. They were, taken
altogether, a very happy family. Roosevelt was "the boss" in the sense
that, since he footed the bills, power of final decision was his; but
only in that sense. He saddled his own horse; now and then he washed
his own clothes; he fed the pigs; and once, on a rainy day, he blacked
the Sunday boots of every man, woman, and child in the place. He was
not encouraged to repeat that performance. The folks from Maine made
it quite clear that if the boots needed blacking at all, which was
doubtful, they thought some one else ought to do the blacking--not at
all because it seemed to them improper that Roosevelt should black
anybody's boots, but because he did it so badly. The paste came off on
everything it touched. The women "mothered" him, setting his
belongings to rights at stated intervals, for he was not conspicuous
for orderliness. He, in turn, treated the women with the friendliness
and respect he showed to the women of his own family. And the little
Sewall girl was never short of toys.

Elkhorn Ranch was a joyous place those days. Cowboys, hearing of it,
came from a distance for a touch of home life and the luxury of
hearing a woman's voice.

Roosevelt's days were full of diverse activities, and the men who
worked with him at Elkhorn were the pleasantest sort of companions.
Bill Sewall, who, as Sylvane described him, was "like a track-hound on
the deer-trail," had long ago given up the idea of making a cowboy of
himself, constituting himself general superintendent of the house and
its environs and guardian of the womenfolks. Not that the women
needed protection. There was doubtless no safer place for women in the
United States at that moment than the Bad Lands of the Little
Missouri; and Mrs. Sewall and Mrs. Dow could have been counted on to
handle firearms as fearlessly if not as accurately as Bill himself.
But Bill tended the famished, unhappy-looking potato-patch for them,
and with characteristic cheerfulness did the other chores, being quite
content to leave to Roosevelt and Dow and another young cowpuncher
named Rowe the riding of "sunfishers" and such things. He had a level
head and an equable temper, and the cowpunchers all liked him. When a
drunken cowboy, who had been a colonel in the Confederate army,
accosted him one day in Joe Ferris's store with the object apparently
of starting a fight, it was Sewall's quiet good nature that made his
efforts abortive.

"You're a damned pleasant-lookin