<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</SPAN></h2>
<h3><span class="smcap">Chuckwagon's Death</span>.</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>I now come to a point in my story that is fraught with such grief and
sorrow that I would gladly pass over if I could, but my story wouldn't
be complete without this sad chapter.</p>
<p>We were slowly climbing Sherman Hill, some of us pushing on the train,
some using pinch bars—as we always did where there was a hard
pull—when all of a sudden the engine broke down and the train started
slowly back down the hill. While the train didn't go very fast on
account that the wheels hadn't been greased since we started, as the
company was economizing on oil, and the train stopped when it got to the
bottom of the hill, yet it was so discouraging and heart-sickening to
poor old Chuckwagon that he died almost immediately after this took
place.</p>
<p>He had been gradually growing weaker lately, not being able to keep
anything on his stomach except a little Limburger cheese since the night
he had the skunk dream. He always imagined this dream to be a warning,
and had low sinking spells at times, specially when the two sheepmen and
Jackdo were all three in the car in at once, and at such times we were
obliged to take a prod pole and drive Jackdo and the two sheepmen out
the car and make them ride on top till Chuck revived. We made some
smelling salts out of asafœtida and Limburger cheese for him t<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</SPAN></span>o use
when he had these fainting spells, as he frequently did when the car got
warm and Jackdo and the sheepmen were there. We also found the
decomposed body of a dog lying beside the track one day, and gathering
it up in a gunnysack would hang it round Chuck's neck at night when the
sheepmen and Jackdo had to ride inside, and in that way he would get a
little sleep. But if he happened to be out of reach of any of these
remedies when one of the sheepmen come near him he immediately began to
strike at the end of his nose and mutter something about glue factories.</p>
<p>Poor old Chuckwagon! In my mind I can still see his rugged, tear-stained
face as he would piteously hold out his hands for his sack of decomposed
dog when one of the sheepmen or Jackdo came in the way-car.</p>
<p>All I know of Chuckwagon's life before he come West was what he told me
on this trip. He said as a boy he had worked cleaning sewers in Chicago
and after that was watchman for glue factories till he come West, but
with all this training had never got hardened enough to stand the smell
of Jackdo, Cottswool Canvasba<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</SPAN></span>ck and Rambolet Bill in a way-car.</p>
<p>He died like a hero. When we see he was going, Packsaddle Jack took a
prod pole and drove Jackdo and the sheepmen down the track a ways so
Chuck could breathe some purer air. Then we gave him a whiff of
decomposed dog, propped him up against an old railroad tie and took his
post-mortem statement in writing as to cause of his death. We let some
cattlemen who had formed themselves into a committee for the public
safety up in the New Fork country, in Wyoming, have his statement. We
now went to the nearest town, got the best coffin we could and after
selecting a place right under a big cliff, we buried old Chuck and piled
up a lot of rock at the grave so we could come back and get him and give
him a good decent burial on his own ranch. We didn't have much funeral
services, but Dillbery Ike made a talk which just filled all our ideas
exactly, and here is what he said:</p>
<h4><span class="smcap">Dillbery Ike's Tribute to Chuckwagon</span>.</h4>
<p>Chuck was a good man. While he never joined church and drunk a heap of
whiskey, bucked faro and monte, cussed mighty hard at times, yet he
always paid his debts. Never killed other people's beef and didn'<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</SPAN></span>t take
mavericks till they was plum weaned from the cows. He believed mighty
strong in ghosts and God Almighty; believed in angels, 'cause he loved a
little, blonde, blue-eyed girl away up in the mountains in Idaho. He had
a strong belief in heaven, but a heap stronger one in hell, 'cause he
said there must be some place to keep the sheepmen by themselves in the
other world. He never had a father or mother and no bringing up, but
lived a better life 'cording to what he knowed than some people who
knowed more. He always gave his big-jawed cattle to Injuns to eat, place
of hauling the meat to town and peddling it out to white folks. He'd
been known to even cut stove wood for married men when their wives were
off visiting, and once he gave all the tobacco and cigarette papers he
had to a sick Digger Injun and went without for a week himself. He
always let the tenderfoot visitor at the ranch fish all the strips of
bacon out the beans and pretended to be looking the other way, and when
old Widow Mulligan, who ran a little milk ranch, died of fever and left
four little red-headed kids he took them all home and took care of them,
told them bear stories till they all went to sleep nights in his bed,
washed them, fed them and never said a cross word, and even when they
drowned his pet cat in the well, let out his pigs, turned the old cow in
his garden and stoned all his young Ply<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</SPAN></span>mouth Rock chickens to death, he
just said, "Poor little fellars, they hain't got no mother now," and he
guessed they didn't mean any harm, and took care of them till a relative
came and took them away.</p>
<p>We figured all these things up and made up our minds that no fair-minded
God would send a great, big-hearted, innocent cowman, who never harmed
anybody in his life, to a place like hell was supposed to be. Even if
God couldn't let him into heaven on 'count of his wearing his pants in
his boots, eating with his knife at the table place of his fork,
drinking his coffee out his saucer and other ignorant ways, yet He might
give him a pretty decent place away out where there wasn't any sheepmen,
and if He didn't have somebody handy to keep old Chuck company just let
him have a deck or two of cards to play solitaire with and Chuck
wouldn't mind.</p>
<p>Old Chuckwagon was mighty fond of white-faced cattle, and just as he
breathed his last he sorter roused up and stretched out his arms, with
his eyes as bright as 'lectric lamps, and said: "Boys, I see another
country, just lots of big grass, with running streams of water, big
herds of white-face cattle, and they are all mavericks, not a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</SPAN></span> brand on
'em, and not a sheep-wagon in sight." And them was his last words.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 21em;">He lay on the sidetrack, poor honest Chuckwagon,</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 22em;">The pallor of death creeping fast o'er his brow;</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 21em;">Said he to the cowboys, "My rope is a dragging,</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 22em;">I'm going o'er the divide and going right now.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span style="margin-left: 21em;">"I've often faced death with the bronks and the cattle,</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 22em;">And meeting him now doesn't take so much sand.</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 21em;">For sooner or later with death all must grapple,</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 22em;">And all that we need is to show a straight brand.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span style="margin-left: 21em;">"I would like one more glimpse at the side of the mountain,</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 22em;">Before I saddle up for Eternity's divide;</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 21em;">The ranch house, the meadow, the spring like a fountain,</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 22em;">But, alas for poor Chuck, my feet are hogtied."</span><br/>
<br/>
<span style="margin-left: 21em;">Down his bronzed hardy cheeks the warm tears were stealing,</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 22em;">At the memory of his cow ranch, so pleasant and bright.</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 21em;">A smile like an angel played over each feature,</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left: 22em;">And the soul of the cowboy rode out of sight.</span><br/></p>
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