Legends and Tales of the American West

by Richard Erdoes

  “Camest ye to tell me some news?” Ole Davy ast Joab.

  “Thar’s good news, an’ thar’s bad news,” sez Joab. “We got the longhorns to Abilene an’ sold ’em at a nifty figger an’ brung you bags of shekels, but Uriah, thine segundo, got hisself an Injin haircut an’ lost his topknot. Uriah, thine servant, is daid.”

  “It happens to the good an’ the bad, the old an’ the young, the rich an’ the poor, fer the sword devoureth one as well as the other. Uriah’s lucky to have left this vale of tears an’ we must go on as well as we can ‘til we jine him in the ever-after. Set yerself down, Joab, an’ have a drink.”

  An’ they downed a few shot glasses of hard stuff, the kind that can draw a blood blister on a rawhide boot. It came to pass that Ole Davy handed Joab, his ramrod, a fat envelope an’ winked at him, an’ Joab got himself up and winked back.

  An’ Bathsheba jined herself unto David an’ borned him a son whose name war Solomon. An’ Solomon grew up into a smart kid an’ got to be king arter Ole Davy. God war wrothy at David for havin’ dry-gulched Uriah but, by-m-by, calmed down an’ forgave him. Brothers an’ sisters, sinnin’ is human an’ you cain’t avoid it altogether, but don’t overdo it, lest you burn in hellfire everlastin’. Iffen you chance ’pon a purty wummin frolickin’ nakkid in the creek, avert yer eyes an’ run like hell. An’ that goes fer you gals too. If you chance ‘pon a feller scratchin’ the topsoil off of him in the river, look ye not at his nakkidness lest you go blind, but bid him put his britches on or, leastwise, kivver his self with his Stetson whar it’ll do the most good.

  As to Solomon, strictly speakin’ he war a bastard. This didn’t bother the Children of Israel none. He was their king an’ mighty above men, an’ a very smart cookie. Wharfore, dearly beloved, if it came to pass that yore paw or maw waren’t properly hitched, don’t let it worry you, but thinketh ye of Solomon. Amen.

  The Parable of the Prodigal Son

  Now, there was a certain man who had two sons.

  And the younger of them said to his father, “Father, give me the portion of the goods that falleth to me.”

  And he divided unto him his living, and the younger son purchased himself an oil-cloth grip-sack and gat him out of that country.

  And it came to pass that he journeyed even unto Buckskin and the land that lieth over against Leadville.

  And when he was come nigh unto the gates of the city, he heard music and dancing.

  And he gat him into that place, and when he arose and went his way, a hireling at the gates smote upon him with a slung-shot of great potency, and the younger son wist not how it was.

  Now in the second watch of the night he arose and he was alone, and the pieces of gold and silver were gone.

  And it was so.

  And he arose and sat down and rent his clothes and threw ashes and dust upon himself.

  And he went and joined himself unto a citizen of that country, and he sent him down into a prospect shaft for to dig.

  And he had never before dug.

  Wherefore, when he spat upon his hands and lay hold of the long-handled shovel wherewith they are wont to shovel, he struck his elbow upon the wall of the shaft wherein he stood, and he poured the earth and the broken rocks over against the back of his neck, and he waxed exceedingly wroth.

  And he tried even yet again, and behold! the handle of the shovel became entangled between his legs, and he filled his ear nigh unto full of decomposed slate and porphyry which is in that region round about.

  And he wist not why it was so.

  Now after many days the shovelers with their shovels, and the pickers with their picks, and the blasters with their blasts, and the hoisters with their hoists, banded themselves together and each said to his fellow: Go to! Let us strike. And they stroke.

  And they that strake were as the sands of the sea for multitude, and they were terrible as an army with banners.

  And they blew upon the ram’s horn and the cornet, and sacbut, and the alto horn, and the flute and the bass drum.

  Now it came to pass that the younger son joined not with them that did strike, neither went he out to his work, nor on to the mine lest at any time they that did strike should set upon him and flatten him out, and send him even unto his home packed in ice, which is after the fashion of this people.

  And he began to be in want.

  And he went and joined himself unto a citizen of that country; and he sent him into the lunch room to feed tourists.

