Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1896-04-10
HOW PICKLES JOINED HIS UNCLE.

The old cattleman leaned back in his
chair and poised between scornful fingers
the last chapters of cigar.
mo, son; l never did no KILN myself,
but I've stood round and seed folks get
checked clear through, which is more prof
table. l calls to mind KILN down to old
Ike Stockton's. There was big crowd at
Stockton's that June day. The corrals was
full of pack mules, an bull teams, an
wagon trains from the East, an white men,
Mexicans, half breeds an Injuns was
a-mixin' an meanderin' round, a-lyin' an
a-laughin', an a-drinkiL' old Ike's whisky
mighty profuse. Four or five mule skinners
had their long, Timber sixteen-foot whips,
which are loaded with dust shot from butt
to tip, an was crackin' of 'em at a mark.
I've seen one of 'em, with the most easy,
delicate, deliberate twist of the wrist, make
his whip squirm in the air like hurt
snake an all at wonst straighten it out
with the crack of twenty rifles, an the
buckskin pepper would cut a hole in a
loose buffalo robe he'd hung up, an all
without lnvestin' two ounces of actooal
strength. Several of us was a-lookin' on
from the hotel porch applaudin of the good
shots, when Short Creek Dave speaks up TO
Jack Moore next to me an says
Jack, you mind that old Navajo you
downed over on the San Simon last fall?'
" l minds it mighty clear says Jack.
HE was a-stealin' my boss at the time, an
l kin prove it by his skelp on my bride
right now
"'Well,' says Short Creek Dave, pointin'
to dirty saddle-colored half-breed who
was maxim himself pretty numerous, that
Teller they calls Pickles is his nephfy, an
you wants to look out whole lot, fer I've
heard him allow that the KILN of his un-
Gle was mighty rank, an he didn't like il
nohow'
That's all right, says Jack; pickles
an me has been watchin' each other fer an
hour, an I'll tell you-aWs private-if he
goes to play boss a little bit, he and his
uncle will be able to talk things over before
night
"Bimeby Pickles comes along where we
are.
Hello, jack he says, been maxim il
smoky down in the San Simon lately?'
No, not since last fall, says Jack
'An' now l thinks of it, | see that old
Navajo boss thief of an uncle of yours when
1 was down there last. l amt met him
lately, though. Where do you reckon he S
done loped top
" Can't say myself, says Pickles, with
a sort of wicked cheeIfulness. Our family
had reunion over on Bear Creek last
spring, an l couldn't count his nose among
'em nohow. Mebby he had an engage
ment an couldn't git there Mebby he's
out sloshin' round in the high grass
some'ers now. Great man to go round
permiscus, that Injun was
You see,' says Jack, Il didn't know
but he might be dead, cause the time l was
'ludin to, l was settin' i'll camp one day
an happens to look up, an thar was my
boss, Alazan, with a perfect stranger on
him. Alazan was a.pitchin' an a.buckin'
an a-cavortin' quite frightful, an looks
like he was goin' to cripple that stranger
shore. Well, you know me. I'd rather
lose two horses than have a man l don't
know git hurt, so l grabs my Winchester
an allows to kill Alazan. But it was new
gun, an you know what new sights is
coarse as sand burrs-an' holds too high
an | ketches the stranger, bang! right
back of his left year, an the bullet comes
outen his right year. l never was so dis
pleased with my shootin' fur ten years.
The idea of me holdin' four foot too high
in 100 yards. was so plumb disguised
an ashamed | never went near the strang-
er till after I'd finished my grub. Aazan,
he came up all shiverin' an sweatin', an
stood there, an in an hour or so l walks
out to the remains, an when | seed 'em,
they was nothin' but an old Digger Injun.
You kin drink on it, l was relieved. Bein'
no account Injun, of course, | didn't
paw him over much for brands, but it
struck me at the time it was mighty likely
to be your uncle. The old cuss's skelp is
hrihla &c fIinIy l1Ya
it,
ooh, no. says Pickles, mighty oncon-
sarned, 1T couldn't be my uncle, nohow. If
it was one of my family it would have been
your ha'r on his bride, so it must have
been some old short horn of Mohave you
seed. Well, let's all take a drink on it,
$50 we all went in for our whiskey, Jack
an Pickles watchin' each other mighty
close an all the rest of us on the keevee, as
the French say, to hop outen range if they
took to shootin'.
Well says Pickles, as he secreted his
nose paint, Il must saddle and git out of
here. l want to see Enright, an l don't
reckon I'll find the old Pinto this side of
Prescott, either. When do you think you'll
leave yourself, JACKIE
" Il don't put it up I'll leave for long
time, says Jack; 'mebby not fur month,
so don't go to maxim any friendly waits fur
me nowhar on the trail, Pickles, cause
you'd most likely run out of water or some
thin before got along
"Bimeby Pickles he gifts saddled up and
comes chargin' round on his little buckskn
boss, cuttin all manner of tricks, reachin'
fur things on the ground, snatchin' off
Mexicans' hats, an a-jumpin his pony over
wagon tongues an camp fixin's. All the
time a-whOopin' an yellin' an having a
high old time all by himself, You could see
he was a-gettin up his blood an nerve reg
lar Injun fashion. Pretty soon he takes
down his rope an goes to whirlin' that.
Two or three times he comes fashin' by
whar we were, an l looked for to see him
make try for Jack. But he was too far
back or too many round him, or Pickles
couldn't glt his hoss's step, or somethin',
for he didn't throw it, but jest kept yellin'
an ridin' louder an faster every minute.
About this time Stockton came out from his
barroom.
Look here, Pickles. he says, 'Pve jest
told three of my men to shoot you up
whole lot if you go to pitch that rope jest
once; an they're goin' to do it. Bein'as the
news concerned you personal, allowed it
wasn't nuthin' more than friendly to tell
you. Then ag'in, don't like to lose a
good customer like you til has to, no
how
$50 old Ike he goes back to his bar
room, an Pickles gifts down an leaves his
boss standin' an comes back up on the
porch.