The Dude Wrangler

by Caroline Lockhart

  CHAPTER XI

  MERRY CHRISTMAS

  Wallie shivered in his sleep and pulled the soogans higher. The actexposed his feet instead of his shoulders, so it did not add to hiscomfort. He felt sleepily for the flour sack which he wore on his headas protection against the dust that blew in through the crack in thelogs and his fingers sank into a small snow bank that had accumulated onhis pillow.

  The chill of it completely awakened him. He found that there was froston the end of his nose and he was in a miniature blizzard as far as hisshoulders. The wind was howling around the corners and driving the firstsnow of the season through the many large cracks in his log residence.

  The day was Christmas, and there was no reason to believe that it wouldbe a merry one.

  Wallie lay for a time considering the prospect and comparing it withother Christmases. He had a kettle of boiled beans, cold soda biscuit,coffee, and two prairie-dogs which he intended cooking as an experiment,for his Christmas dinner.

  Growing more and more frugal as his bank account shrank with alarmingrapidity, Wallie reasoned that if he could eat prairie-dog it wouldserve a double purpose: While ridding his land of the pests it wouldsave him much in such high-priced commodities as ham and bacon.Prairie-dog might not be a delicacy sought after by epicures, yet henever had heard anything directly against them, beyond their propensityfor burrowing, which made them undesirable tenants. He reasoned thatsince they subsisted upon roots mainly, they were of cleanly habits andquite as apt to be nourishing and appetizing, if properly cooked, asrabbit.

  Having the courage of his convictions, Wallie skinned and dressed theprairie-dogs he had caught out of their holes one sunshiny morning, andmeant to eat them for his Christmas dinner if it was humanly possible.

  The subject of food occupied a large part of Wallie's time and attentionsince he was not yet sufficiently practised to make cooking easy. He hadpurchased an expensive cook book, but as his larder seldom contained anyof the ingredients it called for, he considered the price of it wasted.He had found that the recipes imparted by Tex McGonnigle, who had builthis ten-by-twelve log cabin for him, were far more practical. Under histuition Wallie had learned to make "sweat-pads," "dough-gods,""mulligan," and other dishes with names deemed unsuitable forpublication.

  After considering his dinner menu for a time, Wallie drew his knees tohis chin, which enabled him to his get entire body under the soogan, andcontrasted his present surroundings with those of the previousChristmas.

  In the spacious Florida hotel last year he had only to touch a button tobring a uniformed menial who served him coffee and lighted a grate firefor him, while the furnishings of his room and bath were quite asluxurious as those of The Colonial.

  Now, as the light strengthened, Wallie could see his third-handed stovepurchased from the secondhand man, Tucker, standing in the corner withits list to starboard. The wind blowing through the baling wire whichanchored the stove-pipe to the wall sounded like an aeolian harp playedby a maniac. His patent camp chair had long since given way beneath him,and when he had found at the Prouty Emporium two starch boxes of theright height, he had been as elated when they were given to him as if hehad been the recipient of a valuable present. They now served as chairson either side of his plank table.

  His pneumatic mattress had collapsed from punctures, and Wallie's boneswere uncomfortably close to the boards in the bottom of the bunkMcGonnigle had built against one end of the cabin. His pillow was aflour sack filled with straw and of a doubtful colour, as was also thehand towel hanging on a nail beside a shocking wash basin.

  There was a dirt roof on the cabin from which clods of earth fell ratherfrequently and bounced on Wallie's head or dropped in the food, or onhis bed to startle him when sleeping. The floor contained knotholesthrough which the field mice and chipmunks came up to share hisprovisions, and the door, being a trifle larger than the frame, couldnot be closed entirely.

  When Wallie had called McGonnigle's attention to the fact that he couldstand in the middle of his cabin and view the scenery through the cracksin any direction, McGonnigle had assured him that "fresh air never hurtnobody," and while he cheerfully admitted that he was not a carpenter,declared that he had made allowances for this fact in his charges.

