One of the best things done by Theodore Roosevelt at that time was the
support given by him to a civil service law for the state. Up to that
time office-holding was largely in the hands of the party which happened
to be in power.

"This is all wrong," said the young assemblyman. "A clerk or anybody
else doing his duty faithfully should not be thrown out as soon as there
is a political change." The new law was passed, and this was the
beginning of what is commonly called the merit system, whereby a large
number of those who work for the state are judged solely by their
capabilities and not by their political beliefs. This system has since
been extended to other states and also to office-holding under the
national government.

Another important measure pushed through the Assembly by Theodore
Roosevelt was what was known as the Edson Charter for New York City,
giving to the mayor certain rights which in the past had rested in the
board of aldermen. This measure was defeated during Roosevelt's second
term of office, but in 1884 he pressed it with such force that it
overcame all opposition and became a law. Many have considered this
victory his very best work.

By those who knew him at this time he is described as having almost a
boyish figure, frank face, clear, penetrating eyes, and a smile of
good-natured friendship and dry humor. When he talked it was with an
earnestness that could not be mistaken. By those who were especially
bitter against him he was sometimes called a dude and a silk stocking,
but to these insinuations he paid no attention, and after the encounter
at the Delavan House his opponents were decidedly more careful as to how
they addressed him.

"Take him all the way through he was generally even tempered," one has
said who met him at that time. "But occasionally there was a flash from
his eye that made his opponent draw back in quick order. He would stand
a good deal, but there were some things he wouldn't take, and they knew
it. One thing is certain, after he was in the Assembly for a few months
everybody knew perfectly that to come to him with any bill that was the
least bit shady was a waste of time and effort. Roosevelt wouldn't stand
for it a minute."

In those days Theodore Roosevelt did not give up his habits of athletic
exercise, and nearly every day he could be seen taking long walks in the
country around Albany. In the meantime his "Naval War of 1812" was well
under way, but he could spare only a few hours occasionally to complete
his manuscript.

His married life had thus far been a happy one, and its joy was greatly
increased by the birth of his daughter Alice. As will be seen later, Mr.
Roosevelt is what is called a family man, and he took great comfort in
this new addition to his little household. But his happiness was
short-lived, for in 1884, when the daughter was but a baby, the beloved
wife died, and the little one had to be given over to the care of the
grandparents in Boston. Not many months later Mr. Roosevelt's mother
died also, heaping additional sorrow upon his head.

With the conclusion of his third term in the Assembly Theodore
Roosevelt's work as a member of that body came to an end. If he had made
some enemies, he had made more friends, and he was known as an ardent
supporter of reform in all branches of politics. In recognition of his
ability he was chosen as a delegate-at-large to the Republican
convention brought together to nominate a candidate to succeed
President Arthur.

At that time James G. Blaine from Maine had served many years in the
United States Senate, and it was thought that he would surely be both
nominated and elected. But many were opposed to Blaine, thinking he
would not support such reform measures as they wished to see advanced,
and among this number was Theodore Roosevelt.

"We must nominate Mr. Edmunds," said the young delegate-at-large, and
did his best for the gentleman in question.

"It cannot be done," said another delegate.

The convention met at Exposition Hall in Chicago, and Mr. Roosevelt was
placed on the Committee on Resolutions. It was a stormy convention, and
ballot after ballot had to be taken before a nomination could be
secured. Blaine led from the start, with Senator Edmunds a fairly close
second.

"If Blaine is nominated, he will be defeated," said more than one.

At last came the deciding vote, and James G. Blaine was put up at the
head of the ticket, with John A. Logan for Vice-President.

At once Blaine clubs were organized all over the country, and the
Republican party did all in its power to elect its candidate. He was
called the Plumed Knight, and many political clubs wore plumes in his
honor when on parade. In the meantime the Democrats had nominated Grover
Cleveland.

The fight was exceedingly bitter up to the very evening of election day.
When the votes were counted, it was found that Blaine had been defeated
by a large majority, and that Grover Cleveland, Roosevelt's old friend,
had won the highest gift in the hands of the nation.

His work at the convention in Chicago was Theodore Roosevelt's first
entrance into national affairs, and his speeches on that occasion will
not be readily forgotten. It was here that he came into contact with
William McKinley, with whom, sixteen years later, he was to run on the
same ticket. The records of that convention show that on one occasion
McKinley spoke directly after Roosevelt. Thus were these two drawn
together at that early day without knowing or dreaming that one was to
succeed the other to the Presidency.

But though Theodore Roosevelt was disappointed over the nomination made
at Chicago, he did not desert his party. Instead he did all he could to
lead them to victory, until the death of his mother caused him to
withdraw temporarily from public affairs.

[Illustration: Signature: Alice Lee Roosevelt]




CHAPTER V

THEODORE ROOSEVELT AS A RANCHMAN AND HUNTER IN THE BAD LANDS--BRINGING
DOWN HIS FIRST BUFFALO--RATTLESNAKES, AND A WILD GOOSE


Theodore Roosevelt had now published his "Naval History of the War of
1812," and it had created a decidedly favorable opinion among those
critics who were best able to judge of the production. It is an
authoritative work, and is to-day in the library of nearly every
American war-ship afloat, as well as in numerous government libraries in
this country, as at Washington, West Point, and Annapolis, and also in
leading libraries of England.

