THE COWBOY'S VERSION OF THE PRODIGAL SOX 



It was at the Camp Fire Club. We had 

 had our beefsteak and coffee, and story 

 telling was in order. Captain Jack, the 

 " Poet Scout," was introduced, and, among 

 other choice bits of Western oratory, gave 

 us this : 



More than 40 cowboys had gathered, 

 from every direction, to hear Poney Bill, 

 the only sinner-herder on the range " jerk 

 his jaw on pious talk," as one of the boys 

 expressed it. After the cowboy quartette 

 had sung " Rock of Ages " and " Nearer, 

 my God, to Thee " Poney Bill read a se- 

 lection from the Prodigal Son, and then 

 said: 



" Boys, it makes my heart dance and 

 cavort around as joyful as a spring calf on 

 a June mornin' to see so many of ye here 

 to-day. It don't mean that because I'm the 

 only sinner-herder on the range you put me 

 up "for a curiosity and sail in here, from all 

 quarters, to take in the percedens, like you 

 would a circus. No, it don't mean that. 

 Well, then what does it mean? It means 

 that you've bin thinkin' over matters an' 

 hev come to the conclusion that it are 

 foolish to hang on to the ranges of sin 

 while the pastures of the good Lord is 

 afore ye, invitin' ye to come in and feed to 

 your fill on the never failin' feed of right- 

 eousness. 



" Boys, the Bible story I just read to ye 

 is a touchin' one; and one that I hope has 

 corkscrewed its way into your hearts. 

 Here we see a young feller, a mere kid, 

 possessin' all the comforts of a happy home. 

 He had kind, indulgent parents ; wore 

 nobby clothes ; was a fav'rit in society; 

 in fact, he had everything the heart could 

 long for, an' yet he was dissatisfied. 



" His wild broncho spirit wouldn't be 

 curbed by the bit of wisdom, and by some 

 hocus pocus he made a successful play on 

 the old man and induced him to whack up 

 his share of the boodle, ahead of the sot 

 time, and to let him go forth to see the 

 world. We next hear of the kid in the gay 

 palaces of sin, blowin' in his dust like a 

 thoroughbred and paintin' everything red. 

 Every day he stuffs his pale hide with 

 booze, and every night he goes to bed a 

 whoopin'. 



" Women whose eyes is like the light of 

 the sunbeams, but whose hearts is as black 

 as the night, caresses him and sings to him 

 the song of the Syrens: while they sips the 

 costliest wine and eats the daintiest grub, 

 for which Prod's called on to put up the 

 boodle. He soon goes dead broke on this 

 racket, and then wdiat's the result? His 

 good clothes is in soak; his diamonds is 

 in soak; and his late angelic companions 

 is smilin' at his greenness and lookin' out 

 for another sucker. And the once petted 



darlin' of the East is ekin' out a miserable 

 existence herdin' hogs on a Jonah ranch, 

 and afoot at that. 



" Boys, jest close your eyes for a minute 



and take in the picter of that poor boy. 

 It's to be supposed the outfit hed run short 

 of grub allowance and that Prod was 50 

 hungry he'd 'a bin glad to get down and 

 rastle shucks with the hogs ef he'd bin built 

 for chewin' that kind o' truck; but he 

 wasn't. As he sits thar on the corral fence 

 he begins to take stock of his condition, 

 and he ses, sorta talkin' to hisself, like: 



' Thar's lots o' room at the old home 

 ranch. Thar's lots o' grub in the cellar, 

 and dead oodles o' cash in the treasury. 1 

 can stand in with all this agin if I'll jest 

 make a bold play, an' ask to be taken back 

 — not as a son, but as an ordinary hired 

 man, at reasonable wages.' ' 



May be the old man would run him in 

 for vagrancy; or set the dogs on him; or 

 meet him with an armful o' clubs; but it 

 didn't matter. The spirit of the Lord was 

 a workin' in Prod's soul and he finally giv' 

 the hog ranch the shake and lit out for the 

 ole homestead. 



" When he was a long ways off the old 

 man happened to be out lookin' after the 

 stock and he saw a figure approachin' 

 acrost the prairie, He shaded his ol' eyes 

 with his hands as he said, ' Thar comes 

 some poor, sore footed wanderer. Mebbe 

 he's lookin' for a place to lay his head and 

 somethin' to satisfy his hunger. God knows 

 but my boy may be in the same fix to-day. 

 an' — an' — Why! that looks like my boy. 

 He's got my boy's gait; he swings his 

 hands jest like him, an' — Why! 'tis my 

 boy! ' 



" Did the ole man pick up an armful o' 

 clubs; or call the dogs; or think up a lot o' 

 cuss words to hurl at the approachin' prod- 

 igal? No. The Good Book tells us, he 

 met him with arms wide open. He hugged 

 him till he saw stars; an' he kissed him; 

 and then he tuck him in the house, togged 

 him out in store clothes and yelled to one 

 o' his herders to round up a bunch o' cattle, 

 corral 'em; cut out the fattest calf in the 

 outfit and kill it quick; for says he, ' We're 

 goin' to have the grandest jubilee blowout 

 of the season. The lost has bin found and 

 the w r ild, reckless boy that was dead is alive 

 agin.' 



" And boys, that was the grandest night 

 that was ever spent around that old home 

 ranch. 



" Now, boys, do you know you are a lot 

 of fool prods? An' the first thing you 

 knows the devil will get a rope on to ye: 

 your feet will be snatched from under ye: 

 he'll put his pitch fork brand into ye. and 

 throw ye into a corner, where the temper- 



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