H - University of Illinois

"HERB HB IS", SAID
GARRY, "THIS IS THK
OLD I1ASCAL BIMSKLF
—THE REAL FOSTER
FATHER"
J he fester fathers
SINGING happily along the street of the half-awake
little desert town went old Topango Jake Shinn ,
eager as a boy going fishing. Before him went a
lazy jackass of uncertain age. Old Topango cocked
LOWELL OWS REESE
a wise eye up at the sun, which showed an inch of rim
above the crest of Table Butte. He was singing—for his
unpopular Mr. McGummon , Topa ngo Jake Shinn van.
ished into the desert.
own amusement, not for the town's delight—a scandalous
trail song:
"Old Topango's off on another prospectin ' spree," the
storekeeper called across the street. He was just opening
Here's to William G. McGummon
Dum his cattle-slcalin' hide!
People said he went a-hummin'
Up to glory—but they liedl
his door for the day. "They never get over it, do they?"
"It's in their blood ," said Garry McEwan. "The only
time they really live is when they arc tagging a jackass
round over the desert. It's in their blood."
When the devil saxv Bill comin',
"Still ," said the storekeeper, "if I had a hundred
He committed suicide/
He smacked his sleepy jackass with an old bed slat,
thousand dollars, same as old Topango Jake's got, why I
bet you I'd cut out the long trail. Me, I'd sit down in a
raising a cloud of dust. The startling impact sounded
like a pistol shot, and Garry McEwan stuck his head out
of the assay office, saw old Topango Jake, and laughed.
"Say, you old lizard," he called , "that 's a bruta l way
to kill fleas!"
rockin' chair and put my feet on another chair , and I'd
stay there and never do another clurn thing ! Yes, sir!
And if anybody ever got me to work again they'd have to
use violence!"
"You don't know what you'd do!" retorted Garry
Topango Jake grinned back, but did not abate his pace good-humoredly. "Old Topango made a hundred thou-
toward the farther edge of town and the gray-blue hills
that lay on the northern rim of the Mohave.
"One more word ," he threatened over his bony shoulder
—"one more word and I 'II come back and raise so many
sand dollars out of that mine up on Table Butte, and as
soon as he did that , why everybody said he was through.
But they didn't figure on the trail habit. Topango had
it. If he didn't go off on a long prospecting trip two or
welts on you that Aunt Caddie Siphers'll be usin' you for
a washboard!"
three times a year, he'd die. And, Jim , you can't brea k
a man of the prospecting habit with the gold cure. If
.
"Going prospecting?" asked Garry.
Old Topango grinned joyously and nodded.
"Cholla Hills," he explained. "Tellurium. And say:
Topango had a million , he'd still go prospecting."
"Maybe you're right , Garry. All the same, lie's aclin '
plumb redic'lous. Him a rich man and act in' like he's
Silver ain 't bad—if you got enough of it. Hup kai, old poor!"
donk!" He popped old Sanchez again with the bed slat, "He's trying to live over the old days," said Garry.
and the aged donkey kicked at him.
"When Topango was poor he got all his fun out of dreaming
Far from resenting the hostile demonstration , Topango
Jake chuckled delightedly.
"See that?" he called back. "Plumb bustin' with zip
and jazz, ain't he! Sassy old chuckawalla—still got a
good wallop in the old hind laig! Hup kai!" Topango
that he was rich. Now that he's rich , lie gets all his fun
out of pretending once in a while that he's poor."
"Well ," sighed the storekeeper, "I'm not gifted thataway
at all! She's no drea m with me—bein ' poor ain't!
Believe me, Garry—she's a nightmare!"
Jake tilted his floppy old hat rakishly over his bald head
and plowed on. He was very happy. Garry McEwan
stood in the door of the assay office, looking after the old
man with an affectionate smile. He and Topango Jake
fV-D Topango Jake Shinn was not singing when he
'"' returned to Table Butte three months later. I Ic came
into town after dark , trudging silently behind his gaunt
Shinn were great friends. Far down the street the ancient and weary donkey and avoiding Main street. Carefully
prospector again broke into his trail song:
he made his way across vacant lots, stumbling over rusty
William G. was hale and hearty
baling wire and tin cans until he came to his little corral.
And as playful as could he,
After he had finished his supper he sat for a long time
Till he shot at Pete McCarty—
in his up-and-down board shack, thinking. He was
Which same citizen was me;
worried. Anyone would have seen that. The humorous
Then we organized a pa rly
wrinkles about his eyes were swallowed by the worry
A nd exterminated he.
wrinkles that corrugated his brow fiercely. After about
And still continuing to sing of the shortcomings of the an hour of solitude he could stand it no longer. •
By
Illustration
by
S. H. Farmhouse
"I'm going over to tell Garry," he muttered.
So he put out his light and went across to Garry's
office. He found Garry whistling over his work in the
rear of his shop. Old Topango did not waste words in
elaborate greetings, but went straight to the point.
"Garry," said he, "I'm in trouble. "
The boy came alert in an instant. "Who is it?" he
demanded, his lips coming together and his eyes narrowing,
his attitude advertising his willingness to take up the
matter for his old crony. But Topango Jake shook his
bald head.
"Ain't nobody," he said. "That is, nobod y that can
help it. It—it's a little girl, Garry!"
Young McEwan regarded the old prospector with delighted
amazement. "Why, Jake!" he chided, "you
naughty li'l rascal! Did you ask her to be Mrs. Topango
—and did she wham you on the head with a rock or
somepin '? And I, your best friend , never guessed it!
Oh, you sly 'ittle snookums—"
"Say!" interrupted old Topango sourly. "About a
thimbleful more of that and I'll smack you across the neck
with a pickhandle! Now you ca'm down and listen to
here."
TTI E strangely matched friends settled back in their
L chairs and the old man began:
"You remember when I left town? Well , we rambled
round quite a spell , old Sanchez and me. We'd been out
about a month or six weeks when I ran across a feller
rampin' by the water hole at the upper end of Pedrocito
Gulch , on the far slope of the Cholla Hills. Pale sort of
a feller and he was sick. He told me he had been prospectin
' for nearly three years. Always managed to keep
a little ahead of the game, though sometimes it was hard
sleddin', him bein' sick, you know. He was a nice feller ,
ami I liked him. But he shorely wasn't feelin' very well.
"I asked him to come along with me, but he said no;
he thought he'd rest up some more. Besides, he was busy
dry pannin ' the sides of the gulch. A dry panner generally
lives, you know, but I never heard of one gettin' rich.
Not out in this man's desert. There's too much sand. A
feller gets discouraged after a while.
"So old Sanchez and I we told this here sick feller
good-by and drifted across to the edge of Skeleton Hills.
We got caught in a regular sandstorm over in the Skeletons
and had a fine time. Just like old days. After a while
the grub began to get low, so we started back. When we
came to the Chollas I remembered about this here sick
feller, and I thought I'd pass his camp and see how he was
gettin' along. When we got to the water hole at the upper
end of the Pedrocito the feller was still there. But he was