, the perfect, all-embracing blue of the Arizona sky; set flaming
in the middle of it the sun, a glorious blazing orb whose beauty one may
dare to gaze upon only through smoked glasses; beneath, the Range,
which, far from being a desert, is covered with a growth of grass which
grows thicker and greener as the rivers' banks are reached.

All around, Arizona--the painted hills, looking as though someone had
carefully swept them early in the morning with a broom; the valleys
studded with mesquite trees and greasewood and dotted here and there
with brown specks which even the uninitiated will know are cattle, and
the river, one of Arizona's minor streams, a few yards across and only a
couple of feet deep, but swift-rushing, pebble-strew'd and clear as
crystal.

Last, but not least, a heterogeneous mob of cowboys and vaqueros, with
their horses champing at the bit and eager to be off on their work. In
the foreground a rough, unpainted corral, where are more
ponies--wicked-looking, intelligent little beggars, but quick turning as
though they owned but two legs instead of four, and hence priceless for
the work of the roundup. In the distance, some of them quietly and
impudently grazing quite close at hand, are the cattle, the object of
the day's gathering.

Cowboys from perhaps a dozen or more ranches are gathered here, for this
is the commencement of the Rodeo--the roundup of cattle that takes place
semi-annually. Even ranches whose cattle are not grazed on this
particular range have representatives here, for often there are strays
with brands that show them to have traveled many scores of miles. The
business of the cowboys[3] is to round up and corral the cattle and pick
out their own brands from the herd. They then see that the unbranded
calves belonging to cows of their brand are properly marked with the hot
iron and with the ear-slit, check up the number of yearlings for the
benefit of their employers, and take charge of such of the cattle it is
considered advisable to drive back to the home ranch.

So much sentimental nonsense has been talked of the cruelty of branding
and slitting calves that it is worth while here, perhaps, to state
positively that the branding irons do not penetrate the skin and serve
simply to burn the roots of the hair so that the bald marks will show
to which ranch the calf belongs. There is little pain to the calf
attached to the operation, and one rarely if ever even sees a calf
licking its b