“Darling, I am going away.”
“Do you want to take the photygraph album with you Dobie?” she asks.
“Look upon me, wife,” says I sad-like. “This may be the last time you
will ever look upon my face.” I points at the packed burro and says:
“Yonder stands my last friend, which will stick through thick and thin.”
“Yes?” says she. “Maybe the association will do you good. Latch the gate
as you go out, please.” And then she shut the door.
Hank, I leave it to you if that ain’t a awful way to act in a case like
that. I put all the misery I can into my walk, and, when I got to the
gate, I finds her uncle with the rest of the crowd.
“Some jack,” says he. “Where you going, Dobie—flea-hunting?”
“He may be full of fleas, but he’s my friend,” says I. “He ain’t the
kind what will quit you in the days of tribulations. He’ll stick.”
“Where you going?” he asks, and I says:
“I’m going to vindicate myself. It may take years, and it may take
longer; but, when I come back, you will be proud of me. I say good-by to
all of you and fare-thee-well.”
I picks up that rope, turns my face away from all that I love and
went—as far as the end of the rope.
“Yes,” says Uncle Gabe, “he’ll stick. There ain’t no argument.”
Hank, do you think I could budge that animal? You’re wrong if you think
so. That moth-eaten cross between an overgrown jack-rabbit and a
paryletic wouldn’t move a peg. I walked around him and yanked, and then
I walked around the other way and yanked, but the best I could do was to
make him wink one eye.
“You think I can’t make him go?” I asks Uncle Gabe, who stands there
grinning his fool face off.
“No,” says he. “Far be it from me to prophesy anything about you or a
burro. He must like the place.”
“If he knowed you as well as I do, I’d ’a’ had to hog-tie him to make
him stay here this long,” says I.
“Mules have ears,” says somebody. “Maybe he heard something about you.”
Hank, that made me mad. I’m slow to anger, as you know, but I walked
right up and kicked that miserable specimen in the ribs.
“Get going!” I yelps in my strong voice, and then I places both of my
brawny hands upon his rump and shoved hard.
I heard later that I moved the burro a little. I’m awful strong, Hank,
and it has to be a heavy thing if I can’t move it.
Now I am up against it, Hank. Before he’d fix me up, I had to promise
the doctor that I could get you to pay the bill. I told him to send you
the bill. What could I do? A feller can’t run around and tend to
business with three broken ribs dangling around inside of him, can he?
There is a lot of ways to look at a situation like that, and I hope you
pick out a good one. If you think it will be over twenty-five dollars,
you can send me that much and play safe. I hope these few lines will
reach you in better shape than I am, and I wish to remain,
Y’rs obediently,
Dobie.
P. S. That burro stayed there until the next day at noon. Nobody but
Bliz can make it lead. One calf don’t make a rustler; so forget it.
* * * * *
Mesquite, June 16.