Being out of politics the young author thought of taking up his pen once
more. But he was restless by nature, and the loss of his wife and his
mother still weighed heavily upon him. So he took himself to the West,
to where the Little Missouri River flows in winding form through what
are called the Bad Lands of North Dakota.

Here, on the edge of the cattle country, Theodore Roosevelt had become
possessed of two ranches, one called the Elkhorn and the other Chimney
Butte. Both were located by the river, which during the dry season was
hardly of any depth at all, but which during the heavy rains, or during
the spring freshets, became a roaring torrent.

At one of these ranches Theodore Roosevelt settled down for the time
being, to rough it in hunting and raising cattle. When the weather would
not permit of his going abroad, or when the mood of the author seized
him, he wrote. As a result of these experiences he has given us a
delightful work called "The Hunting Trips of a Ranchman," first
published in 1885, giving his adventures among the cattle and while on
the hunt, sometimes alone and sometimes in company with the rude but
honest cow punchers and plainsmen who surrounded him.

Mr. Roosevelt has described the ranch at which he lived for the greater
part of his time as a long, low, story-high house of hewn logs, clean
and neat, and with many rooms. It faced the river, and in front was a
long, low veranda, where one might idle on a clear, warm day to his
heart's content. Inside, the main room contained a shelf full of the
owner's favorite outdoor books and the walls half-a-dozen pet pictures.
Rifles and shot-guns stood handy in corners, and on pegs and deer horns
hung overcoats of wolf or coon skin and gloves of otter or beaver.

That Theodore Roosevelt was a close observer of all that occurred around
him is proved by his writings. With great minuteness he has described
his life at the ranch home and while in the saddle, both in winter and
summer, telling of his experiences while rounding up cattle and while
bringing down waterfowl and larger game of various kinds. He likewise
describes the trained hunters he has met at different seasons of the
year, and tells of what they have done or were trying to do.

At this time his favorite horse was a steed called Manitou. But when on
a round-up of cattle, many ponies were taken along, so that a fresh
mount could be had at any time. It was a breezy, free life, and to it
our President undoubtedly owes the rugged constitution that he possesses
to-day.

His observations led him to make many investigations concerning the
smaller wild animals near his ranches and the larger beasts to be found
farther off. The tales which were told to him by other ranchmen and
hunters he always took "with a grain of salt," and he soon reached the
conclusion that many of the so-styled mighty hunters were only such in
name, and had brought down quantities of game only in years gone by when
such game was plentiful and could be laid low without much trouble. Once
when a man told him he had brought down a certain beast at four hundred
yards, Roosevelt measured the distance and found it to be less than half
that.

"You couldn't fool him on much," said one of the persons who met him
about that time. "He would take precious little for granted. He wanted
to know the how of everything, and he wasn't satisfied until he did
know."

Regarding his own powers as a hunter at that time, Mr. Roosevelt is very
modest. He says his eyesight was rather poor, and his hand not over
steady, so that "drawing a bead" on anything was not easy. Yet he went
into the sport with much enthusiasm, and if at times he came back at
nightfall empty-handed, he did not complain, and he was almost certain
to have something interesting to tell of what he had seen.

Theodore Roosevelt had been in this territory before, although not to
remain any great length of time. Once he had come out to hunt buffalo,
no easy thing to do, since this game was growing scarcer every day. He
had a guide named Ferris, who was not particularly struck with the
appearance of the pale young man, plainly dressed, whom he met at the
railroad station.

"I sized him up as not being able to endure a long trip after a
buffalo," said the guide, in speaking afterward of the meeting. "He was
well mounted, but he looked as if he might play out before the sun went
down."

But in this the guide was mistaken. Roosevelt proved that he could ride
as well as anybody. The first night out found the hunters about thirty
miles from any settlement. They went into camp on the open prairie,
tethering their horses with ropes fastened to their saddles, which they
used as pillows.

All went well for an hour or two, when the improvised pillow was jerked
from beneath Theodore Roosevelt's head, and he heard his horse bounding
away in the distance.

"Wolves!" cried the guide. "They have frightened our horses!"

So it proved; and the hunters lost no time in reaching for their
firearms. But the wolves kept their distance, and soon Theodore
Roosevelt was running after the horses, which, after a good deal of
trouble, he secured and brought back. After that the guide no longer
looked on him as a "tenderfoot."

"A tenderfoot," said he, "would have been scared to death. But Teddy
Roosevelt was as cool as a cucumber through it all--as if the happening
wasn't in the least out of the ordinary."

For several days the hunters remained on the prairie looking for
buffalo, but without success. They were on the point of turning back
when the guide noticed that the horses were growing uneasy.

"Some big game at hand," he announced. "Come on to yonder washout and
see if I am not right."

With great caution the hunters advanced to the washout the guide had
mentioned. Dismounting, they crept forward in the shelter of the
brushwood, and there, true enough, resting at his ease was a great
buffalo bull.

"Hit him where the patch of red shows on his side," whispered the guide,
and Roosevelt nodded to show that he understood. With care and coolness
he took aim and fired, and the buffalo bull leaped up and staggered
forward with the blood streaming from his mouth and nose.

"Shall I give him another?" was the question asked, but before it could
be answered the buffalo bull gave a plunge and fell dead.

