LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
of riding astride; but they haven’t. Such dashing horsemanship among women has greatly astonished us, and our interest in it never wanes. When I hear galloping hoofs, and see through the trees the flash of a sunbonnet or streaming veil, I stand stock-still in admiration.
But I am straying far from our own particular enchantress, who greatly surprised us during her first call. In speaking of this isolated life, I had asked what her amusements were here.
“Oh, I ride, fish, and hunt, and I’m fond of dogs and horses, and as we have a lot of them I spend a good deal of my time with them. I always help break the bunchgrassers, and that’s exciting.”
Bunchgrassers! I had never before heard that word, and wondered if she could possibly mean jack-rabbits. I have never seen any, but have always associated them with bunchgrass. But why should they want to break them? I kept still and waited for light.
When I had learned that she was talking of horses, I made bold to ask, “Why bunchgrassers?” and was told they were horses that had been running wild on the range.
Tom, who had been an interested listener to all this, asked her if she could wield the lassoo.
“Oh, yes,” she replied; “my father taught me that when I was quite a young girl, though I don’t pretend to be an expert.”
195
