HORSE-RACES OUT ON THE PLAINS. --------------------- Col. Cody's First Engagment with a Swallow-Tail Coal--Col. Ochil tree Remembered.

[ By Special Private Wire from the Daily News World's Fair Bureau.] In the shadiest corner of Buffalo Bill's camp there stands a mainiature cottage, thatched and green with culitvated iveys. It is the private kitchen of the scout and the welcome there is not confined to the Indian woven rug at the door but sparkles in the snowy linen, through glasses and from the rude pictures upon the boarded walls ; moreovere, it echoes in the hearty voice of Cody and in his wife's pleasant smile. From the gate to the door is a rough brick walk, bordered with garden flowers that speak homely hospitality sweeter than words even day. Rows of naturtiums, phlox, primoroses [dr?] Charlie" line the walk and reaching to the high board fence. Col. Cody just escapes stooping to enter this tempting domain and John Burke scrapes his curly Irish head against the flags inside decorarting the low roof. Early last eventide Nate Salsbury, his pretty blonde wife, Mrs. Cody, tired little Irma, the baby of the Cody family : Artea Cody, Boals, the other daughter ; Pony Bob, John Burke and Buffalo Bill unlted in an invitation to entertain me in this ideal little heven. Not that any amalgamated coax-ing is necessary, for I am the first to follow through the gate after Cody and the last to leave the enchanting quiet and happiness when the hour for performance has arrived. Cody never mises an appearance in each of his special offerings in the illustation of wild western life ; he does not practice gurning but does not shirk rehearslas nor indulge in the usual understudy privilege of a star. He just works the same day and night the year around and recreates by the simplest domestic enjoy-ment or a friendly rest in the company of chosen friends. A perfect bombardment of recollection experinces and escapdes fill out the hours in company like this Salsbury is a cynic, full of the bitterness of caustic humor and spice of sarcasm. Mrs. Salsburry is spirit-nelle and cultuned, with graces attuned to so-clearly and wit effevacsent and elegant. No such an enaging story-teller as Buffalo Bill figures in history or romance. He is queit, rich in humor and mellow his style as a bottle of old port. Nobody on earth has had quite such a gold mine of experience to draw from and no a dozen men I know have his splendid maguestim, keen appreciation and happy originality. He sticks to truth mainly and is more intensely beguiling than the veriest maker of fiction. Maj-Burke, worthy his Hibernnian descent, has a perfect volume of episodes in a repertory which changes with the weather, Mrs. Cody is bright as a dollar and Artea, who is handsome as her father and clever as her mother, is jewel in a congenial crowd of idlers bent upon amusing each other by heedless and cheerful banter or capital recitals. With that sort of delightful people together conversation drifts into descriptive channels and stories are beaded along like strains of rubies, interrupted once in a while by a delicate pearl of sentiment. There is never any begin-ing to an evening of laughs or tears made up of yarns. But likely something reminded Salsbury of the old days of " The Brook," for, without waring, we were in the midst of a scene described by that arch comedian in his most solemn and grotesque fashion: " Charlotte Cushman had just died and the stage-door keeper of a tumble-down theater in Shamokin came in with three coal-miners to appear as supers in the picnic scene. They came with the miners' tapers burning smokily in their caps, faces begrimed and black as night. The door-keeper, too, worked in the mines and set his falming headgear down on the window while taking instructions from Nate regarding the limited business of the scene. " ' Fellers, ' orated the miner, in a raspy voice, 'yous is got to be good to-night ; remember one more of us is gone an' dere's no telling ' who's goin' to take her place.' " I asked Salsbruy what occult strategy he invoked to manage the Indians under the strain of temper and climate. He looked at me in quiet scorn for my humble reasoning powers and said : " I traveled fourteen years with a soubreatte. Life with sevety-five Indians is tenderly peacful in comparison. " Uppermost in the conversation was the Derby, the stuning throw-down and general outlook for a horse-race which might see the flag drop inside of an hour and a half. Everything reminds Cody of something else a shade better than the subject at hand. The Derby awakend recollections of some of the early Dakota fair races where the excting and delusive " ringer" took an august part in the sport. Once a sleepy greaser matched a still more somenolent equine against the fastest horse Cody had on his