Rattlesnakes are rather unpleasant reptiles to deal with, and Theodore
Roosevelt has shown his bravery by the way in which he speaks of them in
his accounts of outdoor life. He says to a man wearing alligator boots
there is little danger, for the fang of the reptile cannot go through
the leather, and the snake rarely strikes as high as one's knee. But he
had at least one experience with a rattlesnake not readily forgotten.

He was out on a hunt for antelope. The sage-brush in which he was
concealing himself was so low that he had to crawl along flat on his
breast, pushing himself forward with hands and feet as best he could.

He was almost on the antelope when he heard a warning whirr close at his
side, and glancing hastily in that direction, saw the reptile but a few
feet away, coiled up and ready to attack.

It was a thrilling and critical moment, and had the young hunter leaped
up he might have been dangerously if not fatally struck. But by instinct
he backed away silently and moved off in another direction through the
brush. The rattlesnake did not follow, although it kept its piercing
eyes on the hunter as long as possible. After the antelope stalk was
over, Roosevelt came back to the spot, made a careful search, and,
watching his chance, fired on the rattlesnake, killing it instantly.

In those days Theodore Roosevelt met Colonel William Cody, commonly
known as "Buffalo Bill," and many other celebrated characters of the
West. He never grew tired of listening to the stories these old
trappers, hunters, scouts, and plainsmen had to tell, and some of these
stories he afterward put into print, and they have made excellent
reading.

During many of his hunting expeditions at that time Theodore Roosevelt
was accompanied by his foreman, a good shot and all-round ranchman named
Merrifield. Merrifield had been in the West but five years, but the life
fitted him exactly, and in him Roosevelt the ranchman and hunter found a
companion exactly to his liking, fearless and self-reliant to the last
degree.

As perhaps most of my young readers know, wild geese are generally
brought down with a shot-gun, but in the Bad Lands it was not unusual to
bring them down with a rifle, provided the hunter was quick and accurate
enough in his aim. One morning, just before dawn, Theodore Roosevelt was
riding along the edge of a creek when he heard a cackling that he knew
must come from some geese, and he determined if possible to lay one low.

It was easy work to dismount and crawl to the edge of the creek. But a
fog lay over the water, and he could see the geese but indistinctly.
Leaving the creek bank, he ran silently to where the watercourse made a
turn and then crawled forward in the brush. Soon the fog lifted once
more, and he saw the geese resting on the water close to the bend. He
fired quickly and brought down the largest of the flock, while the
others lost no time in disappearing. It was a good fat goose and made
excellent eating.




CHAPTER VI

GROUSE AND OTHER SMALL GAME--THE SCOTCHMAN AND THE SKUNK--CAUGHT IN A
HAILSTORM ON THE PRAIRIE--BRINGING DOWN BLACK-TAIL DEER


It cannot be said that Theodore Roosevelt's venture as a ranchman was a
very successful one, and it is doubtful if he expected to make much
money out of it. He lost nothing in a financial way, and there is no
doubt but that the experience was of great benefit to him. In this
semi-wilderness he met all sorts and conditions of men, and grew to know
them thoroughly. In the past his dealings had been almost entirely with
people of large cities and towns, and with men of learning and large
business affairs; here he fell in with the wildest kind of cowboys and
frontiersmen. Some he soon found were not fit to be associated with, but
the majority proved as honest and hard-working fellows as could be met
with anywhere. Many of these loved the young "boss" from the start, and
when, years later, the war with Spain broke out, and there was a call
to arms, not a few of them insisted upon joining the Rough Riders just
to be near Theodore Roosevelt once more.

Around the ranches owned by Theodore Roosevelt there were more or less
grouse of the sharp-tailed variety. As this sort of game made excellent
eating, ranchmen and regular hunters did not hesitate to bring them down
at every opportunity.

One afternoon Theodore Roosevelt left his ranch to visit the shack of
one of his herders, about thirty-five miles down the river. It was a
cold, clear day, and he was finely mounted on a well-trained pony. He
writes that he was after grouse, hoping to get quite a number of them.

He had trusted to reach the shack long before sundown, but the way was
bad, over bottoms covered with thin ice and snow, and soon darkness came
on, leaving him practically lost in the cottonwoods that lined the
watercourse.

What to do the young ranchman did not know, and it is safe to say that
he wished himself heartily out of the difficulty. It was so dark he
could not see three yards ahead of him, and it was only by the merest
accident that he struck the shack at last, and then he found it empty,
for the herder had gone off elsewhere on business.

So far Roosevelt had seen no game, so he was without food, and what made
matters worse, the larder of the shack proved to be empty. All he had
with him was a little package of tea.

It was a dismal outlook truly, and especially on such a cold night. But
firewood was at hand, and after turning his pony loose to shift for
itself, the future President of our country started up housekeeping for
himself by lighting a fire, bringing in some water from under the ice of
the river, and brewing himself a good, strong cup of tea! It was not a
very nourishing meal, but it was all he had, and soon after that he went
to sleep, trusting for better luck in the morning.

He was up almost before daybreak, and my young readers can rest assured
that by that time his appetite was decidedly keen. Listening intently,
he could hear the grouse drumming in the woods close by.

