Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp Part 17

"Jim," he queried, "do you know what night this is?"

"I reckon I do," and Stanley's voice choked. "It's Christmas eve, an' I been a-thinkin' an' a-thinkin' all afternoon of that poor little chap out here a-fightin' his way through a storm, the like of which this range ain't seen in twenty years. Don't seem possible he's pulled through, although I'd back Dummy to make it and save his herd if any kid could."

Suddenly he turned his head and sniffed.

"Seems like I smell smoke, and cedar smoke at that," he said eagerly.

"Don't you git it, Bob?"

"Which way's the wind?" and Bob blew a cloud of smoke into the frosty air.

"What there is comes from the direction of that there little hill,"

pointing to the very hill on which Dummy had stood.

The instant they topped it, each caught sight of the dry farmer's place, the haystack, the sheep in the field and knew they had found that for which they sought.

"You know the place?" asked Bob, as they hurried down.

"I do for a fact," Stanley grinned, "last time I pa.s.sed this-a-way the old digger what built that shack an' taken up the dry farm was cuttin'

an' stackin' Russian thistles. When I laughed at him for a fool he said he ain't raised nothing' else, an' up North Dakota way they used to put 'em up for roughness when the crops failed, an' he's seen many an old Nellie pulled through a hard winter on 'em."

Ten minutes later the two rode up to the shack. A line of scattered fodder from the stack to the shed showed what the boy had been doing.

Bob picked up a handful of the stuff: "Roosian thistles by all that's holy," was his comment, "an' whoever before heerd tell of them tumble weeds a-bein' good for anything to eat."

As he spoke the lad came round the corner of the shed in which "Slippers" had been comfortably stabled and fed.

What with smoke from campfires, and the charcoal he had smeared over it to save his eyes, his face was as black as Toby's hat, but to Stanley it was the face of a hero. Uttering those strange guttural sounds, waving his arms towards the sheep, his dark eyes s.h.i.+ning with pride and joy the boy ran to Stanley as a child to its father.

The man, too overwhelmed and happy to speak, grabbed the lad close to his heart, stroking the tousled head and patting tenderly the dirty cheeks down which the child's tears were now cutting deep trails in their extra covering while, as he realized the boy could hear not a word of the praise and thanks he was showering on him for his pluck and fidelity the tears came to his own eyes nor did he try to stop them.

In the shack that night the boy, worn out by his exposure and the reaction, dropped into his bed the instant supper had been eaten and was fast asleep in ten seconds.

The two men smoked in silence before the little fireplace in the corner.

"Do you reckon we could make a stab at some sort of a Christmas tree an'

kinda s'prise the kid in the morning?" Stanley glanced toward the figure asleep on the floor.

"Jest what I was a studyin' over," was Bob's reply. "These here bascos make a heap of such holidays an' Dummy he'd be the tickledest kid ever, if he was to find something like Christmas time a settin' by his bed when he wakes up in the morning."

Bob knocked the ashes from his pipe and put it away.

"There's a bunch of pinons and cedars down along the wash," he said, "sposin' I take the axe an' git a little branch, or the tip of a pinon an' we set her up here by his bed? What kin we dig up to put onto it that's fittin' for such a thing?"

"For a starter I got them nine silver cart wheels the store keeper give me in change," was Stanley's quick response. Bob was already going through his pockets.

"Here's a handful of chicken feed, that'll help some," handing the change to Stanley, "yep, an' a paper dollar the postmaster gimme.

Reckon the kid'll know what it is? I been skeert I'd use it fer a cigarette paper."

Stanley started for the two kyacks lying in the corner.

"You hustle out an' git the tree," said he, "an' I'll see what else I can scare up in the packs. I know there's a couple of apples an' a orange I throwed in with the grub when we was packin'."

An hour later the two men stood by the boy's bed, their faces fairly s.h.i.+ning with the true Christmas spirit over their efforts to make an acceptable Christmas tree out of such scanty material. On the floor at his head stood a small pinon tree top held erect by several stones. Both men had exhausted their ingenuity to find things with which to decorate it and on its branches hung the oddest lot of plunder that ever old "Santy" left on his rounds.

"I'll never miss them spurs," said Bob pointing to an almost new pair he had recently bought, "an' Dummy, he's been just daffy about 'em."

"Same with that new knife," said Stanley. "I jist bought it to be a doin' somethin' an' I know Dummy ain't got one that'll cut cold b.u.t.ter."

In nine separate little packages wrapped in newspaper the silver dollars were swinging at the end of pieces of thread from a spool in Bob's "war bag," the loose silver had been placed in two empty tobacco sacks each hanging pendant from the tip of a limb, while three unbroken packages of chewing gum, two apples and one rather dilapidated orange swung from other branches.

Stanley picked up the boy's slate. "Less' see," he asked, "what's Dummy's real name?"

"Pedro," answered Bob, busy making down their bed on the floor.

Painstaking and slowly, he wrote:

TO PEDRO

A MERRY CHRISTMAS.

YOU ARE SURE SOME SHEEP MAN.

Then he propped the slate against the tree in plain sight of the lad's eyes when he woke.

"Beats h.e.l.l how a man's eyes gits to waterin' this cold weather."

Stanley wiped his eyes rather furtively as he turned toward their bed.

"Same here," replied Bob, blowing his nose with more than usual vigor.

"Somethin' sure does act onto 'em."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE MUMMY FROM THE GRAND CAnON

"Bang, bang, bang!" went three shots in the night air. Sounds like some feller's a huntin' a warm place to sleep," said Little Bob Morris, one of three men who were sitting in front of the fireplace in the snug little dugout at the winter horse camp of the X bar outfit.

"Open the door, Bob, and show 'em a light," said one of the others. In a few minutes, with a wild "whoo-pee," a mounted figure rode out of the darkness and the boys were shaking hands with "Hog-eye" Jackson, who had a pair of eyes that, as one man put it, "didn't track," one being blue, the other black, and both so badly crossed that he looked both ways at once.

After supper had been cooked and the dishes put away, the boys gathered about the fireplace for a smoke.

"I hain't been out this a-way since the time me and Little Bob here was a huntin' for a dead Chinee," said Jackson, with a look about the room.

"Huntin' for a dead c.h.i.n.k?" said Grimes. "What ye mean by that?"