  Though Wallie could not notice it when he paid them, he said nothing,for by now he was accustomed to having everything cost more than he hadanticipated, however liberal he might be in his estimate.

  Boise Bill rode by occasionally and inquired humorously if he thought hewould "winter." To which Wallie always replied that he intended to,though there were moments of depression when he doubted it.

  It was upon Wallie's inability to "winter" that Canby was counting. Hehad hung on longer than Canby had thought he would, but the cattlemanfelt fairly sure that the first big snowstorm would see the last ofWallie. The hardships and loneliness would "get" him as it did mosttenderfeet, Canby reasoned, and some morning he would saddle up indisgust, leaving another homestead open to entry.

  If, perchance, this did not happen, Canby had a system of his own foreliminating settlers. It was quite as efficacious as open warfare,though it took longer and was open to the objection that sometimes itenabled them to stay long enough to plow up eighty acres or so whichwent to weeds when they abandoned it.

  Canby had no personal feeling against Wallie and, after meeting him,decided he would use the more lawful and humane method of riddinghimself of him. Instead of running him off by threats and violence hewould merely starve him out, and Wallie's bank balance indicated thatCanby was in a fair way to accomplish his purpose.

  Several happenings had made Wallie suspect something of Canby's purpose,and the same latent quality which had made Wallie trudge doggedly afterhis cow and horse until he had worn out their perversity always made himtell himself grimly that he was going to stick until he had his crop inand harvested if he laid down, a skeleton, and died beside one of hisown haystacks.

  Mostly, however, he was so busy with his cooking, feeding his livestock,getting wood and water, to say nothing of piling rocks and grubbingsagebrush that he had no time to brood over Canby and the wrongs he haddone him. He had learned from McGonnigle that his locoed horses wouldgrow worse instead of better and eventually would have to be shot, andthat person had imparted the discouraging information also that not onlycould he expect no milk from his cow until her calf arrived in Januarybut Jerseys were a breed not commonly selected for beef cattle.

  Wallie had thought that his aunt would surely relent to the extent ofwriting him a Christmas letter but, yesterday, after riding eight milesto look in the bluing box nailed to a post by the roadside, he had foundthat it had contained only a circular urging him to raise mushrooms inhis cellar.

  Helene Spenceley, too, might have sent him a Christmas card orsomething. He had seen her only twice since the sale, and each time shehad whizzed past him in Canby's machine on the way to Prouty. The sighthad given him a curious feeling which he had tried to analyze but hadbeen unable to find a satisfactory name for it.

  Altogether, Wallie felt very lonely and forlorn and forgotten thisChristmas morning as he lay in a knot under the soogan, listening to thewind twanging the stove-pipe wire and contemplating his present andfuture.

  He had discovered that by craning his neck slightly when in a certainposition he could look through a crack and see the notch in the mountain,below which was the Spenceley ranch, according to Pinkey. He wasprompted to do so now, but an eyeful of snow discouraged hisobservation, so he decided that he would get up, feed his animals and,after breakfast, wash his shirt and a few towels by way of recreation.

  The cabin was not only as cold as it looked but colder, and as Walliehopped over the floor bare-footed and shivering he reflected that verylikely his potatoes and onions were frozen and wished he had taken themto bed with him.

  They were, unmistakably, for they rattled like glass balls when hepicked up several onions and examined them with a pained expression.

  Wallie was still
wearing much of the wardrobe he had brought with him,and when dressed to go outside he was warm but unique in a green velourhat, his riding breeches, brilliant golf stockings that were all butfeetless thrust in arctics, a blue flannel shirt from the Emporium inProuty, and a long, tight-fitting tan coat which had once been verysmart indeed.

  The snow had stopped falling by the time he had done his chores andbreakfasted. The only benefit the storm had brought him was that it didaway with the necessity of carrying water for his washing. He hadacquired the agility of a cliff-dweller from scaling the embankment bymeans of the "toe-holts"; yet, at that, it was no easy matter totransport a bucket of water without spilling it.

  He wished for a well every time that he panted in from a trip to thecreek, and meant to have one as soon as he could afford it.