"I must have some of them, and that directly," he told himself, and
rifle in hand lost no time in making his way to the woods. By keeping
out of sight behind the brushwood he managed to get quite close to the
game, and so brought down one after another until he had five. Such
success was a great satisfaction to him, and returning to the shack he
fixed himself a breakfast of broiled sharptails, to which he did full
justice.

It was not all play at the ranches, and sometimes Theodore Roosevelt
went out with his men to round up the cattle and help "cut out" what was
his own. This was hard work, for frequently the cattle did not want to
be separated from the beasts belonging to another ranchman. More than
once an angry cow or a bull would charge, and then there would be a
lively scramble on pony-back or on foot to get out of the way.
Sometimes, too, the cattle would wander off and get lost, and then a
long and hard hunt would be necessary in order to find them again.

But there was fun as well as hard work, and Mr. Roosevelt has told one
story about a skunk that is sure to be remembered. He says that skunks
were very numerous, and that they were more feared than larger animals
by the cowboys because the bite was sure to bring on hydrophobia.

One night a number of the cowboys and Mr. Roosevelt were sleeping in a
hut. A skunk came along, and after a time worked its way into the hut.
It got among the pots and pans and made a noise which quickly awoke a
Scotchman named Sandy.

Thinking something was wrong, Sandy struck a light, and seeing the eyes
of the skunk, fired. But his aim was bad, and the animal fled.

"What were you firing at?" asked half a dozen of the other cowboys.

The Scotchman explained, and, satisfied that it had been a skunk, the
others told him he had better leave the animal alone or there would be
trouble.

Nobody thought the skunk would come back, but it did, and again Sandy
heard it among the pots and pans. This was too much for his Scotch
blood, and taking aim once more, he fired and gave the skunk a mortal
wound. At once the hut was filled with a powerful odor that made all
the inmates rush for the open air.

"Now see what you have done!" cried several, indignantly.

"Hoot mon!" answered the Scotchman, holding his nose tightly, "A didna
ken 'twould cause sec' a tragedee!"

And after that we may be sure that Sandy let skunks severely alone.

Hunting in the summer time, or when the weather was but moderately cold,
was well enough, but hunting in the dead of winter was quite a different
thing. Then the thermometer would frequently drop to thirty and forty
degrees below zero, and there would be a cutting "norther" fit to freeze
the very marrow in one's bones. Seldom was there much snow, but when it
came, it caused a veritable blizzard, during which neither man nor beast
felt like stirring out.

It was during such weather that Theodore Roosevelt once had the tip of
his nose and one cheek frozen--something that caused him not a little
pain and trouble for a long time afterward.

It was in those dreary days that the logs were piled high in the broad
fireplace of the ranch home, and Theodore Roosevelt spent his days in
reading and studying, in writing letters to his friends and relatives,
and in penning some of the hunting sketches that have won him literary
fame.

One day, early in the winter, Theodore Roosevelt and his foreman went
out to see if they could not bring in two white-tail deer which had been
seen in the vicinity of the ranch the day before. One of the deer, a
large buck, had been shot in the ankle by the foreman, so the beginning
of the trail was easy to follow. The buck and his mate had gone into a
thicket, and it was likely that there the pair had spent the night.

"We'll have our own trouble finding the tracks again," said the foreman.
And so it proved; for during the night some cattle and other animals had
passed in and out of the thicket, which covered a large extent of
territory.

At last the hunters hit upon the right trail, and the foreman went
ahead, leaving Roosevelt to keep somewhat toward the outside of the
cover. Both were wide-awake and on the alert, and presently the foreman
announced that he had found the spot where the wounded buck had passed
the night.

"He is not very far from here," said the foreman, and hardly had he said
this than Theodore Roosevelt heard a cracking of fallen twigs and a
breaking of the brush and lower limbs of the trees as the buck rushed
through the thicket. He ran with all speed in the direction and took
station behind a large tree.

Only a few seconds passed, and then the buck showed his head and antlers
among the brushwood. He was gazing ahead anxiously, no doubt trying to
decide if it would be safe to leap into the open and run up the trail.
Then he turned his gaze directly toward where Theodore Roosevelt was
crouching, rifle in hand.

Another instant and it would have been too late. But just as the buck's
head was turned and he sniffed the air suspiciously, the young ranchman
pulled the trigger.

"He turned his head sharply toward me as I raised the rifle," says Mr.
Roosevelt, in writing of this adventure, "and the bullet went fairly
into his throat, just under the jaw, breaking his neck, and bringing
him down in his tracks with hardly a kick."

The buck proved to be an extra fine one, and the two hunters lost no
time in dressing the game and taking it to the ranch. Not wishing to go
back for their horses, the two dragged the game over the snow, each
taking hold of an antler for that purpose. It was intensely cold, so
that each of the hunters had to drag first with one hand and then with
the other for fear of having his fingers frozen.

This was one of the times when the young ranchman and hunter was
successful in his quest. But Mr. Roosevelt has not hesitated to tell of
the many times he has gone out on the hunt only to return empty-handed
and glad enough to get back to a warm shelter and where he was sure of a
good meal.

"Ranching and hunting was no bed of roses," some one who knew him at
that time has said. "Many a time he came back utterly fagged out and not
a thing to show for his labor. But he never complained, and on the
contrary could generally tell a pretty good story about something he had
seen or had taken note of. In the summer he would examine the nests of
birds and waterfowl with great care, and I have seen him with a horned
frog before him, studying every point of the creature."

