Vilas County news. [volume] (Eagle River, Vilas County, Wis.) 1896-1927, 1903-12-21
WHEN CHRISTMAS COME II
RUCKSKIN.

WHEN Cf7hiS MAS COME TO
BUCKSKIN.
Thar amt no mimi camps these days
like good old Buckskin, Joe.
And Christmas in the mountains amt
like twas some years ago;
Thar amt no camps like Buckskin,
and it amt no use to seek,
For you'll only strike some scrub lay
outs like Creole an Cripple
Creek.
The miners, too amt like the boys
that we knew in our day
They savvy less of pay-streaks than
they do Of pitchin' hay,
Their hands all has an inward curve,
an Porphyary Bin allows
IT'S the nat'ral physical effect that
comes from millzin' COWS.
But it amt Of these latter days that
would care to speak,
Nor them agricultural miners diggin
wells in Cripple Creek,
But rather of the good old days that l
would tell about,
When Chris mas come to Buckskin,
an we had a big blowout.
Thar never was a Christmas in these
mountains like to that
It opened with a Jackpot, an with all
hands standin' pat
It ended in big surprise. all due to
Parson Ford,
Who had power of attorney for to rep
resent the Lord.
Now, Buckskin was as tough a camp
as you could wish to see,
With gold dust an red liquor both a
circulatin' free;
The boys would drink an gamble. an
they never lodged a fight,
An hell was just a-poppin' out on
Main street every night.
In sin an all round cussedness that
camp would assay high,
But on general heavenly matters we
was all few chips shy,
Until thar come into camp one of
them gospel sharps,
A-dealin or game where bets were
paid in crowns an harps.
Oh, that Christmas day in Buckskin!
Thar was me an Henry Bean,
An Shorty Mcintyre, an a one-eyed
cuss named Green,
A-dealin' of another game-the
ancient game of draw
Runnin' up the biggest Jackpot that
old Buckskin ever saw,
We h'isted kind o. mild at first. an
then we h'isted hard.
An when we got done h'istin' nary
man would draw a card.
Then three of us hitched round our
guns, in case we'd have to
shoot,
While Green, the one-eyed boss thief
pulled a knife out of his boot.
We watched each other like four
wolves that blessed Chris'm
day,
An all could plainly see that there
was trouble on the way:
Well heeled we was for trouble as to
weapons, cards an dust,
an each man had his mind made up
10 win that pot or bust.
But while we emptied belts and
pockets out upon the board.
The door was softly opened by that
little Parson Ford,
Who said to us: MY brethren. greet
you in His name,
An with your kind permission | will
chip into this game"
Three guns were pulled, an one-Eye
took a fresh grip on his knife,
An it looked as if the parson was a
triflin' with his life,
/ But he calls our play most beautifully
by sayin' to us then:
Il come 10 speak of Peace on earth
and good will toward all men,"
We sorter dropped our guns, an One,
Eyed Green put up his steel,
An we sat down a-feelin' bout as
small as we could feel,
While the parson kept on talkin' all
about this Christmas day,
An the precious Lamb of God who
came to wash our sins away.
That yarn he was a-tellin' was the
best that I've heard told
Though new to US, the parson called
his yarn "the story old"
An I reckon down in Denver they had
heard II long ago,
But news in reachin' Buckskin camp
was always kind of slow.
So when the parsons tale was done
we all resolved to try
To do unto each other just as we
would be done by;
But we made him tell the yarn again,
and then he sung a psalm,
Then the parson took that Jackpot a
an offerin' to the Lamb.
Richard Linthicum.