But while the cowboy’s horse may do all these things for him, it would be impossible for any but an expert rider, even to approach such vicious horses. A man who is merely an ordinary rider would probably lose his life. The cowboy’s life was full of continual excitement and hard work when out on the cattle range. While he was riding alone on the Plains, a band of Indians would often suddenly appear and, forming in a circle, ride madly around him. There was then nothing to do but stand them off until help came, or if forced, put up as good a fight single handed as possible while ammunition lasted. If the cowboy was an experienced frontiersman and did not lose his nerve, he could successfully cope with a small band of Indians, because he could match a gun against the Indians’ arrows. All these romantic and adventurous times finally gave way to the ever advancing civilization. The extensive tracts, then natural and free, were gradually cut up into small ranches enclosed by barbed wire fences. The cowboy too had to bear the marks of civilization and acknowledge the reign of law, but he still rides to-day as skillfully and easily as ever, sitting erect and jaunty, reins held high and loose in his hands, his whole body free yet firm in the saddle with the seat of the perfect horseman. His broad brimmed hat still sweeps up and back in the same careless freedom of those lawless days, and his belt is still adorned with the deadly guardians of his safety, his spurs jingling as he rides. His pony is the same as those of many years ago and trots steadily forward with the easy movement characteristic only of the western horse. The cowboy as he rides on, erect and strong, true to the life of freedom he loves, waves his hat in adieu and the sun sets behind the blue hills of what was once the Great Wild West. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.