Once while on the prairie the young ranchman was caught in a heavy
hailstorm. He was out with a number of others, when, with scarcely any
warning, the sky began to grow dark, and the wind came up in fitful
gusts.

"We must get out of this, and quick too," said a companion. And all
pushed onward as fast as they could. But soon the heavy fall of hail
overtook them, and they were glad enough to seek even the slight shelter
of a deep washout, where men and horses huddled close together for
protection. The hailstones came down as large as marbles, causing the
horses to jump around in a fashion that was particularly dangerous to
themselves and to their owners. The time was August, yet the air grew
very cold, and when the storm was over, some cattle were found
completely benumbed. A few had been killed, and there had likewise been
great slaughter among a flock of lambs that had been driven into the Bad
Lands the year previous.

Mr. Roosevelt tells us that the greatest number of black-tailed deer he
ever killed in one day was three. He is a true sportsman in this respect
and does not kill for the mere sake of killing. Those who go out just to
slaughter all they possibly can are not sportsmen, but butchers. To be
sure, a hunter may have to play the butcher at times, when the meat is
needed, but not otherwise.

On the occasion when the three black-tails were laid low the young
ranchman and his foreman started on the hunt very early in the morning,
when the bright moon was still in the sky. It was late in November and
stinging cold, so they allowed their horses to take their own pace,
which was far from slow.

The course of the hunters was up the bed of a dry creek, along which
they passed the still sleeping cattle and also a drove of ponies. Then
they reached a spot where they left their own steeds, and, rifles in
hand, hurried silently toward a great plateau which lay some distance
before them. Signs of deer could be seen on every hand, and both were
certain that the day's outing would prove a grand success.

Theodore Roosevelt had separated from his companion when of a sudden he
caught sight of a beautiful doe. It was a fair shot, and dropping on one
knee he took aim and fired. But to his intense chagrin the doe bounded
off and disappeared in the brushwood.

"Hit anything?" sang out the foreman.

"I am afraid not," was the answer.

"Never mind; better luck next time." And then both sank down behind a
rock where they could get a good view of a hollow ahead of them.

They had been behind the rock but a short time when they heard a
cracking of twigs, and a fine black-tail buck came cautiously into view.
Both fired, and the buck rolled over, never to rise again. Then another
deer came into view and both fired again, but the game was not struck
and lost no time in disappearing.

"Never mind; one isn't so bad," said Theodore Roosevelt, and his
companion agreed with him.

The hunters now decided to go forward into the hollow and look for the
doe Theodore Roosevelt had missed. This was done, and soon the foreman
pointed to some drops and splashes of blood.

"Must have hit her, after all," said the foreman. "We can take our time
about following her up. We'll be sure to get her sooner or later."

But locating the wounded doe proved not so easy, after all. The trail
was followed for some time, but was lost on the hard ground higher up;
and at last the two hunters agreed to look for new game. They had lunch,
and then started out nearly as fresh as before when suddenly the foreman
called out:--

"There's your game all right!"

He pointed to a clump of bushes, and running forward, both saw the doe
stretched out, stiff and cold. She had been mortally wounded, after all,
much to both hunters' gratification.

So far the hunting had been on foot, but now the hunters took again to
their steeds. Mr. Roosevelt says he was wishing for just one more shot,
to see if he could not do better than before, when his wish was
gratified. Just ahead a yearling black-tail buck leaped into view and
cantered away. After the buck went both hunters, but Theodore Roosevelt
was in the lead, and this time determined to make no miss or poor shot.
He waited until the buck turned its side to him, then fired with
especial care. The game staggered on, then fell. The bullet had gone
clean through its body, and in a few seconds it breathed its last.




CHAPTER VII

RUNS FOR MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY--MARRIAGE TO EDITH KERMIT CAREW--HUNTING
IN THE BIGHORN MOUNTAINS--A WILD CHASE AFTER THREE ELK


Although Theodore Roosevelt was devoting himself to ranching, hunting,
and literary work in North Dakota he had by no means given up his
residence in New York or at Oyster Bay. More than this, he still
continued his connection with the Republican party in spite of the
set-back at the last National Convention.

In 1886, while Grover Cleveland was still President of the United
States, there was an exceedingly sharp and bitter fight in New York City
over the office of mayor. There was great discontent both in the
Republican and the Democratic party, and nobody could tell what was
going to happen on election day.

"Let us put up Teddy Roosevelt," said some of the Republicans, and
shortly after this Theodore Roosevelt was nominated for mayor of New
York. His regular opponent was Abram Hewitt, while the Independents put
up Henry George, the "single tax" man, well known as the author of a
book entitled "Progress and Poverty."

From the very start the campaign was an exceedingly hot one, and there
was a good deal of parading and speech-making. Many clubs were organized
in behalf of Theodore Roosevelt, and clubs were likewise formed to
support the other candidates. The supporters of Henry George came from
both regular parties, so political matters became very much mixed up.

"There is no show for Roosevelt unless George withdraws," said more than
one old politician.