ranch. The Mexican kept his steed in an old adobe house and let him graze around in a listless sort of style for day or so. But the race day the horse appeared in pattern trim, surmounted with a dapper little jockey the like of which North Platte had never seen. Cody had all his money on his own horse and a glimpse of the opponent showed him that he had been watching the wrong horse doze about in the pamps. But they don't say much about those things out in that country, and Bill thought he would sport the race anyhow. After they had gone about half the distance and Cody had just cought sight of the jockey's chipper colors once in the heat the rider called out to him : ' How much of this do you want" Bill yelled into the melanchloy distance separating them : ' I guess this is far enough." Buck Taylor, who is one of those slow hunorists in which the prairie a bounds, sauntered but into the town one morning and found eight Colorado cowboys with champing broncos tethred to their iron wrists. " Whatcher calc' late doin' ?" lazily queried Buck. " Hoss-race," was the portentous reply. " Whatcher conditions an' sich in this hoss-race?" asked Buck, with a smolder of sportive fire in his eye. " Goin' ter lead 'em down ter the two-mille tree and race back," volun teered a plunger. Buck looked at the outfit a minute and said solemnly : " Calc' late to git back to-night?" Out on the plains Pony Bob, Buffalo Bill and a congenial coterie of horsemen arranged a race for a considerable purse, even for those generous days, and made it free for all comers. Three days before the race a mild old man, with a covered wagon and team, drifted into the camp and incidenatlly remarked the evidence of sport. In the course of the day he offered to enter one of the queer animals dragging his covered wagon. Immediately the scert of the festive scout deteched something suspicious and they delayed accepting the last entry until morning. That night when the soft Indian summer moon slid behind a convenient blanket of midnight the wary cowboys stole the old man's horse out of shelter and gave him a mile sprint under the blinking starshine. The horse trotted amiably over the ground in three min-utes and they forgave the kindly gentleman for everything he had not intended and accepted him as a lead-pipe-cinch angel. The suspected enrty was received with acciamations the next morning and nothing but money was staked against it during the interim. When the race was called the old man brought out his dusty nag and also, to the surpirse and paralysis of the betors, he began dragging from the covered wagon a sack full of toe-weights, quarter-boots and scalpers, with which he proceded to decorate the three minute " velvet" of the previous evening. With these levelers of speed the horse struck out and trotted in 2:40. Of course, the untram-meled prairie trotter was outclassed and the emigrant carried away large accumulations of the golden dust staked against his traveling stable. Col. Cody has served under thirty-two ger-erals, and that is more than many miliatry men can claim in this or perhaps any other counrty. Gen. Merill, who has put guns into the clever hands of so many soldiers, gave Cody his first commission. Bill was a lad and the dashing epaulets of lieutenant fell to his lot easily after that came all the heaped-up horses of his splendid career. He fought and gained everlasting laurels long before necessity brought him into the radius of civilaztion. When the Grand Duke Alexis was in this counrty Cody Planned and guided that prismatic Russian's frantic rush to the Rockies for a " b' ar" and other enchant-ments. Alexis gave him a jeweled pin of deep significanxe and great value, besides insisting upon the company of the successful scout into the less picturesque lairs of eastern hospitality. Cody came as far toward the orient as Omaha and the papers said that Bill had come east to buy a shirt so he could wear the pin. The momentous occasion in which Buffalo Bill made his entree into Chicago society was marked by several unexpected and thrilling circumstances rarely credietd to prominent circies. It was along in '73, or some time at least before Phil Sheridan had married Miss Rucker, and Cody was to be the guest of that gailant bechelor. Mike Sheridan was granted the privilge of escorting the celberated count to the gerneral's house and it changed that there was a ball of considerable importance to be given that evening at Riverside, and one of the promised sensations of the evening was Gen. Sheridan's tenderfoot hero from the bounless west. Cody was practcially turned over to Mike, with instrction that they both appear at the stated hour in proper toilet for such an occasion. Mike did not approch the subject with obvious delicay the situation requrid and he nearly " faded" Bill