When a Man’s a Man: A Story of the Real West

Here is a land where a man, to live, must be a man. It is a land of granite and marble, strong stone and gold—and a man’s strength must be as the strength of the primeval hills. It is a land of oaks and cedars and pines—and a man’s mental grace must be as the grace of the untamed trees. It is a land of far-arched and unstained skies, where the wind sweeps free and untainted, and the atmosphere is the atmosphere of those places that remain as God made them—and a man’s soul must be as the unstained skies, the unburdened wind, and the untainted atmosphere. It is a land of wide mesas, of wild, rolling pastures and broad, untilled, valley meadows—and a man’s freedom must be that freedom which is not bounded by the fences of a too weak and timid conventionalism.

In this land every man is—by divine right—his own king; he is his own jury, his own counsel, his own judge, and—if it must be—his own executioner. And in this land where a man, to live, must be a man, a woman, if she be not a woman, must surely perish. Let’s listen, to learn what happens.