ical equality. Except in the case of the boss, there was little
difference in the amounts paid each for his services. Society,
then, was here reduced to its lowest terms. The work of the men, their
daily experiences, their thoughts, their interests, were all in
common. Such a community had necessarily to turn to itself for
entertainment. Songs sprang up naturally, some of them tender and
familiar lays of childhood, others original compositions, all genuine,
however crude and unpolished. Whatever the most gifted man could
produce must bear the criticism of the entire camp, and agree with the
ideas of a group of men. In this sense, therefore, any song that came
from such a group would be the joint product of a number of them,
telling perhaps the story of some stampede they had all fought to
turn, some crime in which they had all shared equally, some comrade's
tragic death which they had all witnessed. The song-making did not
cease as the men went up the trail. Indeed the songs were here
utilized for very practical ends. Not only were sharp, rhythmic
yells--sometimes beaten into verse--employed to stir up lagging
cattle, but also during the long watches the night-guards, as they
rode round and round the herd, improvised cattle lullabies which
quieted the animals and soothed them to sleep. Some of the best of the
so-called "dogie songs" seem to have been created for the purpose of
preventing cattle stampedes,--such songs coming straight from the
heart of the cowboy, speaking familiarly to his herd in the stillness
of the night.

The long drives up the trail occupied months, and called for
sleepless vigilance and tireless activity both day and night. When at
last a shipping point was reached, the cattle marketed or loaded on
the cars, the cowboys were paid off. It is not surprising that the
consequent relaxation led to reckless deeds. The music, the dancing,
the click of the roulette ball in the saloons, invited; the lure of
crimson lights was irresistible. Drunken orgies, reactions from months
of toil, deprivation, and loneliness on the ranch and on the trail,
brought to death many a temporarily crazed buckaroo. To match this
dare-deviltry, a saloon man in one frontier town, as a sign for his
business, with psychological ingenuity painted across the broad front
of his building in big black letters this challenge to God, man, and
the devil: _The Road to Ruin_. Down this road, with swift and eager
footsteps, has trod many a