with a sudden inquiry about a dress-suit. Bill thought he was doing pretty well to be decked in a blled shirt, but a claw-hammer, gloves and neck-tie had never entered his wildes night mares regardinf wardrobes. However, he went in all docllity with Mike to an accommodating tailor, who rented him something awesome in the way of hand-me-down elegance which struck terror to Bill's loyal heart, Added to this injury was a pair of gloves, choker tie and low-cut patent leathers. It was one of those joylese years when men strteched their muscular legs into skin-tight trousers and the tailor with malice aforethought had picked out a shriveled pair of doeskins for Williams to wear to the ball. After much agitation upon the part of several volunteer assistant called in to extricate Bill from this fearful struggle with culture and broadcloth, they arrived at the ball-room. Bill was in a cold perspira-tion from his head to his heels. He was trembling like an April thermometer and had a started-fan look in his eagle eye that fitted his countenance worse than the huge white kids did his hands. About two hundred young ladies seized him with the usual finesse of Chicago and shook his uncomfortable hands in the hall before he could fly to the protection of Sheridan, who was in a similar but more familiar predicament at the extreme of a room which to Bill seemed longer than the grand canyon. At the first opportunity he escaped to the general, who, introduce him to more and more young ladies of such startling vivacity and security that the first thing poor Cody knew he had promised to dance a quadrille with a lovely blue-eyed creature who was going to " show him all he did not know," and that nearly meant a life-entanngle-ment for the damsel at that very trying moment. But a gleam of hope shot into the stunned visage of the scout as he brought of the qua-drilles he had capered in up at the Dead Bush ranch hoe-downs or the cowboys' round- up on the plains. Bill was something of a dancer and was prepared to create as favrobale an impression as the tight trousers and button - hole bouquet would permit. But when a foreign tune struck his distracted tympanum and people began to dance without any further signal Bill grew ex-cited and yelled : " Where's your caller?" in such a magnificent voice that most of the girls thought he ought to study opera. After an awful siege with the lancers he saw an open door. Collecting his usual brilliant exceutive ability from the four winds whither it had been mercielssly scattered he made a bee line for the street and never stopped walking until he reached the town of Lyons, four miles south, where the friendly busting of a beer-barrel bung whispered frothy comfort to his harrowed soul. He floated in upon the bartender with his hands full of collar, scarf, cuffs and the coat of horros, other paraphernalia having been strewn in grewsome recklessness through the surpised night. An apparition of this inter-esting species was more than the sanguine " keep" had hoped for and after a hurried introduction Buffalo Bull gasped : " I had had an awful two hours. Now, you are my kind of people. I am at home here and I am going to stay until after the ball is over." Giving his distinguished guest a seat behind the bar-reduce Mr. Cody to a comparatively normal state by morning. The colonel, by a smoth stroke of western indiffernce, once refused to drink wine with the princess of Wales. He simply did not want a drink just when he was asked and did not see why he should take it from a beautiful lady any more than anybody else. Immediately he became famous among a horde of temperance-workers----A circumstance which made one of the ex-quisite satiires of the age. Gen. Booth's forces carried his name and record around on banners, watery adulation was howered upon him, he was the frappe toast of the hour and the English paper were full of his exalted vistures and questionable fronteir manners. All of a sudden the Denver Tribune came out with a cheering editorial telling of a few mountain escapades of the much-lauded temperance hero in England. It wound up by the disilusioning statement that " if Bill ever got on one of those whooping prairie tears of his he would breakes up any foreign temperance community in about one hour. " The shock-ing literary gem was copied with glee in various British journals and when confronted with it Cody met it with pictursque and sweeping denials of any acquaintance with Denver of its frivolous editors, much less intimacy with contumacious liquors. " Tom Ochilltree lost $ 1,000 on the Derby, " somebody gullibe divulged with badted breath. " Is that so?" mused Bill ; " well, well, maybe he did ; he is great pepole. I like him ; but Tom can make the biggest bluff on the smallest pair of any man in the counrty"

