Red Saunders Pets and Other Critters | Page 7

and a blizzard. That
settles the climate question. Then what is it that has let them holes go
unchinked? I'll tell you, su'; it's nothin' more nor less than the tinkerin',
triflin', pettifoggin' dispersition of them two boys. That's what makes it
that there's mo' out-doors inside this bull-pen than there is on the top of
Chunkey Smith's butte; that's what makes it I can't get up in the mornin'
without having myself turned inter a three-ringed circus. But I ain't the

man to complain. Ef there's anything that gums up the cards of life, it's
a kicker; so jes' as one man to another, I tells you what's wrong here
and leaves you to figger it out fer yerself."
He glanced around on three grave faces with obvious satisfaction. His
wrath had dissipated in the vapour of words. "Nor they ain't such bad
boys, as boys, nuther," he concluded.
"I will examine this matter carefully, Charles," said Steve.
"I thank you, su'," responded Charley, with a courtly sweep of his hand.
"Not at all," insisted Steve, with a duplicate wave. "I beg that you won't
mention it. And now, if you would travel toward the house----"
"Certainly!"
And out we went into North Dakota's congealed envelope, with the
smoke from the main-house chimney rising three hundred feet into the
air, a snow-white column straight as a mast, Charley stalking
majestically ahead, while we three floundered weakly behind him.
"Ain't he the corker?" gasped Oscar. "When he gets to jumping
sideways among those four-legged words he separates me from my
good intentions."
"'With scorn and hoomiliation,'" quoted Steve, and stopped, overcome.
"'I tells you what's the matter and leaves you to figger it out for
yourself,'" I added. Then Charley heard us. He turned and approached,
an awful frown upon his brow.
"May I inquire what is the reason of this yere merriment?" he asked.
The manner was that of a man who proposed to find out. It sat on
Charley with so ludicrous a parody that we were further undone. Steve
raised his hands in deprecation, and spoke in a muffled voice that broke
at intervals.
"Can't I laugh in my own backyard, Charley?" he said. "By the Lord

Harry, I will laugh inside my stakes! No man shall prevent me. The
Constitution of the United States, the Declaration of Independence, and
the Continental Congress give me the right. Now what have you got to
say?"
"I dunno but what you have me whipsawed there, Steve," replied
Charley, scratching his head. "Ef it's your right by the Constitootion, o'
course I ain't goin' to object."
"Do either of you object?" demanded Steve of Oscar and me in his
deepest bass. No, we didn't object; we fell down in the snow and
crowed like chanticleer.
"Hunh!" snorted Charley. "Hunh! Them boys hain't got brains in their
heads at all--nothin' but doodle-bugs!"
"Well, Charley," continued Steve, "as you don't object, and they don't
object, and I don't object, for God's sake let's have breakfast!"
"I'll go you, Steve," replied Charles seriously, and we entered the house
uproarious.
There in the kitchen was Mrs. Steve and the "company," a pretty little
bright-eyed thing, whose colour went and came at a word--more
particularly if Oscar said the word. The affair was at present in the
formal state--the dawn of realisation that two such wonderful and
magnificent creatures as Oscar and Sally existed. But they were not
Oscar and Sally except in the dear privacy of their souls. Yet how much
that is not obvious to the careless ear can be put into "Will you have a
buckwheat cake, Mr. Kendall?" or "May I give you a helping of the
syrup, Miss Brown?" It took some preparation for each to get out so
simple a remark, and invariably the one addressed started guiltily, and
got crimson. It was the most uncomfortable rapture I ever saw,
However, they received very little plaguing. I can remember but one
hard hit. Oscar was pouring syrup upon Sally's cakes, his eyes fixed
upon a dainty hand, that shook under his gaze like a leaf. He forgot his
business. Steve looked at the inverted, empty syrup-cup for some
moments in silence. Then he said to his wife, "Emma, go and get Sally

a nice cupful of fresh air to put on her cakes; that that Oscar has in the
pitcher is stale by this time."
[Illustration: The affair was at present in the formal state]
Oh, those cakes! And the ham! And the fried eggs and potatoes. We
lived like fighting cocks at Steve's, as happens on most of the small
ranches. The extreme glory of the prairie was not ours. We were
wood-choppers, hay-cutters, and farmers, as well as punchers; but what
we lost in romance, we made up in sustenance.