The Wit and Humor of America Volume X Part 23

The man started to his feet.

"Do you see that?" he cried, holding his revolver under her nose. "Look right into that gun! We'll have no more fooling. It'll be your last look if you don't tell me where that money is before I count three."

She put out her hand and calmly moved it aside.

"I've looked into those things ever since I've lived on the prairie,"

said she. "And I dare say it won't go off--mine won't. Besides, I know very well you wouldn't shoot a woman, and you can't make bricks without straw; and then I've told you I don't know anything about that money."

"You are a game one," said he.

"No, I'm not," she replied. "I'm the most tremendous coward. I've come out here in this wild country to live, and I'm alone a great deal, and I quake at every sound, every creak of a timber, every rustle of the gra.s.s. And you don't know anything about what it is to have your heart stand still with horror of a wild beast or a wild Indian or a deserter--a deserting soldier. There's a great Apache down there now, stretched out in his blanket on the floor, before the fire in the kitchen. And I came up here as quick as I could, to lock the door behind us and sit up till Tom came home, and I declare, I never was so thankful in all my life as I was just now to see a white face when I looked at you!"

"Well, I'll be--! Apache!" cried the visitor. "See here, little one, you've saved your husband's money for him. You're a double-handful of pluck. I haven't any idea but you know where it's hid--but I've got to be making tracks. If it wasn't for waking that Apache I'd leave Red Dan's handwriting on the wall."

And almost while he was speaking he had swung himself out of the window to the roof of the porch and had dropped to the ground and made off.

Mrs. Laughton waited till she thought he must be out of hearing, leaning out as if she were gazing at the moon. Then she softly shut and fastened the sash, and crept with shaking limbs to the door and unlocked it, and fell in a dead faint across the threshold. And there, when he returned some three-quarters of an hour later, Tom found her.

"Oh, Tom!" she sobbed, when she became conscious that she was lying in his arms, his heart beating like a trip-hammer, his voice hoa.r.s.e with fright as he implored her to open her eyes; "_is_ there an Apache in the kitchen?"

RUBAIYAT OF MATHIEU LETTELLIER

BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY

Dere's six chil_dren_ in our fam'lee, Dey's mos'ly girls an' boys; 'Toinette an' me wos t'ankful sure For all de happy joys; Dere's Pierre, an' little Rosalie, Antoine, Marie an' Jeanne, An' Paul he's com' now soon twelf year, Mos' close to be a man.

I's lof' all of _la pet.i.te femme_, De garcon mak' me proud, I haf gr'ad aspiratione For all dat little crowd; My Pierre shall be wan doctor mans, Rosalie will teach school, Antoine an' Jeanne shall rone de farm, Marie som' man will rule.

An' Paul shall be a _cure_ sure, I'll haf heem educate', I work it all out on my head, Oh, I am moch elate; Dis all of course w'en dey grow op; But I t'ink 'bout it now; So w'en de tam' was com' for ac', I'll know de way an' how.

Long tam' ago, w'en Paul firs' com', He mak' a lot of noise; He's keep me trot, bot' day an' night, He was wan naughty boys; At wan o'clock, at two o'clock, Annee ol' tam' suit heem, He's mak' us geeve de gran' parade Jus' as he tak' de w'im.

Sooding mola.s.s' an' peragork, On heem ve pour it down, An' soon he let his music op, An' don' ac' more lak' clown, An' den _ma femme_ an' me lay down To get a little doze, For w'en you are wan fam'lee man You don' gat moch repose.

But w'at's de use to mak' de kick, Dees fellows boss de place; I'd radder hear de healt'y lung An' see de ruddy face Dan run a gr'ad big doctor's bill, An' geeve de ol' s.e.x_tone_ De job, for bury all my kids, An' leave me all alone.

An' so our hands is quite ver' full, Will be, for som' tam' long, But ven old age is dreeft our vay An' rest is our belong, It's den ve'll miss de gran' rac_quette_,-- May want again de noise Of six more little children An' mos'ly girls and boys.

