Cowboy Etiquette: Strangers

Supper in the Corral (also known as Camp-fire Texas), Frederick Remington, 1896. Ink wash with white paper. Public Domain.

A stranger’s business ain’t yours.

Texas Bix Bender

Old style cowhands spent considerable time alone. If in company, they were in the company of those who rode for the same brand. Coming upon an unfamiliar and unknown man in open country produced a natural and wise wariness as to the other man’s identity and intentions, since, from a cowpuncher’s perspective, the range attracted two types of undesirables: thieves (of both cattle and horses) and squatters—fence planters.

The western frontier didn’t reward dewy-eyed, glad-handling, hail-fellows-well-met. Suspicion of strangers was well founded and sage policy to follow. To quell their qualms, without giving offense, old-timers followed three customs when coming upon an unknown man.

On the Trail

Cowboys drew no closer than speaking distance. Then halted. “Passing a word” before riding along side of or riding past another man was demanded and prudent. It gave each man an opportunity to ascertain the intent of the other man. An unwarranted violation of this convention, like changing course without a self-evident reason, was interpreted as an admission of guilt or a deliberate and flagrant insult, neither of which could be tolerated.

If the unknown man was deemed friendly, pass with a genial gesture. However, don’t look back over your shoulder. It was considered an expression of suspicion and distrust, as though you feared being shot in the back. If the hairs on the back of your neck remained prickly, move to the side and give the other man the road, positioning yourself to keep a watchful eye as he passes.

If a stranger dismounts to cool his saddle and slackens his cinch to air his horse to parley, politeness demanded you too dismount, indicating you’re not looking for an advantage over him. The general code was: “Don’t talk down to anyone, even if it means getting off your horse.”

One last word about meeting strangers on a trail. Be careful not to lift a hand in greeting. Some horses are skittish and are apt to buck or bolt at sudden movements. Keeping your hands relaxed by your side or on the saddle horn was also a display that you intend the other man no harm. Quick hand action was often misconstrued as going for a gun. A cheerful “Howdy” and a nod of the head will suffice.

Riding from Behind

When approaching a stranger from behind sing out “Halloa,” or some such, before the foot fall of your horse can be heard—certainly before coming within pistol range. This gives the fellow in front ample time to turn his mount and apprize your approach. In this situation, keep in mind a man who turns with a wily smile is like a dog wagging its tail. The sight of you might delight him or it might disgruntle him. Surprising him by riding on top of him will likely get you bit.

Approaching a Camp

When edging near a camp, especially at night when cowboys are apt to be weary, hungry, and peppery, courtesy and wisdom dictated never stepping from darkness into firelight unannounced—not if you’d like to take another step. Allow a friendly “Hello the camp” to drift in from the shadows followed by an introduction. Larry McMurtry got this right when he wrote of Augustus McCrae approaching the nighttime camp of July Johnson and his party in Lonesome Dove:

“I’d like to know who they were shooting at when we rode up,” the other man said. “I don’t believe it was buffalo, though I know it was a buffalo gun.”

Augustus decided he wouldn’t get a better opportunity than that, so he cleared his throat and spoke in the loudest tones he could muster without actually shouting.

“They were shooting at me,” he said. “I’m Captain McCrae, and I’m coming in.”

He took a few steps to the side when he said it, for he had known men to shoot from reflex when they were frightened. Noting was more dangerous than walking into the camp of a bunch of men who had their nerves on edge.

“Don’t get nervous and shoot, I’m friendly,” he said, just as he saw the outline of their horses against the sky.

Also, when entering a stranger’s camp: approach from a direction easily viewable by the occupants of the camp, never from behind a tree or bush or any other concealment.

Greetings

There was no standard hailing phrase, but typical greetings given to outsiders at short range were “Halloo, stranger” or “Howdy, stranger.” This was usually followed by the greeter’s name. Women might be acknowledged with “Good morning [day], ma’am.” At longer distances, one might shout, “Whoop,” “Whoop-up,” or “Whoo-pee” or something similar.

Whenever a man gave his name it was accepted as gospel. To question a man’s identity without ample evidence that he was guilty of some crime was considered an insult. Even if one felt certain the stranger was using a pseudonym, propriety demanded that he be given the benefit of the doubt since he might have good cause for using an assumed name. Because “none came West save for health, wealth, or a ruined reputation,” and because “many a real name had been bucked out of the saddle,” and because many a cowboy were themselves on “shaky patronymic ground,” men of the West rarely asked for a stranger’s real name. Whatever moniker a man carried was merely accepted. It was the surefire way to get along as two six-shooters holstered in the same belt.

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Sources:

Ramon F. Adams, The Old-Time Cowhand (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1961), 57–58.

Texas Bix Bender, Don’t Dig for Water Under the Outhouse and Other Cowboy Commandments (Salt Lake: Gibbs Smith Publisher, 2008), 61.

Larry McMurtry, Lonesome Dove (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1985), 425–26.

Philip Ashton Rollings, The Cowboy (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1936), 67–68.

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