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 apine tree, his eyes and ears watching closely the white sheet of paperthat lay on the bottom of the open box, held by a small stone whichallowed one end to flutter and flap in the wind in a way that excitedhis suspicions.
When the Widow Miller wished to mail a letter she placed it, properlystamped, in her box and the first neighbor passing that way took it outand 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 forcethe pony close to the box to reach the paper without dismounting.
"Stand still, you fool," he spurred the animal vigorously, "that therelittle piece of paper ain't going to eat you."
But the more he spurred the farther from the box went the animal. "Beatsall what a feller will do to save unloading hisself from a hoss," hethrew the reins over Mack's head, swung to the ground and strode towardthe 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, whichproved to be a large-sized sheet of writing paper folded three times. Aone-cent stamp evidently taken from some old letter was stuck in onecorner and beneath it was scrawled in a childish, unlettered hand thewords:
"Mister Sandy Claws The North Pole."
Almost reverently Gibson unfolded the paper, feeling he was about tohave 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 tinhorn. An' Sandy, Mary wants a big Teddy bare an' a real doll what shutsher eyes when she lays down. An' Minnie she's the baby, Sandy, so pleasbring her a pictur book an' a doll an' a wolly lam an' bring us all alot 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 jistwhere we live so don't forgit us for I've tride to be a good boy thisyear.
"James Simpson Miller, 7 years old."
Gibson felt a lump rising in his throat, and took refuge in song to hidehis embarrassment.
"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 hisbuckskin glove, and blew his nose savagely. "Hm, Shucks, seems like I'ma gittin' a cold in my haid," he remarked sort of confidentially to thepony.
Once more he read the letter.
"Hm, Shucks, wants a railroad train, hey? An' a gunchester to killrabbits, 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 upto you to play Santy Claus for these kids an' if you handle the jobright 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 intosong.
"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 SantyClaus game. Hm, Shucks, Nancy said she wanted a watermelon-pinksweater--whatever color that may be--to wear to the New Year's dance upon Crow Creek. Reckin the thing won't cost more'n a month's pay. I'lljist get her one if it takes my whole roll." Once more he dropped intosong.
"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 SheepCompany, four or five men watched the foreman write a letter to theowner, Mr. Barrington, who was wintering on the coast. Briefly heexplained how the letter to Santa Claus fell into their hands and thedesire of the men at the ranch to furnish the children with all thethings they asked for, and more.
Miller, the foreman explained, had been accidentally killed a couple ofyears before and his wife was putting up a hard fight to stay on thepiece of land he had homesteaded long enough to get title to it from thegovernment.
There were three kids, he continued, James, the oldest, seven years, andtwo girls, Mary, five, and Minnie, the baby, two.
"The boys ain't a-limiting you in the cost, so please get anything elseyou and Mrs. Barrington thinks would please the kids and let me knowthe cost and I'll charge it up to the boys' pay accounts.
"Also Bill Gibson wants that Mrs. Barrington should pick out what hesays is to be a 'watermelon-pink' sweater for Mrs. Miller's kid sister,Nancy. Bill says Nancy is just about Mrs. Barrington's size, and what'dfit her will fit Nancy all right.
"Bill he says he reckons Mrs. B. will savvy what a watermelon-pinksweater is, which is more than any of us do."
Three days before Christmas Bill Gibson set forth for the railroad,twenty-five miles away, to bring back the expected Christmas stuff.There was two feet of snow on the ground and the roads were impassablefor wheels; so Bill took with him two pack animals, a horse and a mule.
He figured he would be one day going and one coming and that onChristmas eve, after marking and arranging all the presents, some onewould ride down to the cabin and leave the whole business on the porchof the widow's cabin where she would be sure to find it early Christmasmorning. At the railroad Gibson found the trains all tied up with snowto the west, and the packages had not arrived.
"Hm, shucks," was his terse comment. "Now wouldn't it jist be hell ifthe plunder didn't come in time for them kids to have their Christmastree?" But late that night a train came through which brought thepackage he had come for.
By unpacking the stuff from the box in which they were shipped Gibsonmanaged to get everything in the two kyacks carried by the mule whileupon the horse he packed a load of provisions for the camp.
"_Gibson managed to get everything in the two Kyackscarried by the mule_"]
Barrington and his wife had added liberally to the list of toys and,knowing well the conditions at the sheep ranch, had marked or taggedeach article with the name of the child for which it was intended. EvenMrs. Miller had been remembered generously.
The sweater was there, packed carefully in a fancy box. Bill loosed theribbon that fastened it and slipped a card into the box on which he hadlaboriously written, "To Miss Nancy, from her true friend, Bill."
But the storm broke out again and it was long after noon the next daybefore he dared start, for the wind blew great guns and the air wasfilled with icy particles that no one could face.
