A WOMAN TENDERFOOT
by Grace Gallatin Seton-Thompson
Stories of 19th century travels in the west and the Rocky Mountains
by the wife of the famous naturalist Ernest Seton-Thompson
Full-page drawings by Ernest Seton-Thompson
G. Wright and E. M. Ashe, and the Marginals by S. N. Abbott
Publisher: Doubleday, Page, & Co, New York - 1900
Tightly bound book has a clean and crisp interior.
Cover has some shelf wear and soil from age - see photos.
measures 5 3/4" x 8"
Excerpt & Contents ~
THIS BOOK IS A TRIBUTE TO THE WEST.
I have used many Western phrases as necessary to the Western setting.
I can only add that the events related really happened in the Rocky
Mountains of the United States and Canada; and this is why, being a
woman, I wanted to tell about them, in the hope that some
going-to-Europe-in-the-summer-woman may be tempted to go West instead.
New York City, September 1st, 1900.
I The Why of It
II Outfit and Advice for the Woman-who-goes-hunting-with-her-husband
III The First Plunge of the Woman Tenderfoot
IV Which Treats of the Imps and My Elk
V Lost in the Mountains
VI The Cook
VII Among the Clouds
VIII At Yeddars
IX My Antelope
X A Mountain Drama
XI What I Know about Wahb of the Bighorn Basin
XII The Dead Hunt
XIII Just Rattlesnakes
XIV As Cowgirl
XV The Sweet Pea Lady Someone Else's Mountain Sheep
XVI In which the Tenderfoot Learns a New Trick
XVII _Our_ Mine
XVIII The Last Word
A LIST OF FULL-PAGE DRAWINGS.
Costume for cross saddle riding
Tears starting from your smoke-inflamed eyes
Saddle cover for wet weather Policeman's equestrian rain coat
She was postmistress twice a week
The trail was lost in a gully
Whetted one to a razor edge and threw it into a tree where it stuck
Not three hundred yards away ... were two bull elk in deadly combat
Down the path came two of the prettiest Blacktails
A misstep would have sent us flying over the cliff
Thus I fought through the afternoon
We whizzed across the railroad track in front of the Day Express
Five feet full in front of us, they pulled their horses to a dead stop
The coyotes made savage music
The horrid thing was ready for me I started on a gallop, swinging one
The warm beating heart of a mountain sheep
I could not keep away from his hoofs
We started forward, just as the rear wheels were hovering over the edge
"You better not sit down on that kaig ... It's nitroglycerine"
The tunnel caused its roof to cave in close behind me
A mountain lion sneaked past my saddle-pillowed head
THE WHY OF IT
Theoretically, I have always agreed with the Quaker wife who reformed her
husband--"Whither thou goest, I go also, Dicky dear." What thou doest, I
do also, Dicky dear. So when, the year after our marriage, Nimrod
announced that the mountain madness was again working in his blood, and
that he must go West and take up the trail for his holiday, I tucked my
summer-watering-place-and-Europe-flying-trip mind away (not without
regret, I confess) and cautiously tried to acquire a new vocabulary and
some new ideas.
Of course, plenty of women have handled guns and have gone to the Rocky
Mountains on hunting trips--but they were not among my friends. However,
my imagination was good, and the outfit I got together for my first trip
appalled that good man, my husband, while the number of things I had to
learn appalled me.
In fact, the first four months spent 'Out West' were taken up in
learning how to ride, how to dress for it, how to shoot, and how
to philosophise, each of which lessons is a story in itself. But briefly,
in order to come to this story, I must have a side talk with the
Woman-who-goes-hunting-with-her-husband. Those not interested please omit
the next chapter.
OUTFIT AND ADVICE FOR THE WOMAN-WHO-GOES-HUNTING-WITH-HER-HUSBAND.
Is it really so that most women say no to camp life because they are
afraid of being uncomfortable and looking unbeautiful? There is no reason
why a woman should make a freak of herself even if she is going to rough
it; as a matter of fact I do not rough it, I go for enjoyment and leave
out all possible discomforts. There is no reason why a woman should be
more uncomfortable out in the mountains, with the wild west wind for
companion and the big blue sky for a roof, than sitting in a 10 by 12
whitewashed bedroom of the summer hotel variety, with the tin roof to
keep out what air might be passing. A possible mosquito or gnat in the
mountains is no more irritating than the objectionable personality that
is sure to be forced upon you every hour at the summer hotel. The usual
walk, the usual drive, the usual hop, the usual novel, the usual
scandal,--in a word, the continual consciousness of self as related to
dress, to manners, to position, which the gregarious living of a hotel
enforces--are all right enough once in a while; but do you not get enough
of such life in the winter to last for all the year?