"And George won't withdraw," added others. And so it proved. Henry
George was exceptionally strong with the poorer classes, and on election
day he polled over 68,000 votes; 90,552 votes were cast for Hewitt,
while Roosevelt received 60,435 votes.

It was certainly a disheartening defeat, and many a man would have
retired from the political field, never to show himself again. But
Theodore Roosevelt was made of sterner stuff. He held his ground and
went his way as before, resolved to do his duty as it should present
itself.

It was about this time that his intimacy with Miss Edith Kermit Carew
was renewed. It will be remembered that she had been his playmate during
his earlier days around Union Square. In the years that had followed she
had been graduated from a young ladies' seminary and had travelled
abroad, visiting London, Paris, and other large cities. Now she was home
again, and on December 2, 1886, she became Mr. Roosevelt's wife.

Mr. Roosevelt's second marriage has been a very happy one. Mrs.
Roosevelt is a loving wife and a gracious mistress of the White House.
Five children have come to bless their union, of which more will be said
later. Mrs. Roosevelt at once took Mr. Roosevelt's daughter Alice to her
heart, and from that time to this the two have been as mother and
daughter.

Theodore Roosevelt had already produced his "Naval War of 1812" and his
"Hunting Trips of a Ranchman," both spoken of in previous pages. A
short while after he was married the second time he brought out a "Life
of Thomas Benton," and a year later a "Life of Gouverneur Morris." In
addition to this he wrote a number of articles for the magazines, and
also some short stories for young folks. All were well received and
added not a little to his literary reputation.

But the desire to be out in the open, to roam the prairie and to hunt,
was in his veins, and again and again he visited his ranches in the Bad
Lands, and took hunting trips in other directions. Sometimes he cared
little or nothing for the game brought down, and at others he went on
the hunt with great deliberation, for "something worth while," as he
expressed it.

How careful he could be on the latter occasions is shown by his printed
views on hunting, in which he discusses the best rifles, shot-guns, and
pistols to use, the best knives to carry, how to dress with comfort, and
how to follow up game, on horseback and on foot, in the open and when in
the woods or in the short brush. He has also told us much about the
habits of the beasts and birds that he has hunted, showing that he
followed the sport intelligently and not in the haphazard fashion of
many who go out merely to get a big bagful of game.

[Illustration: Edith Kermit Roosevelt]

Hunting was not all fun in those days. We have already related how
Theodore Roosevelt was caught in a heavy hailstorm. At another time he
and his companions were caught in a three-days' rain-storm, during which
the wind blew a hurricane. They were miles away from the ranch home, and
it was utterly impossible to move in any direction.

"Reckon we are booked to stay here," said one of the cowboys, a fellow
from the South. "It's a right smart storm, and it's going to stay by
us." And stay by them it did, until the party were almost out of
provisions. They got what shelter they could in something of a hollow
overhung with trees and brush, but this was not very satisfactory, and
all were soaked to the skin, and the blankets in which they rolled
themselves at night were both wet and muddy.

"Teddy Roosevelt didn't like that wetting, and I know it," one of the
cowboys has said since. "But he didn't grumble near as much as some of
the others. We had to take our medicine, and he took his like a man."

There were no elk in the immediate vicinity of Theodore Roosevelt's
ranches, nor were there many bears or buffaloes. But all of these
animals were to be met with further westward, and the young ranchman had
been after them during a previous year's hunting while on a trip to
Montana and Wyoming.

At that time the destination of the party was the Bighorn Mountains,
which were reached only after a painful and disheartening journey over a
very uncertain Indian trail, during which one of the ponies fell into a
washout and broke his neck, and a mule stuck fast in a mud-hole and was
extricated only after hours of hard work.

"It was on the second day of our journey into the mountains that I got
my first sight of elk," says Mr. Roosevelt. The party was on the trail
leading into a broad valley, moving slowly and cautiously along through
a patch of pine trees. When the bottom of the valley was gained, Mr.
Roosevelt saw a herd of cow elk at a great distance, and soon after
took a shot at one, but failed to reach his mark.

"I'm going after that herd," he said. And as soon as the party had
pitched camp, he sallied forth in one direction, while his foreman,
Merrifield, took another.

As Theodore Roosevelt had supposed, the elk had gone off in a bunch, and
for some distance it was easy to follow them. But further on the herd
had spread out, and he had to follow with more care, for fear of getting
on the wrong trail, for elk tracks ran in all directions over the
mountains. These tracks are there to-day, but the elk and the bears are
fast disappearing, for ruthless hunters have done their best to
exterminate the game.

After passing along for several miles, Theodore Roosevelt felt he must
be drawing close to the herd. Just then his rifle happened to tap on the
trunk of a tree, and instantly he heard the elk moving away in new
alarm. His hunting blood was now aroused, and he rushed forward with all
speed, but as silently as possible. By taking a short cut, the young
ranchman managed to come up beside the running elk. They were less than
twenty yards away, and had it not been for the many trees which were on
every side, he would have had an excellent shot at them. As it was he
brought low a fine, full-grown cow elk, and hit a bull calf in the hind
leg. Later on he took up the trail of the calf and finished that also.

Of this herd the foreman also brought down two, so that for the time
being the hunters had all the meat they needed. But Theodore Roosevelt
was anxious to obtain some elk horns as trophies of the chase, and day
after day a watch was kept for bull elk, as the hunters moved the camp
from one place to another.

