This is the American vaquero--usually a short, fat man with dumpy legs, who dons a flapping sombrero, buys a new Mexican saddle, wooden stirrups, and leather riata, sometimes adding a coil of rope at left side, wears the botas with a corduroy suit at dinner at hotel, and doesn't know at all how comical an appearance he presents.
The very next to pass is one of the pioneers, who, although worth a million or more, puts on no style, and surveys the mongrel in front with a twinkle in his eye.

Every one should own a horse or pony or burro here, for the various drives are the greatest charm of the place.
Through all Southern California the happy children ride to school, where the steeds, fastened to fence in front of building, wait patiently in line, like Mary's lamb.

But in Santa Barbara you see mere tots on horseback, who look as if it were no new accomplishment.

I believe the mothers put them on gentle ponies to be cared for, or safe, as mothers in general use the cradle or high-chair.

One of the old Mexican residents of Santa Barbara, when over eighty years of age, had the misfortune to break his leg.