  And he would fain have filled himself up with the adamantine cookies and the indestructible pie and vulcanized sandwiches which the tourists did eat.

  And no one gave unto him. And he fainted from lack of proper nourishment.

  And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants hath my father on the farm with bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger.

  And he resigned his position in the lunch business and arose and went unto his father.

  And when he was yet a great way off, he telegraphed to his father to kill the old cow and make merry, for behold! he had struck it rich, and the old man paid for the telegram.

  Now the elder son was in the north field plowing with a pair of balky mules, and when he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing.

  And he could’t seem to wot why these things were thus.

  And he took the hired girl by the ear and led her away, and asked her, Whence cometh this unseemly hilarity?

  And she smote him with the palm of her hand and said, “This thy brother has come, that was dead and is alive again,” and they began to have a high old time.

  And the older brother kicked even as the government mule kicketh, and he was hot under the collar, and he gathered up an armful of profanity and flung it among the guests, and gat him up and girded his loins and lit out.

  And he gat him to one learned in the law, and he replevied the entire ranch whereon they were, together with all and singular the hereditaments, right, title, franchise, estate, both in law and in equity, together with all dips, spurs, angles, crooks, variations, leads, veins of gold or silver ore, millsites, damsites, flumes, and each and every of them firmly by these presents.

  And it was so.

  Lissen to the Heavenly Poker Player!

  Dearly beloved! Heed the Great Faro Dealer up thar in heaven! He can look into yore kyards (yore hearts) an’ take a gander at what kinds of kyards yore holdin’! Lissen to what the heavenly poker game teaches us:

  The “Ace” reminds us that thar’s but one God in Heaven.

  The “Deuce,” that God made Adam and Eve sinless.

  The “Trey,” of the three Wise Men, guided by the Star of Bethlehem.

  The “Four,” of the four Evangelists.

  The “Jacks,” who remind us of the false prophets of the Amalekites.

  The “Queens,” of the Queen of Shebah, Esther, Abraham’s Sarah, Pharaoh’s daughter, an’, above all, of the Queen of Heaven.

  The “Kings,” of King Saul, David, Solomon, and Herod.

  Yes, dearly beloved. I let ye have a peek into the devil’s hand. Ye kin see that yore sittin’ in on a rigged game, playin’ against the hellish bottom-dealer, the cussed sharper whose name is Lucifer, attended by his shills and minions, the fallen angels, whose names are Bunco Steerer an’ Thimble Rig! Yea, brothers an’ sisters—(Female voice from the crowd: “I ain’t a sister to no man.”) Shet up, ye scarlet harlot. Waal, brothers an’ sisters, what kind of dough have ye chipped in? What’s yore ante? Your very souls, I tell ye, that’s what! An’ Satan’s a-sittin’ thar, starin’ ye in the face. He’s got an ace up his sleeve, an’ his minions play with marked kyards an’ loaded dice. Snake Eyes comin’ up fur ye ev’ry time. An’ Lucifer cold-decks ye an’ sweeps up the pot, takin’ yer flutterin’, squeakin’ souls down into the fiery skinnin’ house, into the hellish deadfall whar thar’s howlin’ an’ the gnashin’ of teeth forever an’ ever. Yea, brothers and sisters—(Voice from the crowd: “Don’t you ‘sister�
� me!”) Shet up, ye Whore of Babylon!

  (Voice: “You usta call me yer little sweetie, reverend!”)

  Shet up, ye soiled dove! Brothers an’ sisters, partickerlarly ye fellers, resist them blandishments of the devil’s shills sech as them Jezebels yonder, whose names are Fornicashiun an’ Uncleanliness. Copper yer bets, sez I! Come on, boys! Put yer money down. Place yer bets on yore Heavenly Father who runneth a square game. Don’t play the devil’s game, which is as crooked as a dawg’s hindleg! Stick with Christ, who’ll deal ye a full house! When the great showdown comes on Jedgment Day, an’ the Heavenly Dealer “sees you,” O brothers an’ sisters, I pray ye come up with the right hand, with all the four Aces—Faith, Hope, Charity, an’ Repentance. Then call out loud: “Keno!” an’ rake in the heavenly pot, an’ live in eternal bliss from Soda to Hoc!