Leading the pack horse with the mule "tailed up" to him, Gibson startedfor home, but made poor progress through the drifted snow. It was almosttwo o'clock the next morning when he passed the letterbox at the trailto the Widow Miller's place. The moon had gone down behind the trees tothe west and it was quite dark, but here the wind had swept the groundbare of snow, and his progress with his rather jaded animals was muchbetter.
Sleepy and tired from his long ride Gibson reached the ranch and rodeinto the warm stable to unsaddle. There to his great surprise he foundhe had but one animal behind him, the rope which had been around themule's neck still dragging at the pack horse's tail, a mute evidence ofwhat had happened.
"Hm, shucks," he commented grimly, "won't them there boys in the bunkhouse give me particular hell for this night's work?"
Wearily he unsaddled and unpacked the horses. Still more wearily hedragged himself up the path to the house, stirred the fire in thefireplace into a blaz
e, and when the coffee was hot drank a cup, ategreedily of the food which the cook had left for him, crawled into hisblankets and in ten seconds was dead to the world.
In his dreams he was swinging a rosy cheeked girl through the steps ofan old-fashioned quadrille, she being attired in a most gorgeouswatermelon-pink sweater.
"Swing yer pardners, swing agin; Kiss the darlings--if you kin."
He essayed the kiss only to be awakened on the verge of its attainmentby a heavy hand on his shoulder, followed by a voice which demanded inno soft tones, "Where's your Christmas plunder?"
He sat up in bed half dazed by his night's experience.
"Come alive, Bill; come alive, an' tell us about the things for thekids. We can't find them nowhere."
Gibson yawned and rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to delay thecastastrophe which he knew would encompass him when he told of the lossof the pack mule.
Before he dropped off to sleep he had planned to get an early start inthe morning back on his trail to try to find the lost animal. Popgun hadbeen bought from the widow soon after her husband's demise and heshrewdly guessed that the tired, hungry mule would most likely strikedirect for his old and nearby home.
He sprang from bed and grabbed his clothes.
"Hm, shucks," he began. "I reckon I done lost the mule coming home. Hadhim tailed up to old Paint and just about the time I passed the trailinto Widder Miller's place Paint set back on the lead rope and like topulled the saddle offen old Mack, me havin' the rope tied hard and fastto the nub. He let up in a minute and come along all right and I'm afiguring 'twere just about there that Popgun gits loose, he probablyhavin' been leaning back on the pack hosse's tail a right smart causingPaint to pull back hisself. Popgun likely stripped the rope over hishead and being about all in turned off down the trail to the widder'sand it's dollars to doughnuts he's a eating hay in her shed right now.Me being tired and sleepy I never sensed the loss till I gits here withthe mule's rope a dragging along still tied to Paint's tail. Hm, shucks,I'll find him or bust a shoe string."
"An' to think they have to go all the way back to Afriky to git ivorywhen there's such a lot of it to be had nearer home," was the sarcasticcomment of the foreman.
* * * * *
From the windows of the Widow Miller's cabin the whole world seemedwrapped in a mantle of white. Down along the creek in the meadow therose bushes and willows poked their heads above the snow. Changing theirskirts for overalls, she and Nancy soon picked a couple of quarts of thebrilliant red berries or fruit of the rose bushes. That night as soon asthe children were safely in bed they started in on their Christmas treepreparations. Several days before Nancy had slipped out into the timberand cut a small spruce which she dragged to the stable and hid undersome loose hay, and with an empty canned goods case and some stonesthey managed to make a very satisfactory base for it. Over the coals inthe fireplace they popped a huge dish-pan full of corn and worked lateinto the night stringing popcorn and the rose berries with which tofestoon the tree.
"I've seen my mother use cranberries for the same thing," she told hersister, "but these rose berries look quite as well I think."
From the pages of a mail order catalogue they cut figures from thebrilliantly colored fashion plates which, pasted upon stiff cardboardand hung to the tips of the branches, made famous decorations.
Festooned with the long strings of rose berries and popcorn, with thesegaily painted ladies of fashion dangling from every bough, it made avery satisfactory Christmas tree. After placing upon it the presents forthe children which they had been able to buy or make, together with afew apples and oranges, some stick candy, each done up separately inpaper, "just to make it seem more," Nancy said, the two women retiredfor the night.
How long she had slept or what awakened her, Mrs. Miller could not tell,but as she strained her ears for the slightest sound, she imagined shecould hear outside the footfalls of some heavy animal. She knew it couldbe no bear, for whatever it was the snow was crunching under its feet,nor was it a human, for the steps were those of a four-footed object.
The moon, that earlier in the evening had flooded the valley until itwas almost as light as day, was now just dipping behind the mountain tothe west, throwing the stable into deep shadow, from which the soundsnow seemed to come.
There was a bare possibility of its being some range cow, although theyhad all long since drifted down into the lower country, but she finallydecided it must be one of the big bull elks which regularly wintered onthe wind-swept sides of the mountain above them and sometimes came downto the ranch seeking feed during times of heavy snow.
