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The Cowman Says it Salty
註釋There is one thing that about a man that stamps him for what he is--one thing that is harder to change than all the rest. That is his speech, for language is as close to a man as his blood. The picturesque speech of a cowboy grew out of the solitude, the nearness of the stars, the bigness of the country, and the far horizons. Never having the chance to "study the higher branches of information through book learnin'," the cowman forged his own language. Mental images were a part of his life, and it was natural for him to become a painter of word pictures. He has molded language to suit his own needs and is a genius at making a verb out of anything. He employs his words in the manner that best suits him, and arranges them in sequence that best expresses his ideas, untrammeled by tradition. When a tenderfoot hears this range vernacular, he is "surprised as a dog with his first porcupine." The more he listens, the more refreshing it becomes, because, "like a fifth ace in a poker deck," it is so unexpected. The present-day cowman speaks the same lingo as his earlier brother, and he will cling to this language as long as men handle cattle. Living in the tradition of men who ride semi-wild horses to work obstinate, unruly cattle, he will "never become so soft that he will pack a lunch, wear his sleeves rolled up, and say my gracious instead of goddam when he is mad" -- Book jacket.