What is become of the horseman, the cow-puncher, the last romantic figure upon our soil? For he was romantic. Whatever he did, he did with his might. The bread that he earned was earned hard, the wages that he squandered were squandered hard,—half a year’s pay sometimes gone in a night,—“blown in,” as he expressed it, or “blowed in,” to be perfectly accurate. Well, he will be here among us always, invisible, waiting his chance to live and play as he would like. His wild kind has been among us, since the beginning: a young man with his temptations, a hero without wings.
What does Wister mean in his answer to the question he poses at the start of this paragraph? How do the society of Medicine Bow in general and the Virginian in particular illustrate the point(s) he is making?