  While the snow-water was melting Wallie considered the manner in whichhe should prepare the prairie-dogs. He presumed that it was too much toexpect that the cook book would have anything to say on the subject, butit surely would recognize rabbit, and a recipe suitable for one would dofor the other.

  Wallie got out his cook book and turned eagerly to the index. There wasno mention of rabbit. A thought struck him--rabbit was hare and harewas rabbit, wasn't it? If so, the cook book would not admit it, forthere was no such word under the H's.

  He was disgusted. What good was such a cook book, he asked himself as heturned the leaves in resentment. He wished he could collect thetwo-fifty he had paid for it. He read aloud, sneeringly:

  "Caviar toast, garnished. Crab, scalloped, in shell. Aspic in jelly.Fondu of cheese. Floating Island. Meringue glace, and Whipped Cream."

  The mere mention of the dishes made his mouth water, while his angeragainst the dame who had compiled it mounted higher. He remotelycontemplated writing to inquire of the culinary oracle why she hadignored hare and rabbit.

  Continuing to scan the index, his eye caught a word which heldpossibilities. Game! If rabbit was not game, what was it?

  Ah! Wallie looked at a picture of a rabbit lying on a platter with itslegs in the air and artistically decorated with parsley until he feltmore hungry than ever. Then he read aloud with gusto:

  "Barbecued rabbit. Casserole of rabbit. Roast rabbit. Smothered rabbit.Stewed rabbit."

  He perused all the recipes carefully. After giving weighty considerationto each, roast rabbit seemed to make the strongest appeal to him. Heread the recipe aloud twice that he might the better comprehend it:

  "Dress and wash the wily _coureur de bois_, but leave the heads on incleaning them. Stuff the bodies with a forcemeat of fat, salt pork,minced onions, and fine bread crumbs well seasoned with salt andpepper. Sew them up with fine thread and lay upon thin slices of pork,covering the grating of the roaster. Lay other slices of pork over them,pour over all a cupful of stock, and roast one hour. Remove the pork,then wash with butter and dredge with flour and brown.

  "Drain off the gravy, lay the bits of bacon about the rabbit in thedish: thicken the gravy with browned flour. Boil up, add a tablespoonfulof tomato catsup and a glass of claret, then take from the fire."

  Wallie reflected, as he sat with his feet on the stove-hearthoverflowing with ashes, that when it came to the "forcemeat" he was"there with the crumbs," since he had an accumulation of ancient biscuittoo hard to eat. Also he had salt pork and onions. The butter, tomatocatsup, stock, claret, he must dispense with. After all, theprairie-dogs were the main thing and he had them.

  He congratulated himself that he had decided to leave on the heads whenskinning them. The recipe so enthused him that he decided to preparethem before starting in with his washing.

  Obviously the first thing to do was to thaw the onions, so he put themin the oven, after which he went to a box in the corner and selected afew biscuit. Crumbs were crumbs, as he viewed it, and biscuit crumbswere quite as good as bread crumbs for his purpose.

  There were certain marks on these biscuit that were made unmistakably bythe teeth of mice and chipmunks, but these traces he removedpainstakingly. As he reduced the biscuit to crumbs with a hammer, herecalled that he had been awakened several times by the sound of thesepestiferous animals frisking in the box in the corner. He did not allowhis mind to dwell upon this, however, lest it prejudice him when it cameto the eating of the "forcemeat."

  Onions, he found, were not improved by freezing. Those he removed fromthe oven were distinctly pulpy, but since they smelled like onion andtasted like it, he mushed them in with the biscuit crumbs, and seasoned.

  Then he crammed the prairie-dogs with the mixture and looked for athread among his sewing articles. Since he could find nothing but blacklinen, Wallie threaded a darning needle and did a fancy "feather" stitchdown the middle of each of them.

  This accomplished, he stood off and viewed his handiwork with eminentpride and satisfaction, though it occurred to him that owing to hisgenerous use of "forcemeat" they had a bloated appearance, as if theyhad died of strychnine poisoning.

