“When you call me that, smile,” the hero said to the bad man in that first of thousands of cowboy novels, Owen Wister’s “The Virginian.” Even before that book’s publication in 1902, the cowboy had become a part of the American psyche. Something there was about him—tall in the saddle, alone, facing danger, one man against nature’s vast, treeless plains and humanity’s outlaws—that appealed to people and made the cowboy a folk hero, a half-real, half-mythological symbol of the American West.

The cowboy of myth and reality had his beginnings in Texas. There cattle grew wild with few natural enemies; by the end of the Civil War there were an estimated 5 million of them. It was then that the cowboy entered his twenty-year golden age, 1866-1886, the era of the open range and the great cattle drives.

Even their dress inspired envy. The cowboys’ hats were high-crowned with wide, floppy rims, practical for protection from the sun’s glare, useful as a cup with which to scoop up water or, folded over, as a pillow. The bandana handkerchief tied around the neck could be lifted to cover mouth and nostrils from dust. Originally the collarless shirt and trousers were nondescript, of flannel or wool. A vest was often worn; it gave some protection from cold winds and also had a number of useful pockets, one of which held Bull Durham tobacco and cigarette papers. The boots with heels two inches high, the better to rest in the stirrups or dig into the ground while roping a calf, may have appeared exotic to a dude, but they were absolutely practical. The stock saddle’s design traced all the way back to the Moors of North Africa, having come to the American cowboy by way of the Spanish and Mexicans. Chaparejos, or chaps, served a valuable purpose when a cowboy had to chase after a steer into a patch of thorny mesquite. A bridle, a lariat, and, during the cattle drives, probably a well-balanced six-shooter completed the cowboys’ outfit.
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