Shivering with the cold she crept back to bed realizing that daylightwould soon come. Rudely her dreams were broken by a sound that at firstfroze the very marrow in her bones, but which with immense relief sheinstantly realized could come from the throat of but one animal andthat, a mule.
Fortunately the children slept through it all, and dressing as quicklyas they could, she and Nancy started for the stable, Mrs. Miller armedwith her automatic.
No sooner had they stepped from the porch than the mule that had beenhanging about the stable trying to get in spotted them and greeted theircoming with a series of brays and nickerings that showed his joy atseeing some human being.
It was Popgun, the pack still on his back. Leading him to the cabin thewomen quickly loosened the diamond hitch, took off the canvas pack coverand piled the kyacks upon the porch after which he was placed in avacant stall in the stable and fed.
To the women versed in frontier ways and signs the solution of the visitfrom their long-eared friend was simple, and they sized up the situationalmost exactly as it had occurred. Therefore they felt certain some onewould be on his trail before very long.
The rattle of the pack rigging on the porch aroused the children, andwhen the women returned from the stable the two older ones wereinvestigating the pack.
Bidding them not to meddle with the things, Mrs. Miller and her sisterwent inside the house to get breakfast leaving the kids on the porch.Childish curiosity could not well be stifled, especially on such a dayas this. They had been told stories of the coming of Santa Claus andwhile Jimmie had learned that a reindeer looks very much like a bull elkhe had once seen, he also knew that all sorts of things could be packedin a pair of kyacks and knew no reason why Santa should not have availedhimself of that means of transporting his gifts under certainconditions.
To loosen the straps that held the kyack covers was an easy matter. Tolift up the heavy canvas covers was still easier and the first thingthat met the eager eyes of both children was a long tin horn nested downin some excelsior. As he pulled at it a fluttering tag caught his eye.On it he read: "For James--Merry Christmas." One wild shout of delightand he gave a blast on the toy that brought both women to the door justin time to see Mary drag from the kyack a huge Teddy Bear. On this wasanother tag marked: "To Mary--Merry Christmas."
Before his scandalized mother could collect her senses enough to stophim Jimmie had dropped his horn and gone on a voyage of exploration intothe depths of the two kyacks. One of his first discoveries was the boxcontaining the sweater. The tag tied to it cleared up in a measure thedoubts which Mrs. Miller had had as to the propriety of thus making freewith other people's property, and that Santa had been sent by the men atthe sheep camp.
* * * * *
An hour later a man rode down the trail back of the house and quite outof range of its windows. Tying his horse at the side of the stable awayfrom the house he crept to the corner of the building and cautiouslypeeped out.
The smoke was curling briskly from the cabin chimney and in the tensestillness he could hear noises which indicated very plainly that theletter to "Sandy Claws" had borne fruit, for the most ear-splittingsounds were coming from the cabin, sounds which he knew to be thenatural results of three tin horns in the mouths of three delightedkids.
As he stood there a door slammed, and a girl steppe
d out on the porcharrayed in the most gorgeous sweater he had ever imagined. On her headwas a jaunty cap of the same color and material as the sweater, while inher hands she held a tin bucket in which most unquestionably was thebreakfast for the chickens which were making loud demands for releasefrom their log coop near the stable.
In his inmost heart Bill Gibson knew that if ever a man was blessed bythe Gods with the one opportunity of his life, it was facing him at thisvery moment. Nancy came tripping down the snowy path a perfect pictureof girlish beauty and happiness. Gibson drew back so she could not seehim until she had turned the corner of the stable. As she did so and methis eyes the song turned into a maidenly shriek. Her cheeks wereblazing like two peonies, she tried hard to speak, but the words died onher lips. Mechanically she set the bucket of feed on a small shelf wherethe chickens could not reach it. Bill interpreted the move as meaningeither a fight or complete surrender. He believed it was the latter andtook a step toward her.
"Christmas gift, Nancy," he said. His voice had an odd quaver in it."Old Santy seems to have brung you the sort of sweater you wanted." Hewas gaining confidence.
"He sure did," she replied, striving in vain to keep her eyes frommeeting his.
"Nancy," he demanded, "ain't you got nothing for me this grand Christmasmorning?"
"What you wanting mostly?" her eyes fairly dancing with mischief andtelling what her lips dared not.
A look of triumph swept over the man's bronzed face.
"You--an' I'm a-going to take it right here." He took a step toward her;she turned to run but with one bound he was at her side, caught her inhis arms and fairly smothered her with kisses.
He drew back his head and looked deep into her eyes. "How about it?" hedemanded.
"About what?" very archly.
He kissed her a dozen times before she replied. Nor did she seem toobject to the action.
"You know the Christmas present I most want, Nancy."
He drew her closer to him, her arms found their way about his neck."Bill," she whispered in his ear, "you're an old darling, let's go up tothe house and tell the news to sister."
_Apache Squaw and Baby_]
Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp: The Blue-Roan Outlaw and Other Stories Page 5