“If this Bill Breen,” I reflected, “is half as fast as my Bill Breen, he’s fit to carry C?sar and his fortunes.”“Now that is what I call a fair story,” commented the Red Nosed Gentleman approvingly when the Jolly Doctor came to a pause; “only I don’t like that notion of a white man marrying an Indian. It’s apt to keep alive in the children the worst characteristics of both races and none of the virtues of either.”It is a merest truism; we hear it in the storm; the very waves are its witnesses. Everywhere and under each condition, it is true. The proof lies all about. We read it on every page of history; behold it when armies overthrow a throne or the oak falls beneath the axe of the woodman. Do I disfavor war? On the contrary, I approve it as an institution of greatest excellence. War slays; war has its blood. But has peace no victims? Peace kills thousands where war kills tens; and if one is to consider misery, why then there be more starvation, more cold, more pain, and more suffering in one year of New York City peace than pinched and gnawed throughout the whole four years of civil war. And human life is of comparative small moment. We say otherwise; we believe otherwise; but we don’t act otherwise. Action is life’s text. Humanity is itself the preacher; in that silent sermon of existence—an existence of world’s goods and their acquirement—we forever show the thing of least consequence to be the life of man. However, I am not myself to preach, I who pushed forth to tell a story. It is the defect of age to be garrulous, and as one’s power to do departs, its place is ever taken by a weakness to talk.“Then when?” and the smirk fled.
It was about this time that Chicken Bill added to his ornate scheme of claim-salting—a plain affair of the heart. The lady to thus cast her spell over Chicken Bill was known as Deadwood Maggie and flourished a popular waitress in the Belle union Hotel. Timberline thought well of Deadwood Maggie, and her place in general favor found suggestion in a remark of Pike’s Peak Martin.“An’ for these yere followin’ reasons to wit,” explains Old Houston, when some Austin sports puts it to him p’lite, but steadfast, that he’s onjust to Webb. “I permits Morton to talk some, because it don’t make a splinter of difference what Morton says. He can talk on any side of any subject an’ no one’s ediot enough to pay the least attention to them remarks. But this sityooation is changed when you-all gets to Webb. He’s a disaster. Webb never opens his mouth without subtractin’ from the sum total of hooman knowledge.” canada goose shopping It’s the old story, so old an’ common thar’s not a new word to be said. Two dead girls; love the reason an’ the jealous knife the trail. Thar’s not a scream, not a word; that entire baile stands transfixed. As the padre raises the little Chi-quita’s head, I sees the tears swimmin’ in his eyes. It’s the one time I comes nearest thinkin’ well of a Mexican; that padre, at least, is toler’ble.When the joobilant Texans set down to kyarve out the destinies of that empire they wrests from the feeble paws of the Mexicans an’ Santa Anna, they decides on Austin for the Capitol an’ Old Houston to be President. An’ I’ll say right yere, Old Houston, by all roomer an’ tradition, is mighty likely the most presidential president that ever keeps a republic guessin’ as to whatever is he goin’ to do next. Which he’s as full of surprises as a night in Red Dog.“Thirty dollars!” canada goose shopping Then came Betelnut Jack’s proposal of his special Willow Run; he retired in quest of the demijohn; this was my cue to enrich “Josephus,” ready on the dwarf center table to receive the goods. My present to Betelnut Jack was five one-hundred-dol-lar bills. canada goose shopping There is a gentleman of stocks—I’ve known him twenty years—and he has a weakness for the numeral three. Just how far his worship of that sacred number enters into his business life no one may certainly tell; he is secretive and cautious and furnishes no evidence on the point that may be covered up. Yet this weakness, if one will call it so, crops up in sundry fashions. His offices are suite three, in number thirty-three Blank street; his telephones are 333 and 3339 respectively; his great undertakings are invariably deferred in their commencements until the third of the month.When Running Water sees the Firelight, she is so beautiful he thinks it is a dream. An’ when she asks him to eat, an’ fills the redstone pipe an’ spreads a blanket for him, the Running Water goes no further. He smokes an’ rests on the blanket; an’ because the tobacco is big medicine, Running Water falls asleep with his head in the lap of the Firelight.Because the wolves yelped, the Robin waked up; an’ when she saw their white teeth shining with