“I love a little chicken and I love a little fish.When somebody says ‘ham and eggs,’ I pass along my dish,When I get good and hungry I could eat a roarin’ bull,But when they passes mutton meat my stummick’s full.”
“I love a little chicken and I love a little fish.When somebody says ‘ham and eggs,’ I pass along my dish,When I get good and hungry I could eat a roarin’ bull,But when they passes mutton meat my stummick’s full.”
“I love a little chicken and I love a little fish.When somebody says ‘ham and eggs,’ I pass along my dish,When I get good and hungry I could eat a roarin’ bull,But when they passes mutton meat my stummick’s full.”
“I love a little chicken and I love a little fish.
When somebody says ‘ham and eggs,’ I pass along my dish,
When I get good and hungry I could eat a roarin’ bull,
But when they passes mutton meat my stummick’s full.”
And then Chuck joins in the chorus:
“I’m a tough old rooster, and I’ve eaten snakes,I’ve spread giant powder on my buckwheat cakes,I’ve drank rawhide stew ’till I was out of breath,But when they serves up mutton meat I starves to death.”
“I’m a tough old rooster, and I’ve eaten snakes,I’ve spread giant powder on my buckwheat cakes,I’ve drank rawhide stew ’till I was out of breath,But when they serves up mutton meat I starves to death.”
“I’m a tough old rooster, and I’ve eaten snakes,I’ve spread giant powder on my buckwheat cakes,I’ve drank rawhide stew ’till I was out of breath,But when they serves up mutton meat I starves to death.”
“I’m a tough old rooster, and I’ve eaten snakes,
I’ve spread giant powder on my buckwheat cakes,
I’ve drank rawhide stew ’till I was out of breath,
But when they serves up mutton meat I starves to death.”
“You’re a fine bunch of friends!” I snaps, taking a chance that my jaw is still on its hinges. “She was his favorite relative, and since that letter he ain’t done nothing but mope. You’re a danged bunch of ghoul comedians. Muley’s due to kill somebody when he finds out about it. What was the main idea?”
“Well,” laughs Telescope, “we made him rich for a while, didn’t we? Zeb orates that he wants Susie to marry money, so we gave it to him in a lump. We puts in that marriage clause just to see if Muley loved her enough to lose the money, Sabe? We knowed danged well that he couldn’t buy no sheep. What did the parrot have to say, Hen?”
“Told Hank Padden he could use sheep dip.”
“Haw, haw, haw!” whoops Chuck. “Did he honest say that? I sat up all one night and day trying to teach that parrot some sheep-talk, but all it ever did was to bite me. Telescope swiped that cat at the depot in Milwaukee.”
Just before we reaches the ranch, three people rides in ahead of us and waits for us to come up. It’s Hank Padden, Johnny Myers and “Scenery” Sims. They all got rifles.
We exchanges greetings, but they don’t seem glad to see nobody but me.
“We don’t aim to be nosey, Mr. Peck,” says Hank, “but we’d admire to hear a little more about them sheep.”
“What sheep?” I asks, surprised-like.
“Old Testament told me,” says Hank. “He spoke about you going to start a herd here and——”
“I thanks you for the compliment,” says I. “It seems nice to be mistaken for a capitalist, Hank, but what I wants to know is this; how long since have you been taking the word of a shepherd? Do I need to deny it?”
“Old Testament must have lied, Hank,” states the old man. “He must have been crazy to state such a thing. Somebody’s crazy anyway.”
“That’s what I said,” squeaks Scenery. “Hen Peck couldn’t buy a pair of wool socks.”
They all nods sort of agreeable-like, and he drives on.
“After a while, when there ain’t nobody around to interrupt us, I’m going to ask you a few questions, Henry,” states Chuck, solemn-like.
“You better bring a witness,” says I. “All I wants is an uninterested third party present so I can prove I shot in self-defense.”
We pulls up to the ranch. The front door is open and two rigs are tied out in front. We pilgrims up to the door, and are greeted with some sight.
There’s Old Testament standing in the middle of the room, with his eyes rolled toward the rafters, while in front of him stands Susie Abernathy and Muley Bowles. Muley’s vest is stretched to the bursting point, and you could light a match on Susie’s freckles.
To one side stands Zeb Abernathy, and on the other stands Weinie Lopp, all dressed up in a celluloid collar, and no place to put his hands.
We hears Old Testament finish up his prayer, and as Muley folds Susie to his bosom we troops inside. Muley sees us over Susie’s shoulder, and breaks the clinch. Zeb grins out through his whiskers and Weinie Lopp turns up the collar of his coat.
Everything is still for a few seconds, and then Old Testament smiles at me over his specs:
“My son,” says he, “it’s fortunate that I came with you. I had considered taking a trip over into the Bitter Roots, and Mister Lopp would have missed me.”
“Exactly,” says I, having the understanding of a fish. “All very true. Was Weinie on your trail?”
“Uh-huh,” gurgles Weinie,“I—I was after a preacher for Muley.”
“They—they just got married,” chuckles Zeb. “Just now.”
“Well,” says Chuck, foolish-like, “who gets the first kiss from the bride—after you, Muley?”
“Muley, you’re a hero!” gasps Telescope. “Any man is a hero who will sacrifice a hundred thousand dollars at the throne of love. Everybody take off your hats to Muley Bowles.”
Everybody’s got their hats off so we don’t respond.
“What did you mean by that, Telescope?” gasps Zeb. “Do—do you mean that he—he’ll lose all that money ’cause he married Susie?”
“You said it, Zeb,” grins Telescope. “Ain’t you proud of him? What a nephew-in-law!” and then he turns to Muley: “Muley, old-timer, I didn’t think you had it in you, but you never can tell which way a dill pickle will squirt. How does it seem to lose a hundred thousand dollars?”
“Well,” grins Muley, putting one arm around the shrinking bride. “I ain’t lying to you when I says I don’t know how it feels. You see, Telescope, the name of Allender don’t cover no branch of my family-tree, and I never had any Aunt Agnes.”
There’s a painful silence for a minute, and then comes a flutter of feathers, and in waddles Alfred. He ain’t got no tail-feathers left, and the rest of his carcass is pretty well plucked. He looks us over, wild-eyed, ruffles up his remaining foliage, croaks:
“Har, har, har! Who’s crazy?”
Zeb looks wide-eyed at the bird for a moment, and then sneaks past it and out on the steps:
“I’m going away,” says he in a low, hoarse voice. “Going away before that bird answers its own questions.”
“Tally three more,” states Telescope, and him and Chuck and the old man sneaks out.
“Make it five,” says I, and me and Weinie goes out, too.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 3, 1918 issue ofAdventuremagazine.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 3, 1918 issue ofAdventuremagazine.