The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1890-06-28
THE ARIZONA KICKER.
No Office Yet But Lots of HOnOrs Have
Been Thrust on Its Editor.

Nor YET.-In reply to anxious In
quirer," of Philadelphia, we would say
that we hold no political or appointive
office whatever. Right here it would be
very appropriate for us to add that we
want nothing of the sort, and that if the
| President would tender us a Cabinet
position we should refuse it. We ought
to say so, but We don't propose to. We
have been ready for the last two years to
take most any thing we could get our
hands on in the way Of an Office, but the
opportunity hasn't dropped on our side
of the fence. While we are the editor,
publisher and proprietor of great
weekly newspaper, and while we con-
duct job office, newspaper, grocery,
saddlery, hardware, butcher shop, milli-
merry store, feed store and signal station
all under one roof, there is still an
aching void. While our contemporaries
may play hypocrite and liar, we see no
occasion to conceal our real feelings.
We want office of some kind, and we'll
get it or bust a lung.
HIS HEAD IS LEvEL~-Last Wednes-
day night, when returning home from
call at the two-story adobe of the Widow
Glassfield's, and just as we were passing
the ruins of old Fort Todd, we were
fired upon three times in rapid sue
cession. We didn't stop to inquire the
gentleman's name, nor to ask the occa-
sion of his hilarity, but covered the
mile of sandy road leading into town
in something like five minutes. Next
morning we went down to the ruins to
see what we could see, and it didn't cost
us three minutes time to discover who
fired those shots. There were the foot
prints of bow-legged mana man so
bow-legged that no one could mistake
his identity. We returned to town and
set out to hunt up Prof. Monckton, who
has been playing an accordion in some
of the first-class saloons, and who was
gone" on the widow without our knowl-
edge. We had some music in our hip
pocket for his private ear, but brief
search disclosed the fact that he had
skipped the town. He had seen us go
ing out to look up his tracks, and had
at once bolted into the sage-brush.
TRY IT ONCE-Two month ago the
postmaster of this town didn't care
cent whether our mail reached us or
not, and every complaint we made was
received with ill-disguised contempt.
We brought matters to climax by en-
couraging him to attempt to horsewhip
us. AS soon as he had struck tho first
blow we sailed in, and his friends say
that he was the worst licked man ever
heard of in Arizona. Since that date
nothing is too good for US. He sends a
boy over with our mail twice a day, and
every one of our subscribers gets his
Kicker so promptly that the paper feels
hot when it reaches him.
Mem.-lf your postmaster won't travel
in the right bridle-path, haste him.
HAD TO BE DoNE.-Six months ago
this town was full of drunkards and
black-legs and professional terrors.
Every one feared the crowd, and the
sheriff himself got drunk so often that
no help could be had from him. Where
is the crowd to-day? Gone! Dug out!
Disappeared! What caused it? The
Kicker opened upon them without fear
or favor. They threatened us. We
loaded our gun and went out and
dropped Sam Barlow with a ball in the
leg, winged Jim Sampson at long range
and split Tom Jackson's ear as he
turned the post-office corner. We gave
four Of the gamblers day to pack up
in, furnished the rope that hung Jack
Beavers, and it was our gun that went
off when Deadwood Hank tumbled from
the bridge.
Last night the representative citizens
of the town rendered us banquet and
presented us with an ice pitcher as a
token of their appreciation. Readers
may look for full report in our next
issue. Thanks, gentlemen. We don't
want to run the town, but we've got a
sneaking notion into our head that it
must be made safe for a mule to walk
the length of Apache avenue day or
night. Westward the star of empire
takes its way, and we will say right here
before we forget it, that if Charlie
Thompson, bartender at the Gray Eagle
, Saloon, doesn't drop out of sight before
Saturday he'll stand prime show Of a
grave in the sand pit.
Lo, Pooh FLY!-Our readers will bear
witness that we refer to our contempor-
airy only at long Intervals, anu Jnen IN
the kindest manner. On the contrary,
he devotes much of his space each week
to personal abuse of us. We have no
quarrel with this poor old fly. We pity
him. Whenever we see a man intended
by nature to run side show of wax fig
ures taking up journalism instead, our
heart goes out in sorrow We realize
how he must feel. 1t is like jackass
rabbit trying to pass himself off as a
buffalo.
This poor old fly sent us word the
other day to look out for ourself, as he
intended to shoot US on sight. We bor-
rowed squirt-gun of a boy on the
street, and went over to the Lame
Duck" office and stood in the door of the
sanctum and squirted the poor old insect
out of the window. He didn't even stop
to argue the case, nor to throw paper
weight. Then we counted his subscrip-
ton list, found he had 143 subscribers
where he claimed $50, and went away
feeling nothing but love and pity for
him.-Detroit Free Press.