Christmas Eve on Lonesome

Christmas Eve on Lonesome and
Other Stories,
by John Fox, Jr.,
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn, et al

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Stories,
by John Fox, Jr., Illustrated by F. C. Yohn, et al
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Title: Christmas Eve on Lonesome and Other Stories
Author: John Fox, Jr.
Release Date: January 17, 2004 [eBook #10735]
Language: English
Character set encoding: US-ASCII
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CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME AND OTHER STORIES***
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Christmas Eve On Lonesome And Other Stories
By John Fox, Jr.
Illustrated By F. C. Yohn, A.I. Keller, W.A. Rogers, and H. C. Ransom
1911

CONTENTS
Christmas Eve On Lonesome
The Army Of The Callahan
The Pardon Of Becky Day
A Crisis For The Guard
Christmas Night With Satan

ILLUSTRATIONS
Captain Wells descended with no little majesty and "biffed" him
"Speak up, nigger!"
Satan would drop the coin and get a ball for himself

TO THOMAS NELSON PAGE

CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME

It was Christmas Eve on Lonesome. But nobody on Lonesome knew
that it was Christmas Eve, although a child of the outer world could
have guessed it, even out in those wilds where Lonesome slipped from
one lone log cabin high up the steeps, down through a stretch of
jungled darkness to another lone cabin at the mouth of the stream.
There was the holy hush in the gray twilight that comes only on
Christmas Eve. There were the big flakes of snow that fell as they
never fall except on Christmas Eve. There was a snowy man on
horseback in a big coat, and with saddle-pockets that might have been
bursting with toys for children in the little cabin at the head of the
stream.
But not even he knew that it was Christmas Eve. He was thinking of
Christmas Eve, but it was of the Christmas Eve of the year before,
when he sat in prison with a hundred other men in stripes, and listened
to the chaplain talk of peace and good will to all men upon earth, when
he had forgotten all men upon earth but one, and had only hatred in his
heart for him.
"Vengeance is mine! saith the Lord."
That was what the chaplain had thundered at him. And then, as now, he
thought of the enemy who had betrayed him to the law, and had sworn
away his liberty, and had robbed him of everything in life except a
fierce longing for the day when he could strike back and strike to kill.
And then, while he looked back hard into the chaplain's eyes, and now,
while he splashed through the yellow mud thinking of that Christmas
Eve, Buck shook his head; and then, as now, his sullen heart answered:
"Mine!"
The big flakes drifted to crotch and twig and limb. They gathered on
the brim of Buck's slouch hat, filled out the wrinkles in his big coat,
whitened his hair and his long mustache, and sifted into the yellow,
twisting path that guided his horse's feet.
High above he could see through the whirling snow now and then the

gleam of a red star. He knew it was the light from his enemy's window;
but somehow the chaplain's voice kept ringing in his ears, and every
time he saw the light he couldn't help thinking of the story of the Star
that the chaplain told that Christmas Eve, and he dropped his eyes by
and by, so as not to see it again, and rode on until the light shone in his
face.
Then he led his horse up a little ravine and hitched it among the snowy
holly and rhododendrons, and slipped toward the light. There was a dog
somewhere, of course; and like a thief he climbed over the low
rail-fence and stole through the tall snow-wet grass until he leaned
against an apple-tree with the sill of the window two feet above the
level of his eyes.
Reaching above him, he caught a stout limb and dragged himself up to
a crotch of the tree. A mass of snow slipped softly to the earth. The
branch creaked above the light wind; around the corner of the house a
dog growled and he sat still.
He had waited three long years and he had ridden two hard nights and
lain out two cold days in the woods for this.
And presently he reached out very carefully, and noiselessly