hunger she fell down from a big fear an’ cried an’ twisted one hand with the other, thinking Pau-guk, the Death, was on his way to get her. The Robin wept an’ turned to the Swallow an’ begged him to put her back before the lodge of Wah-bee-noh, her father.For five days Moh-Kwa smoked no kinnikinick; an’ Moh-Kwa got angry because of it an’ roared an’ shouted up an’ down the canyons, an’ to show he did not care, Moh-Kwa smashed his redstone pipe on a rock. But in his stomach Moh-Kwa cared, an’ would have traded Ish-koodah, the Fire, four armsful of dry cedar just to have him light his kinnikinick but once. But Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, was gone out an’ would not come back.Two weeks were added to that vast eternity which had preceded them and the sobered sentiment of Timberline began to think it might better investigate. Timberline, however, would proceed with caution; missing its laugh, it must now guard itself against being laughed at.Whatever be their amoosements? Everything on earth amooses ’em. They has so many holidays, Mexicans does, they ain’t hardly left no time for work. They’re pirootin’ about constant, grinnin’ an’ chatterin’ like a outfit of bloo-jays.“What you say is of another day. You saved me an’ that is ended. I will not give you back the Strongarm for that. One does not drink the water that is gone by.”“I was over to your rooms,” remarked Betelnut Jack; “they told me you were here.”Thar’s a big burrow out in the yard; what Kansas people deenominates as a cyclone cellar. It’s like a cave; every se’f-respectin’ Kansas fam’ly has one. They may not own no bank account; they may not own no good repoote; but you can gamble, they’ve got a cyclone cave.An’ y ere, now, is where we-all gets scared up. It spoils the symmetry of this story to chunk it in this a-way; but I can’t he’p myse’f, for this story, like that tale of James of the Beads, is troo.As I intimates, Old Houston is that pride-blown that you-all couldn’t stay on the same range where he is. An’ he’s worried to a standstill for a openin’ to onload on the Texas public a speciment of his dignity. At last, seein’ the chances comin’ some slow, he ups an’ constructs the opportunity himse’f.“You and I won’t mind,” says housewife Mollie, looking up in Mike’s face with the sage dignity of her eleven years, “because we’re old enough to understand; but I feel bad about little Davy. It’s the first real awful Christmas we’ve ever had.” canada goose shopping Chicken Bill composed his face. Chicken Bill would sell.“Good!” says Cherokee.“It is my gift,” he said.Coldheart knew well that he could not fight with Openhand; for to find this out, he made his strongest medicine an’ called Jee-bi, the Spirit; an’ Jee-bi talked with Pau-guk, the Death, an’ asked Pau-guk if Coldheart went on the trail of Openhand to take his skelp, which one Pau-guk would have at the trail’s end. An’ Pau-guk said he would have Coldheart, for Openhand would surely kill him. When Jee-bi, the Spirit, told Coldheart the word of Pau-guk, Coldheart saw then that he must go a new trail with his hate.The taste for strong waters so developed in my grandsire would seem like a quartz-ledge to have “dipped” beneath my father to strike the family surface with all its old-time richness in myself. I state this the more secure of its truth because I was instantly and completely a drunkard, waiving every preliminary stage as a novice, from the moment of my first glass.Now I was preyed on by a desire to make one at this Saturday contention, but my father would never consent.Now, since age has come to my head and gold to my fingers, and I’ve had time and the cooled blood wherewith to think, I’ve laid my ill courses of those eighteen evil years to the doors of what vile ideals of life are taught in circles of our very rich. What is true now, was true then. Among our “best people”—if “best” be the word where “worst” might better fit the case—who is held up to youthful emulation? Is it the great lawyer, or writer, or preacher, or merchant, or man of medicine? Is it he of any trade or calling who stands usefully and profitably at the head of his fellows? Never; such gentry of decent effort and clean dollars to flow therefrom are not mentioned; or if they be, it is not for compliment and often with disdain.Yellow Face, the bad medicine man, has made a spell over the Feather. Yellow Face hates Strike Axe because of so much big talk about him. Also, he loves the Feather an’ would have her for his squaw. He tells her she is like the sunset, but she will not hear; then he says she is like the sunrise, but still she shakes her head, only she shakes it slow; so at last Yellow Face tells her she is like the Wild Rose, an’ at that she laughs an’ listens. canada goose shopping