Evening Journal June 26th

ESSAY ON BRONCHOS

PRAISE FOR A GENTLE AND PICTURESQUE ANIMAL

In Certain Fundamental Respects the Broncho Is Like the Poet - Strikingly Original in Many of His Ways, as the Tenderfoot Learns - He Is Untiring as a Windmillm and Ambitions, Withal

The broncho, like the poet, is born, not made. The ingenuity of man has been carried to great lengths in many directions, but no inventor has yet developed such reckless disregard for the proprieties and his own safety as to squander any time in an attempt to make a broncho. The similarity between poets and bronchos may possibly be a delicate subject to discuss in the hearing of the former, but no person could be so utterly lacking in ordinary politeness as to refer to it while within reaching distance of a broncho.

A broncho in a cheerful mood looks so much like an instantaneous photograph of a thoroughbred in a great hurry that skeptical persons might be excused for not believing that a well-bred horse could, under any circumstances, no matter how great the pressure or how large the stakes, have spurned the earth at his four corners at one and the same moment.

The broncho has much to answer for, or would have, if he cared, says the Pall Mall Budget. For centuries mankind believed that the horse, when going at full speed, presented a picture of physical beauty that nothing on four legs could surpass. Early artists depicted nim as a general thing in a stationary mood or, at best, going at a pace suitable for children, old ladies, or gentlemen heavily encased in iron. To look at some of these remains is to force the observer to one of two conclusions-either that the artists of those days were indifferent stonemasons, or that the horse of the period, while he may have been the best friend of man, could not by any stretch of courtesy be considered at all superior to even the least meritorious of the chefs d'oeuvres that adorn the exterior of many country "pubs " to-day.

Century after century passed away. With the passage of time and the diminution in the weight of armor, the horse probably improved; the artist certainly did, yet the animal painter still insisted upon making the horse look his best while ie was going his fastest pace. With pictures which show his forelegs extended on a line with his head and his hind legs on a line with his tail the walls of our houses are covered to-day. They are satisfying. for they create the impression that the horse is determined to be first at the post or burst a blood vessel. How long this pictured belief would have remained undisturbed but for the photographer and the broncho need not be revealed at present.

It is altogether probable that the photographer alone would have been unable to destroy an illusion that had withstood the wear and tear of centuries. How would have been laughed at and discredited, for the photographer who will convert his studio into a warehouse for unsalable goods is a scarce article. All would have been well, except for the broncho. To see a broncho enjoying himself is to know that the instantaneous photographer is voracious to the point of artlessness. A broncho may be transplanted at almost any season, and to almost any clime, without injury to his prominent characteristics. He is at home anywhere, and is never so nervous in strange.conpany as the latter is in his. For an animal of his size he can stand on one spot and cover more space and in less time, and, apparently, without premeditation, than any other member of the animal kingdom. His closest competitor in this respect is the mule.

Bronchos and Mules

A combination windmill and threshing machine performance between a broncho and mule is something never to be forgotten by those who escape. The broncho looks down on the mule when he is on high ground. Nothing possessed of sense looks down on the broncho, no matter what the topographical character of the country may be. He is a keon judge of character, and resents the slightest appr4ch to familiarity except from those by whom he has been conquered, for a broncho, unlike an Englishman, knows when he have had enough. The number of: tenderfeet" who have left this world hurriedly through their ignorance of the most elementary rules governing the intercourse between strangers and bronchos is too large to find more than passing mention in these pages; but if each of them was somebody's darling there must have been periods in recent decades when the market showed a marked scarcity of darlings.

The broncho is of two nationalities. One possesses a more or less superficial knowledge of a mosaic of Spanish, Portuguese and Indian. The other understands a brand of English that is too picturesque and robust for an ordinary dwelling; it flourishes best in the open air, and where it is not possible to throw a brick without hitting the wearer of a military title. The last mentioned brand is found in the breech-clout condition in the southwestern part of North America; the former in such parts of Central and South America. as possess more room than anything else, except revolutions.