At last the long-looked-for opportunity arrived. Three big bulls were
seen, and Roosevelt and his man went after them with all possible speed.
They were on foot, and the trail led them over some soft ground, and
then through a big patch of burnt timber. Here running was by no means
easy, and more than once both hunters pitched headlong into the dirt and
soot, until they were covered from head to foot. But Theodore Roosevelt
was bound to get the elk, and kept on until the sweat was pouring down
his face and neck. Shot after shot was fired, and all three of the
animals were wounded, but still they kept on bounding away.

"One is down!" shouted Roosevelt at last. And the news proved true; the
smallest of the bulls had rocked unsteadily for a few seconds and gone
to earth. Then on and on after the remaining game sped the hunters,
panting and sweating as before.

"The sweat streamed down in my eyes and made furrows in the sooty mud
that covered my face, from having fallen full length down on the burnt
earth," writes the dauntless hunter, in relating this story. "I sobbed
for breath as I toiled at a shambling trot after them, as nearly done
out as could well be."

But he did not give up; and now the elk took a turn and went downhill,
with Theodore Roosevelt pitching after them, ready to drop from
exhaustion, but full of that grit to win out which has since won the
admiration of all who know the man. The second bull fell; and now but
one remained, and this dashed into a thicket. On its heels went the
daring hunter, running the chance of having the elk turn on him as soon
as cornered, in which case, had Roosevelt's rifle been empty, the
struggle for life on both sides would have been a fierce one.

In the midst of the thicket the hunter had to pause, for the elk was now
out of sight, and there was no telling what new course had been taken by
the game. At a distance he saw a yellow body under the evergreen trees,
and, taking hasty aim, fired. When he came up, he was somewhat dismayed
to learn that he had not brought down the elk, but a black-tail deer
instead. In the meantime, the elk got away, and it proved impossible to
pick up the trail again.

There is a valuable lesson to be learned from this hunting trip, and one
that all young readers should take to heart. It shows what sticking at a
thing can accomplish. Mr. Roosevelt had determined to get at least a
portion of that game, no matter what the labor and hardship involved.
Many a hunter would have given up in disgust or despair after the first
few shots were fired and it looked as if the elk were out of range and
intended to keep out. But this determined young man did not give up
thus easily. Hard as was that run up hill and down, and regardless of
the tumbles taken, and that he was so tired he could scarcely stand, he
kept on until two elk were brought down, and it was firmly settled that
the third could not be captured.

The way to accomplish anything in this life is to _stick at it_.
Theodore Roosevelt understood this truth even when he went to college,
for in the Harvard journal of which he was an editor he wrote, speaking
of foot-ball practice, "What is most necessary is that every man should
realize the necessity of faithful and honest work, _every afternoon_."
He put "every afternoon" in italics himself, and he meant that every
foot-ball player who hoped to win in the inter-collegiate foot-ball
games should _stick at it_ until he had made himself as perfect a player
as possible. A victory worth gaining is worth working for, and usually
the hardest-earned victories are the sweetest.




CHAPTER VIII

BRINGING DOWN A GRIZZLY BEAR--BACK TO NEW YORK--APPOINTED A CIVIL
SERVICE COMMISSIONER--THE WORK OF THE COMMISSION


It was while in the Bighorn Mountains that Theodore Roosevelt got his
first shot at a bear. He had been wanting such a chance for a good many
years, but up to that date the bears had kept well out of his sight.

In his writings he has said much about bears, both common and grizzly,
and told of their habits, and how they have been tracked down and shot
at various times of the year. He holds to the opinion that the average
bear would rather run away than fight, yet he tells the story of how one
bear faced the hunter who had shot him, and gave the man one blow with
his powerful paw that proved fatal.

One day his companion of the hunt came riding in with the carcass of a
black bear killed in a network of hollows and ravines some miles from
their present camp.

"The hollows are full of bear tracks," said Merrifield. "I am sure, if
we go up there, we'll get one or more black bears and perhaps a
grizzly."

"Then let us go by all means," responded Theodore Roosevelt. And no time
was lost in moving to the new locality.

The hunters had been out nearly all of the next day, when, on returning
through the forest toward nightfall, Roosevelt came across the footmarks
of a large bear. He tried to follow them, but night closed in on him,
and he had to return to camp. That very night the bear came around the
camp, looking for something to eat.

"Let us try to bring him down," cried Roosevelt, seizing his rifle,
while his companion did the same. But outside it was pitch dark.

"Do you see him?" questioned Merrifield.

"No."

"Neither do I."

"Listen."

Both listened, and at a distance heard the bear lumbering off slowly
through the woods. They went forward a short distance, then came to a
halt.

"We'll have to give it up for the present," said Theodore Roosevelt.
"But I am going to have him, sooner or later, if the thing is possible."

Early the next morning both of the hunters sallied forth and discovered
that the bear had been at the carcasses of some game left in the forest.
The tracks were fresh.

"He has been here, no doubt of it," said Merrifield. "Shall we wait for
him to come again?"

"We might as well," was the answer. "He'll get hungry again, sooner or
later."

So the pair sat down to watch. But the bear was shy, and kept his
distance. Then it grew dark once more, so that but little could be seen
under the trees.