  Hear What the Great Herd Book Says!

  Hear what the Great Herd Book says; “When the Son of Man (or the Great Herdsman of Life) shall come in His glory and all the holy angels with Him, He shall sit upon the saddle (throne) of His glory and before Him shall be gathered all nations, and He shall separate them from one another as a shepherd divideth his sheep from his goats.” Now, when the herd is cut, the tailings are allowed to drift at will to be the prey of the cattle thief. But the cattle which have an owner will be cared for, taken into green pastures, and fed through the cold, stormy weather. Hear the great stock-owner: “Then shall the King say to them on His right hand, Come ye blessed of my Father (or ye of my father’s brand), inherit the Kingdom.” But hear what is to become of the tailings of that great roundup: “Then shall He say to them on His left, depart from Me, ye cursed, into ever-lasting fire prepared by the devil and his angels” (or the great cattle thief of human souls). Boys, if you are in the old thief’s pasture, just jump right through the fence and run like hell out into the sunlight of God’s pasture green!

  A Funeral Oration

  Brothers and sisters. We come here to pay our last reflect, I mean neglect, to our discarded brother Tom. Old Tom, he died of lead pizening. Got hisself ventilated by a citizen with his bark on, durin’ a game of kyards. Gone up the flume he is. Cashed in his chips. It’s a goddam shame. Old Tom, he was a very constipated gennelman, a Civil War veterinarian, I mean vegetarian, I mean venereal. Heck, you all know what I mean. He fought for the Union and the five cent cigar. He was a churchgoer for sure, always a-comin’ down the aisle with his New Testicle in his hand, always studyin’ it. Knew his Ole Testicle too. Old Tom, he come from a fine famblee of extinguished descendants. He was dealt the dead man’s hand by his Predator, I mean Cremater, tarnation, you know what I mean. He’s gone to the great behind to shake hands with Saint Peter, playin’ a game of stud with the angels. He’s gone to the great behind for sure, a sittin at the footstool of the Lord. Old Tom, he warn’t ’xactly a totateeter, what I mean is a meadow-yaller, goddam, you all know what I mean, but Tom had only a li’l nip here and there, nary more’n five or six a day. He was a shinin’ rectangle, I mean rectum, hell, you know what I mean. He was a fine sample to the whole consternation, I mean constipation, to the whole congestion, hellfire and brimstone, you know what I mean, pards. Wall, it’s time now to plant Ole Tom in this here boneyard. He was a good, upstandin’ buckaroo, coveted his neighbor’s wife or girlfriend only oncet or twicet, but always made a good job of it. Oh, well, what the heck! Let us pray.

  A Black Hills Sermon

  From Deadwood? Well, yes sir, I reckon; I’ve been a year on the tramp.

  Not missin’ a railroad excitement, or skippin’ a good mining camp.

  I’ve sampled the country all over, and took in the “diggings” all ’round.

  And at last I’ve fetched up with the “Web Feet” way down here on Old Puget Sound.

  Yes, Deadwood is dead, sure enough, sir; as we say—“Too dead for to skin”—

  And there’s not an old timer remainin’, except a few stiffs that’s snowed in.

  But there was a time in that country, when everything was in full bloom,

  When licker was sold for a quarter a throw, and minin’ was all on the boom.

  It was just about then that Tom Miller was grinding his little “Show Mill.”

  With that partner of his, Billy Nuttall, that the knowing ones called “Lanky Bill.”

  It was thar, in their “show shop” one Sunday, that I heard a quaint sermon begun—

  The preacher “an old reformed gambler,” and the text he gave out, “The Prod Son.”

  The Prodigal Son was intended to call all these sinners to God,

  But the preacher warn’t partial to diction, so he just cut it down to “The Prod.”

  And you’ll find that the “Gospel Shark” dealin’ this game is not present to-day,

  And he asked me to “shuffle a hand up so all of you suckers could play.”

  “And right here,” he continued, “this racket’s a new game to me in this town.

  So just play it through; there’s no limit, you’ll never be told to take down.

