The railroads of
Florida have had their ups and downs with them in a petty way on account
of the running over of their cattle by the trains; and then some
long-haired old Cracker drops into the nearest station with his gun and
pistol, and wants the telegraph operator to settle immediately on the
basis of the Cracker's claim for damages, which is always absurdly high.
At first the railroads demurred, but the cowboys lined up in the "bresh"
on some dark night and pumped Winchesters into the train in a highly
picturesque way. The trainmen at once recognized the force of the
Cracker's views on cattle-killing, but it took some considerable
"potting" at the more conservative superintendents before the latter
could bestir themselves and invent a "cow-attorney," as the company
adjuster is called, who now settles with the bushmen as best he can.
Certainly no worse people ever lived since the big killing up
Muscleshell way, and the romance is taken out of it by the cowardly
assassination which is the practice. They are well paid for their
desperate work, and always eat fresh beef or "razor-backs," and deer
which they kill in the woods. The heat, the poor grass, their brutality,
and the pest of the flies kill their ponies, and, as a rule, they lack
dash and are indifferent riders, but they are picturesque in their
unkempt, almost unearthly wildness. A strange effect is added by their
use of large, fierce cur-dogs, one of which accompanies each
cattle-hunter, and is taught to pursue cattle, and to even take them by
the nose, which is another instance of their brutality.
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