Oregon Trail. But finally he cannotnlive at ease among the “civilizers,”nseeking instead for a refuge among thenShoshone and neighboring tribes.nThere he remarries, gets a son, and isnkilled by soldiers — amidst what remainsnof “clear air and bright waters,”nthe unchanged handiwork of God.nSummers’ antitype is the self-madenprimitive Boone Caudill who is, despitenthe more admirable side-effects ofnhis absolute liberty, all restlessness andnviolence. Summers embodies a principlennot so extreme — nothing morenthan a reaction to the beauty of thenuntouched West and to the destructive,nherdlike ways of his own people. Evennso, the books in the Dick Summersntrilogy project an uneasy attitude towardncorporate life, except of the mostnuncomplicated variety. That uneasinessnis only partially modified innGuthrie’s three novels of Montanansettlement.nThese Thousand Hills (1956),nAr/zve (1971), and The Last Valleyn(1975) are concerned with the historynof the “cattle kingdom” in that part ofnthe Big Sky Country on the highnplains, just below the front range of thenRockies. Even more than that of thencowboy, fictional images of ranchersnand stockmen are at the heart of whatnwe can say about the literature of thenAmerican West. Their relation to angiven natural order is easy and respectful,nbalanced and tentative. Yet thoughnthey rest lightly upon the land (unlessntheir herds are too large), glory in theirnown self-sufficiency, and accept thencosts of a gamble with contingency,nthese cattlemen create a kind of society.nAs a culture, they live out of what isn”given” without attempting to controlnmore than a little of it. And they havenno patience with the remote and arbitrarynpowers of the state: powers thatnwould interfere with their “privatenbusiness” — their individual transactionsnwith nature. The test and exhilaratingndiscipline of hard pastoral arenpart of their self-definition; but theynalso “lie in possession” of significantnholdings and are stewards of a gardenn(or meadow) with boundaries. Moreover,nthey make a tradition out of thenvirtues they attempt to practice — onenthat resists the modern manipulativenand Promethean spirit much more effectivelynthan do the champions ofnsplendid isolation. These ThousandnHills treats the beginnings of the mostnfamiliar West, “the day of the cattlemen”nas described in Ernest S.nOsgood’s old book of that title, thentransition from open range to fencing,nwith the pushing back to “beyond thenwire” and “over the ridge” of the wildncreatures and people who lack an adequatensense of “what is thine andnmine.” Lot Evans moves from fecklessnyouth as a cowboy to being a paragonnand political protector of the order henhelps to create. But he accomplishesnthis by acknowledging what he hasnbeen. There is no better image of thisnpart of American history — except in J.nEvetts Haley’s magisterial biography,nCharles Goodnight: Cowman andnPlainsman (1936).nAr/zve and The Last Valley arenclosely related novels of Montana innmodern times — a place where progressnand its characteristic strategies havenbeen overdone. Fresh memories of then”old order of things” and the closenproximity of still surviving wildernessnput these mistakes quickly in perspective.nIn this most recent Montana,nnature takes revenge on those whonabuse her. Man’s estate in the contextnof Creation is, Guthrie reaffirms, thatnThe Arkatvsas. Annof a tenant by sufferance, or steward forna nonresident proprietor, not a master.nThe instruments of this reaffirmationnare Tom Ewing, a rancher who keepsn”development” at an ironic distance;nBenton “Prof” Collingsworth, the localnhigh-school principal; and theirnyounger friend, Ben Tate, who publishesnthe local newspaper. Togethernthey deny the premise that “progressnleaves no retreat.”nWhich is what can most readily bensaid about the protagonist in manynother Western novels that treat of thenplace of the cattlemen in a worldnimpatient with the disciplines, pieties,nand restrictions of his way of life:nConrad Richter’s Sea of Grass (1937),nHarvey Fergusson’s Grant of Kingdomn(1950), Larry McMurtry’s Horseman,nPass By (1961) and Leaving Cheyennen(1963), Ben Capps’ Sam Chancen(1965), and Elmer Kelton’s The TimenIt Never Rained (1973). The thrust ofnthis literature is elegiac. Often it lamentsnwhat is passing, as do its counterpartsnin the fiction of the Westernnsolitary: of Natty Bumpo as cowboy,nlawman, gunslinger, prospector/scout,nor their equivalent. The great positiveninstance of this subspecies is the heronWilUflW MlltS photographs’J^’n»r 150 Stunning coio^ y :ourney down tnenincluding ^^’^^Jf^otds MilW ^^Setatio^ ofnArkansas -°^ tlsTp^^^^P^’^Sworid.nA River’snHuman HistorynNew fromnThe University of Arkansas PressnFayetteville 72701nAvailable at local bookstores or through national bookstore chains.nnnFEBRUARY 1989/45n