"He knows enough to keep away," said Roosevelt's companion.

"Hark!" was the reply and both strained their ears. There was a faint
crackling of twigs, and they felt certain it was the bear. But it was
too dark to see anything; so both shouldered their rifles and walked
back to camp.

Here was another illustration of Theodore Roosevelt's method of sticking
at a thing. Two days had been spent in trying to get that bear, and yet
he did not give up. On the following morning he sallied forth once more,
as full of hope as before.

The bear had been at the carcass again, and the trail was now one to be
followed with ease.

"I'm going to hunt him down to his lair," said Theodore Roosevelt, and
stalked off with his companion beside him. Soon they were again deep in
the woods, walking perhaps where the foot of white man had never before
trod. Fallen trees were everywhere, and over these they often had to
climb.

"Getting closer," whispered Roosevelt's companion, and pointed to some
fresh claw scratches on the bark of fallen trees.

They now moved forward as silently as Indians, sure that the bear could
not be far off. Suddenly Merrifield dropped on his knee as if to take
aim. Roosevelt sprang to the front, with rifle raised. The bear was
there, standing upright, only a few paces away. Without hesitation
Theodore Roosevelt fired. His aim was true, and the great beast fell
with a bullet straight between the eyes. The leaden messenger had
entered his brain, and he died with scarcely a struggle.

"The whole thing was over in twenty seconds from the time I caught sight
of the game," writes Mr. Roosevelt, in his book "Hunting Trips on the
Prairies" (Part II of "Hunting Trips of a Ranchman"). "Indeed it was
over so quickly that the grizzly did not have time to show fight at all
or come a step toward me. It was the first I had ever seen, and I felt
not a little proud as I stood over the great brindled bulk which lay
stretched out at length in the cool shade of the evergreens. He was a
monstrous fellow, much larger than any I have seen since, whether alive
or brought in dead by hunters. As near as we could estimate he must have
weighed about twelve hundred pounds."

There is a bear story for you, boys. And the best of it is, it is every
word true. In later years Theodore Roosevelt brought down many more
grizzlies, but I doubt if he was as proud of them as he was of that
first capture.

While Theodore Roosevelt was spending a large part of his time in
hunting and in literary work, and in studying political economy, Grover
Cleveland's first term as President came to an end, and Benjamin
Harrison was inaugurated to fill the office of Chief Magistrate.

At that time the question of Civil Service was again being agitated.
Theodore Roosevelt was a warm advocate of the merit system, and knowing
this, President Harrison appointed him, in 1889, a Civil Service
Commissioner, and this office he held for six years, until his
resignation in 1895. When Benjamin Harrison's term of office was up, and
Grover Cleveland was reГ«lected to the Presidency, it was thought that
Roosevelt would have to go, but his friend, the newly elected President,
wished him to remain as a commissioner, and he did so for two years
longer, thus serving both under a Republican and a Democratic
administration.

To some of my young readers the term Civil Service, as applied here, may
be a bit perplexing. For the benefit of such let me state that civil
service here applies to the thousands of persons who work for the
government, such as post-office clerks, letter carriers, clerks in the
various departments at Washington, like the Treasury, the Congressional
Library, the Government Printing Office, the War Department, and the
hundred and one other branches in which Uncle Sam needs assistance.

For seventy or eighty years these various positions had been under what
is commonly called the "spoils system." "To the victor belong the
spoils," had been the old motto, which generally meant that the party
happening to be in power could do as it pleased about dealing out
employment to those under it. A worker might have been ever so faithful
in the discharge of his duties, but if the administration was changed,
he ran the risk of losing his position without any notice.

Statesmen of both great political parties had long seen the injustice of
the spoils system, but few cared to take the matter up for fear of
offending their political friends. But as matters grew worse, those who
were honest said they would stand such a system no longer, and they
began to advocate the merit plan, whereby each worker for our
government should stand on his merit, so that he could not be removed
from his position without just cause. This merit system is in operation
to-day and is a most excellent thing, only becoming dangerous when
extended too far.

There were two other commissioners besides Mr. Roosevelt on the
Commission, but all worked together in harmony, although in many moves
taken Mr. Roosevelt was the leader. About this work he has written a
notable essay called "Six Years of Civil Service Reform," in which he
reviews much of the work done. In this essay, among many other things,
he says:--

"No republic can permanently endure when its politics are corrupt and
base; and the spoils system,--the application in political life of the
degrading doctrine that to the victor belong the spoils,--produces
corruption and degradation. The man who is in politics for the offices
might just as well be in politics for the money he can get for his vote,
so far as the general good is concerned." Certainly wise words and well
worth remembering.

The work of the Commission was by no means easy, and the members were
often accused of doing some things merely to benefit their own
particular party or friends. Politicians of the old sort, who wanted
everything they could lay hands on, fought civil service bitterly, and
even those who might have been expected to help often held back, fearing
they would lose their own popularity. Yet on the other hand, some
members of Congress upheld the Commission nobly, and when President
Garfield was assassinated by a half-crazy office-seeker many more came
forward and clamored to put public offices on the merit system by all
means.

Part of the work of the Commission was to prosecute the head of any
bureau or department where an employee had been discharged or had
suffered without just cause. Such cases came up in large numbers and
were prosecuted with all the vigor of which the Commission were capable.