Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp Part 4

We had cutla.s.ses made out of lath and when we told Jack to surrender he called us cowardly pirates and dared us to step on board his ship.

Then we went for him and was having a great old time when Jack's foot slipped and he fell off the log into the creek. He got mad at me and Billy, 'cause we laughed at him when he b.u.mped his head on the log as he went down.

I wisht we could camp out here forever.

d.i.c.k.

P. S. What's good for a burnt finger where you burnt it trying to pick the coffee pot off the fire to keep it from boiling over?

Camp Roosevelt.

_Dear Dad_: If there's a funny smell to this letter it's on account of the skunk. The man down the creek says if we bury our clothes in the ground for two or three days the smell will all come off.

We are coming home tomorrow in his wagon. We're going to leave the bed clothes hanging in a tree. The man said he wouldn't take them home if he was us. Anyhow it don't matter much for a spark blew onto the bed one day and burnt a hole right through them all clear down to the ground.

We put it out when we smelt it. It didn't hurt very much, for we changed the blankets 'round so the holes didn't all come together, and let in the cold, and it was all right.

Please kiss Mother for me and tell her most of the red's come off my face and arms.

Billy cried last night 'cause he was homesick and wanted his Ma. He's a sissy girl, Billy is. I'll sure be glad to see you and Ma, but I wouldn't cry about it. Please kiss Ma for me.

Your affectionate son, RICHARD.

P. S. Say, Pa, do skunks out on the plains look like little kittens? The one we caught sure did.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

POPGUN PLAYS SANTA CLAUS

By permission of _The National Wool Growers' Magazine_

"Salute yer pardners, let her go, Balance all an' do-se-do.

Swing yer gal, then run away, Right, an' left an' gents sashay."

"Whoa, Mack, there's a letter in the Widow Miller's box."

The pony sidled gingerly toward the mailbox nailed to the trunk of a pine tree, his eyes and ears watching closely the white sheet of paper that lay on the bottom of the open box, held by a small stone which allowed one end to flutter and flap in the wind in a way that excited his suspicions.

When the Widow Miller wished to mail a letter she placed it, properly stamped, in her box and the first neighbor pa.s.sing that way took it out and mailed it for her, she being some miles off the regular mail route.

"Gents to right, now swing or cheat, On to the next gal an' repeat."

He chanted the old familiar frontier quadrille call as he tried to force the pony close to the box to reach the paper without dismounting.

"Stand still, you fool," he spurred the animal vigorously, "that there little piece of paper ain't going to eat you."

But the more he spurred the farther from the box went the animal. "Beats all what a feller will do to save unloading hisself from a hoss," he threw the reins over Mack's head, swung to the ground and strode toward the box.

"Balance next an' don't be shy; Swing yer pards an' swing 'em high."

He sang as he lifted the stone and picked up the paper beneath it, which proved to be a large-sized sheet of writing paper folded three times. A one-cent stamp evidently taken from some old letter was stuck in one corner and beneath it was scrawled in a childish, unlettered hand the words:

"Mister Sandy Claws The North Pole."

Almost reverently Gibson unfolded the paper, feeling he was about to have some youthful heart opened to his curious eyes.

"Deer Sandy Claws," it began, "please bring me a train of railroad cars, an' a pair of spurs an' a 22 rifle to shoot rabits with, an' a big tin horn. An' Sandy, Mary wants a big Teddy bare an' a real doll what shuts her eyes when she lays down. An' Minnie she's the baby, Sandy, so pleas bring her a pictur book an' a doll an' a wolly lam an' bring us all a lot of candy an' apples an' oranges an' nuts, for since Dady went away, we ain't had none of them things much. Mother she says you know jist where we live so don't forgit us for I've tride to be a good boy this year.

"James Simpson Miller, 7 years old."

Gibson felt a lump rising in his throat, and took refuge in song to hide his embarra.s.sment.

"Bunch the gals an' circle round; Whack your feet upon the ground.

Form a basket break away, Swing an' kiss, an' all git gay."

He wiped something out of the corner of his eyes with the back of his buckskin glove, and blew his nose savagely. "Hm, Shucks, seems like I'm a gittin' a cold in my haid," he remarked sort of confidentially to the pony.

Once more he read the letter.

"Hm, Shucks, wants a railroad train, hey? An' a gunchester to kill rabbits, an' a tin horn, an' Mary wants a Teddy bear, does she, an'

apples an' oranges an' candy for all of 'em. Say, Bill Gibson, it's up to you to play Santy Claus for these kids an' if you handle the job right maybe you can convince their Aunt Nancy that she'd ought to say 'Yes' to a man about your size an' complexion." Again he broke into song.

"Aleman left an' balance all.

Lift yer hoofs an' let 'em fall.

Swing yer op'sites; swing agin, Kiss the darlings--if ye kin."

"Git up, Mack, les git along to camp and let the bunch in on this Santy Claus game. Hm, Shucks, Nancy said she wanted a watermelon-pink sweater--whatever color that may be--to wear to the New Year's dance up on Crow Creek. Reckin the thing won't cost more'n a month's pay. I'll jist get her one if it takes my whole roll." Once more he dropped into song.

"Back yer pardners, do-se-do.

Ladies break, an' gents you know.

Crow hop out, an' dove hop in, Join yer paddies an' circle again.

"Salute yer pardner, let her go, Balance all an' do-se-do.

Gents salute yer little sweets, Hitch an' promenade to seats."

That night around the table in the bunk house of the Oak Creek Sheep Company, four or five men watched the foreman write a letter to the owner, Mr. Barrington, who was wintering on the coast. Briefly he explained how the letter to Santa Claus fell into their hands and the desire of the men at the ranch to furnish the children with all the things they asked for, and more.

Miller, the foreman explained, had been accidentally killed a couple of years before and his wife was putting up a hard fight to stay on the piece of land he had homesteaded long enough to get t.i.tle to it from the government.

There were three kids, he continued, James, the oldest, seven years, and two girls, Mary, five, and Minnie, the baby, two.