BIGGS' BAR

BY HOWARD V. SUTHERLAND

'Twas a sultry afternoon, about the middle of July, And the men who loafed in Dawson were feeling very dry.

Of liquor there had long been none except a barrel or two, And that was kept by Major Walsh for himself and a lucky few.

Now, the men who loaf in Dawson are loafers to the bone, And take it easy in a way peculiarly their own; They sit upon the sidewalks and smoke and spit and chew, And watch the other loafers, and wonder who is who.

They only work in winter, when the days are short and cold, And then they heat their cabins, and talk and talk of gold; They talk about provisions, and sometimes take a walk, But then they hurry back again and talk, and talk, and talk.

And the men who loaf in Dawson are superior to style, For the man who wears a coat _and_ vest is apt to cause a smile; While he who sports suspenders or a belt would be a b.u.t.t, And cause ironic comment, and end by being cut.

The afternoon was sultry, as I said some time before; 'Twas fully ninety in the shade (in the sun a darn sight more), And the men who sat on the sidewalks were, one and all, so dry That only one perspired, though every one did try.

Six men were sitting in a line and praying G.o.d for air; They were Joaquin Miller and "Lumber" Lynch and "Stogey" Jack Ver Mehr, "Swift-water" Bill and "Caribou" Bill and a sick man from the hills, Who came to town to swap his dust for a box of liver pills.

I said they prayed for air, and yet perhaps I tell a lie, For none of them are holy men, and all of them were dry; And so I guess 'tis best for me to say just what I think-- They prayed the Lord to pity them and send them all a drink.

Then up spoke Joaquin Miller, as he shook his golden locks, And picked the Dawson splinters from his moccasins and socks (The others paid attention, for when times are out of joint What Joaquin Miller utters is always to the point):

"A foot-sore, weary traveler," the Poet then began, "Did tell me many moons ago,--and oh! I loved the man,-- That Biggs who owns the claim next mine had started up a bar.

Let's wander there and quench our thirst." All answered, "Right you are."

Now, Biggs is on Bonanza Creek, claim ninety-six, below; There may be millions in it, and there may not; none will know Until he gets to bedrock or till bedrock comes to him-- For Arthur takes it easy and is strictly in the swim.

It is true, behind his cabin he has sunk a mighty shaft (When the husky miners saw it they turned aside and laughed); But Biggs enjoys his bacon, and smokes his pipe and sings, Content to be enrolled among the great Bonanza Kings.

'Tis full three miles from Dawson town to Biggs' little claim; The miners' curses on the trail would make you blush with shame The while they slip, or stub their toes against the roots, or sink Twelve inches in the mud and slime before their eyes can wink.

But little cared our gallant six for roots, or slime, or mud, For they were out for liquor as a soldier is for blood; They hustled through the forest, nor stopped until they saw Biggs, wrapt in contemplation, beside his cabin door.

He rose to greet his visitors, and ask them for the news, And said he was so lonesome that he always had the blues; He hadn't seen a paper for eighteen months, he said, And that had been in j.a.panese--a language worse than dead.

They satisfied his thirst for news, then thought they of their own, And Miller looked him in the eye and gave a little groan, And all six men across their mouths did pa.s.s a sun-burnt hand In a manner most deliberate, which all can understand.

"We heard you keep a bar, good Biggs," the gentle Poet said!

"And so we thought we'd hold you up, and we are almost dead!"

He said no more. Biggs understood, and thusly spoke to them In accents somewhat British and prefixed with a "Hem!"

"The bar you'll find a few yards hence as up that trail you go; I never keep my liquor in the blooming 'ouse, you know.

Just mush along and take a drink, and when you are content Come back and tell me, if you can, who now is President."

They mushed along, those weary men, nor looked to left or right, But thought of how each cooling drink would trickle out of sight; And very soon they found the goal they came for from afar-- _A keg, half full of water, in a good old gravel bar!_

THE BACKSLIDING BROTHER

BY FRANK L. STANTON