  The heads, too, were decidedly rat-like, and as the long, sharp teeth ofthe pair of them grinned up at Wallie he covered them hastily and setabout his washing.

  He had come to begrudge every stick of firewood, and it took anincredible amount to heat wash-water. A man could very well fill histime if he did nothing but collect wood and carry water.

  As he set his tub and washboard on a box and rubbed vigorously on hisundergarments, he smiled to himself and wondered what his friends of TheColonial would say if they could see him at the moment. He did not somuch mind washing, it was easier than digging post holes, but it was notmuch of a way to spend Christmas and he was desperately lonely. Hewished someone would come along to talk to.

  He was so far from the road that there were no passersby, and no onewanted to see him anyhow, but his loneliness became so great as he dweltupon it that on the remote chance that he might see someone even in thedistance he stopped washing and walked to the window, where with hiselbow he rubbed a spot clear of frost.

  Looking out through the loop-hole, it was a white, tractless world hegazed upon, and he might have been in the Arctic Circle for all thesigns of life he could discover. He told himself that he might haveknown better than to hope for any.

  As he squinted, he suddenly pressed his eye harder against the window.Did he see a speck that moved or did he imagine it? He enlarged the holeand strained his eyes until they watered. Surely it moved--surely. Itwould be too disappointing for words if it were only a delusion.

  It did! It did! There was now no mistake about it. Someone was comingtoward the cabin. Wallie shook with excitement at the prospect of avisitor. Whoever it might be, Wallie would make him stay for dinner ifhe had to pay him by the hour for his company. That was settled. Verylikely it was Pinkey, but to-day even Boise Bill would be welcome.

  Wallie shoved his Christmas dinner in the oven and slammed the door uponit, stoked the fire lavishly, then fell upon the washboard and rubbedfuriously that he might be done the sooner. At intervals he dashed tothe window, half afraid to look lest the rider had changed his mind andgone in another direction.

  But no, he kept coming, and there was something in the way he sat hishorse which made him think it was Pinkey.

  And Pinkey it was, brilliant as a rainbow in orange chaps, red flannelshirt, and a buckskin waistcoat. His coat tied behind the cantlesuggested that he either had become overheated or at only twelve belowzero had not yet felt the need of it. His horse was snorting steam likea locomotive and icicles of frozen breath were pendent from itsnostrils.

  Wallie stood in the door, suds to the elbow and his hands steaming,waiting to receive him.

  His voice trembled as he greeted him:

  "I never was so glad to see anybody in my life, Pinkey."

  "This is onct I know you ain't lyin'. Got anything to eat? I'm starvin'.I been comin' sence daylight."

  "I got something special," Wallie replied, mysteriously. "Tie your horseto the haystack. I'll hurry things up a little."

  Pinkey returned shortly and sniff
ed as he entered:

  "It smells good, anyhow. There's something homelike about onions. Whatyou cookin'?"

  "It's a secret, but you'll like 'em. I made 'em out of the cook book."

  Pinkey threw his coat on the table and the thud sounded as if it had abrick rolled in it.

  "Here's something Helene sent--she made it--it's angel food orsomethin', I reckon."

  "Now wasn't that good of her!" Wallie exclaimed, gratefully.

  "I can't tell till I taste it. I wouldn't call her much of a cookgenerally." He prodded the cake as he unrolled it and commented:

  "Gosh, it's hard! I turned my thumb-nail back on it."

  "It's frozen--that's what's the matter," Wallie defended, promptly.

  "I think it's a bum cake," declared Pinkey, callously.

  "I think you don't know what you're talking about until you try it,"Wallie retorted with asperity.

  Pinkey looked at him thoughtfully and changed the subject.

  "I see you're playin' a tune on the washboard."

  Wallie replied stiffly:

  "Yes, I'm doing a little laundry." Pinkey's criticism of the cake stillrankled.

  "You ain't washin' that blue shirt a'ready?" Pinkey demanded,incredulously. "You only bought it Thanksgivin'."