  But you’ll find that the ‘Prod Son’ was a ‘Young Kid’ whose Ole Man was pretty well heeled

  He had plenty of ‘Stuff’ in his ‘leather,’ and long horns and sheep in his field.

  It occurred to the kid that he’d tackle the old man for his little bit,

  And he would pack up his grip sack and quietly get up and git.

  He asked the old man just to give him a portion of what he had got.

  And he wouldn’t stay home there a waitin’ till Death opened up a ’jackpot.’

  And the old man did give him his divy right down to an old postage stamp.

  And the kid hollered ‘over the river,’ and ducked for the first mining camp.

  And he gathered the gang all around him, all the boys and girls he could see,

  And every one of ’em got loaded, and they had a great blow out and spree.

  They played the thing up to the limit, and took in each snoozer and bloke,

  Until they had run all the gamut, and the ‘Prod Son’ of course he was broke.

  The Good Book don’t say, nor does history state, the game that he played in that place,

  But it’s safe to suppose, my itinerant lambs, that ‘his Prodship’ got steered agin brace.

  Be that as it may, it just bust him, and bust him right down to the dogs.

  And the very next thing we hear of the ‘Prod,’ he is livin’ on husks with the hogs.

  It occurred to him then that his racket was hardly a one that he could win,

  So he thought he’d go back to the old man, and try to blow him in agin.

  Now perhaps some of you unbelievers don’t think he welcomed his son,

  You may think he unchained the bull-dog, and just double-shotted the gun.

  But he didn’t; he just killed a yearling to feed this durn ungrateful scamp,

  And he bought him the best sheeney suit of new clothes to be had in the whole minin’ camp.

  And he got up a blow-out and shindy, and everything went off slam-bang.

  He invited the boozers and snoozers, the hobos and all of the gang.

  And the wine and the whiskey flowed freely and they danced ’till the gray break of day,

  And the ‘Prod Son’ stood solid again, boys, and further the Good Book don’t say.”

  Just then a big gambler, uprising, remarked, “Now, my friend, by your leave,

  There’s a part of the ‘Prod Son’ racket, that I cannot hardly believe;

  For there ain’t in this camp a two-dealer, or man that will shake chuck-a-luck,

  If a sucker goes broke agin either, they won’t give a case for his chuck.

  So that place in your sermonizing which says, ’He went down to the dogs,

  And when he was needing a squarer, he had to eat husks with the hogs,’

  Don’t seem to me just orthodoxy, and unless you say you was there,

  I don’t mind telling you cold, pard, your yarn isn’t on the dead square.”r />
  The preacher just straightened himself up, and said, “Then you think that I’m preachin a lie.”

  And a forty-five cracked in a minute, and the big gambler’s turn came to die.

  There were many old “blood purifiers” and “expectorators of lead,”

  And when quiet was restored some fifteen or twenty were dead.

  The preacher resumed, “Thar’ll be preachin’ next Sunday at just ten o’clock.

  We’re goin’ to run scripture teachin, right thro’ here from Soda to hoc.

  My text is the first Lord’s commandment, and this is the rule I’ve laid down,

  To run this game easy and quiet, if I kill every sucker in town.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Critters

  The animals of the Great West were strange to the immigrants and excited their imagination, furnishing the subject of many tales and legends. The most numerous stories were those about snakes, bears, and horses, in that order. Snakes, it was believed, never die before sunset. Horsehairs put into water turn into snakes. Rattlers sneak into barns to steal cow’s milk. A serpent will hypnotize a rabbit by staring at it so that it cannot run away. As for horses, the story of the Great White Stallion of the West is remembered in dozens of local variations. It is thought that if a man meets a white horse a redheaded girl will make love to him, but if a young bride and groom ride in a carriage drawn by a pair of white horses, the marriage will end in tragedy. As far as bears were concerned, newcomers to America were told that bears were born as little lumps that the mother had to lick into shape, that Master Bruin sucked his paws for nourishment while hibernating, that some Alaskan bears, out of a bad conscience for stealing a farmer’s honey, brought him a dozen big salmon in return as a token of appreciation, and many stories tell of a fellow who, during a dark night, wrestled a man in a fur coat barring his way—a bear, as it always turns out.