Certain Volcanlo Characteristics

An unbroken broncho of either of the varieties mentioned is the nearest approach that can be found in the animal kingdom to a volcano of the first-class that is in a state of active and continual eruption. He can break out in more unexpected places and with greater freedom, and, given an equal chance, with more lasting effect than a highly-developed case of scarlet rash. A broken broncho differs in a few particulars from his unbroken brother. There is more originality about him. The untamed specimen will waste tons of energy in kicking holes in the atmosphere. The civilized broncho seldom does this; never, one might say, unless he has missed his mark and is trying again. With an amount of care, foresight, and patience that speaks volumes for the painstaking character of the teacher and for his own intelligence, the civilized broncho will wait for hours, sometimes for days, to secure an opportunity for planting both hind feet into something more tangible, yet more sensitive, than the atmosphere. Other animals will answer his purpose at a pinch, but for regular target practice, he prefers men. Women and children he will never molest, if they keep out of range. Few animals thrive while traveling. The broncho does. Set him the apparently impossible to do and ho will do it or break a leg. Not long ago fifty bronchos arrived in Liverpool, .and were shipped to various parts of the country. The brochos had been traveling for twenty-three days. A week of this time was spent in railway trains. During the land journey there was nothing to kick except the sides and ends of the railway trucks in which they were imprisoned, and their own sides and ends. At the end of a week they were transferred from the railway trucks to an ocean steamship. They were not transferred without difficulty, most of them manifesting a desire to secure more than a fleeting glance at New York City bəfore they were immured on the lower deck of an Atlantic liner When placed on board ship they were in good condition.

Always Cheerful and Agile

Their overland journey had apparently only increased their spirits. After sixteen days on shipboard they reached Liverpool. As they stepped ashore they seemed as well as if they had sailed before the mast all their lives. A colt is generally used as an illustration for extreme friskiness. In comparison with these much-traveled bronchos a colt is of leaden temperament and sluggish action. They showed a desire to make up for lost time, and the men who bought them had no reason to think that the ir purchases wore not wiry as well as fery, even if they were not robust.

The art of transforming bronchos into English cobs is only of recent discovery but for several years it has been prosecuted with considerable vigor in several parts of the British Isles. The first thing to be done is to break the broncho, according to English rules. He has already been broken to suit a gaucho or a cowboy: but, as the action of an English cob would not suit either a gaucho or a cowboy, it is necessary to break the broncho a second time before it can be said that his education as an English cob has had a beginning. He naturally resents this. Having been broken once by a man whom he could not shake off, and who rode him until he had not enough breath to blow a mosquito off his whiskers, the broncho feels it irksome to be broken with a nicety of detail which is altogether foreign to his nature, and which he feels is a studied insult to the Republican principles which he imbibed at a period when his teeth were soft and his legs were shaky, However, men who are engaged in the pastime of changing bronchos into Engish cobs possess strength as well as patience, and, although their calling is studded with risks, they usually succeed in attaining their ends.

Fattening a Broncho

A broncho having been so thoroughly broken that a rough rider can, with the assistance of a half-dozen stable men mount him, his owner proceeds to fatten him. This process takes a good deal of time, and a great deal of nourishment. As a thin man generally eats more than a fat man, so a broncho who has been accustomed to forage for himself can eat, several times as much as a horse that has been reared in the lap of plenty, and he can do so without showing any signs of having done it.

Then he begins to fill out if fed constantly and in large quantities. To prevent his ribs becoming prominent again it is necessary to confine his exercise to the smallest possible limits. This has its drawbacks, for lack of exercise makes him feel that he needs it and must have it, so that previous to a sale it is necessary to ride him hard that he may look sufficiently demure to be mistaken for an English cob. Even in that condition it is not considered safe, by good judges to pick up either of his hind legs in order to examine his hoofs. It had better be taken for granted that these are in perfect condition, as they usually are, for even thoroughly broken bronchos have been known to resent anything of the sort, just as if they believed it to be a deliberate slight which could only be wiped out with a blow that would lift the would-be purchaser into the adjoining county.