  "The front of it bent like rubber-glass and I couldn't stand it anylonger." He added reminiscently: "There was a time when I wore a freshshirt daily."

  Pinkey stared at him awe-stricken:

  "I wouldn't think changin' as often as that would be healthy."

  The clothes in the dishpan on the stove boiled over, and as Walliejumped for the broom-handle to poke them under, Pinkey demanded:

  "Are you bilin' your flannens?"

  "Certainly."

  "A ten-year-ol' boy can't git in that suit of underwear onct you're donecookin' it," Pinkey explained, and added, disgustedly: "Wallie, don'tyou know nuthin'?"

  Wallie looked his consternation.

  "I'll know better next time," he said, humbly.

  Pinkey consulted his watch and hinted:

  "Don't you want me to make the bread?"

  "No, I have some biscuit to warm over, we'll boil potatoes, thaw thecake out, open some pineapple, and with what I have in the oven we willhave a dinner that'll be nothing short of a banquet."

  "Great! I'm so hungry I could eat with a Digger Injun."

  Wallie opened the oven door.

  "They're browning beautifully!" he reported.

  "Chickens?"

  Wallie shook his head:

  "I shan't tell you until you've passed upon them."

  "If you've got enough of whatever it is--that's all that's worryin'me," declared Pinkey, hungrily. "You'd ought to build you a root cellarnext winter--if you're livin'," he remarked as the potatoes rattled whenWallie dropped them in the kettle.

  "Do you suppose I could grow potatoes? Is it too dry?"

  "This is a great country for potatoes. There's somethin' in the soilthat gits in the potatoes' eyes and makes 'em water so they irrigatethemselves. Shore! you can grow potatoes."

  "I want to make a good many improvements here before next winter,"announced Wallie, hopefully. "I wish you could come over for awhile andhelp me."

  "That mightn't be a bad idea," said Pinkey, thoughtfully. "Sence thecountry went dry I don't much care whether I draw wages or not--they'snothin' to spend money for, so what's the use of workin'? If I was overhere I might add a few feet to my rope and git me a good little startoff Canby."

  "Do you see much of him?" Wallie asked, indifferently.

  "Too much," said Pinkey, shortly.

  Wallie dropped the pan he was turning in the oven.

  "They're browning beautifully," he exclaimed hastily.

  "You said that before. Ain't it gittin' time to work on 'em?"

  "Remove your feet and I'll set the table."

  "Can't you spread a paper for a tablecloth? I always git splinters in myelbows when I eat off rough lumber."

  Wallie laughed good-humouredly as he obliged him.

  "That's shore a great smell comin' from the oven! Let's eat, feller."

  "You certainly are hungry, Pinkey. If I may judge by appearances, youare not going to be disappointed. You sit down while I put things on thetable."

  Pinkey needed no second invitation.

  "I like spuds cooked with the clothes on," he observed as he skinned apotato.

  "I trust everything is going to be to your liking," Wallie declared,cordially, as he drew the prairie-dogs from the oven and laid them on anagate-ware platter.

  Busy with his potato, Pinkey did not see them until they were beforehim. Then he stopped and stared hard as they lay on their backs grinningup at him with the "forcemeat" oozing through the stitching.

  "_What are they?_" His emphasis was not flattering.

  "I shan't tell you yet," declared Wallie.

  Pinkey continued to eye them suspiciously.

  "They kinda remind me of a mummy I seen in a side-show; then, again,they look like incubator childern--roasted. Them teeth are what git me.I can't quite place 'em. 'Tain't wood-pussy or nothin', Wallie? 'Tain'tno notorious animal like pole-kitty?"

  Wallie looked offended.

  "I intend to eat some myself," he replied with dignity.

  "Are they some kind of a varmint?" Dubiously.

  "Varmint?"

  "Pack-rat or weasel?"

  "Scarcely!"

  Wallie looked so injured that Pinkey said apologetically:

  "I was jest cur'ous." But inquired further: "Is that stuffin' or in'ardscoming through the sewin' down the front of 'em?"

  "Forcemeat. I made it according to a recipe."

  "Indeed?" Politely. "Don't go shy yourself jest because I'm here," heprotested, as Wallie attempted to cut one in two with the butcher-knife."I ain't feelin' so hungry--somethin' has took my appetite."

  As the table swayed under Wallie's efforts to carve a prairie-dog, hesuggested:

  "Perhaps if you took hold of one leg----"

  "Ye-ah," said Pinkey, humorously, "and you take holt of the other andput your foot on my chest so you kin git a purchase, then we'll bothpull and somethin's bound to happen."

  "If I could only find a joint----"

  "Worry one of them legs off and we'll see how we like it before you playyourself out on it."

  Wallie acted upon the suggestion and presented the severed member.

  "Try it," he urged, persuasively.

  Pinkey sunk his grinders into the leg and laid back on it.

  "Does it seem tough?" Wallie asked, watching him anxiously.

  "Tough! I'm scairt it's goin' to snap back and knock me over. Wait tillI git a fresh holt on it."

  "Do you get the flavour at all?"

  "I can't pull enough off to taste it," Pinkey replied, plaintively.

  "Try the dressing and tell me what you think of it." Wallie scooped outa generous spoonful and placed it on his plate, waiting confidently forthe verdict.

  Pinkey conveyed his knife to his mouth while Wallie stood regarding himwith an expression of pleased expectancy as he tasted.

  A startled look was succeeded by one that was unmistakably horror.Pinkey knocked over the box upon which he was sitting as he jumped fromthe table and tore the kitchen door open.

  Wallie watched him wonderingly:

  "Tell you what I think of it!" Pinkey declared, returning. "I ain't gotwords--they ain't none in the dictionary. My Gawd! what is it made of?"

  "Just biscuit crumbs and onions," said Wallie, colouring.

  "Where did you keep 'em?"

  Wallie pointed to the box on the floor in the corner.

  Pinkey made a hideous grimace.

  "Gimme a drink of water! Gimme a chew of tobacco! Gimme anything to takethe taste of _mouse_ out'n my mouth. Wallie," solemnly, "men have diedfer less'n that in this country. If I thought you'd done that on purposeI'd slit your throat from ear to ear and leave you."

  "I thought I was very particular and cut off everythin
g that lookedsuspicious," said Wallie, meekly, "I must have missed something."

  "You shore did! And," Pinkey demanded, "what might them horrors be onthe platter? Them teeth are mighty familiar."

  Wallie quavered:

  "Prairie-dog--I was experimenting to see if they were edible."

  "Leave me out in the air again!" Pinkey groaned as he swallowed a drinkof water. "And I passed up a turkey dinner to come and eat with you!"

  "Shan't I cook you some bacon?" asked Wallie, contritely.

  "I doubt if I ever feel like eatin' agin, but if the cake's thawed outI'll try a chunk of it to take my mind off that stuffin'."

  Wallie opened the can of pineapple he had been treasuring and Pinkeyhelped himself freely to the Christmas cake.

  "They must be about four meals in one of them slices, the way it feelsinside of me," the latter commented, nibbling delicately on a ring ofpineapple he held in his fingers.

  "It's fruit-cake, and rich; you're not supposed to eat so much of it,"Wallie said, sharply.

  Pinkey raised his eyebrows and regarded Wallie attentively as hecontinued to nibble.

  "Looks like you're turrible touchy about her cookin', and swelled upover gittin' a Christmas present," he remarked, finally. "You needn'tbe, because she made eight other cement bricks jest like this one andsent 'em around to fellers she's sorry for."

  "Oh, did she!" Wallie ejaculated, crestfallen.

  "Yes, indeed," Pinkey went on, complacently, feeling a glow ofsatisfaction at Wallie's lengthened countenance; "she does it everyChristmas. She's kind to the pore and sufferin', but it don't meannothin' more than a dollar she'd drop in a hat somebody was passin'."

  Noting the deep gloom which immediately settled upon Wallie, Pinkeycould think of the prairie-dogs with more equanimity.