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Updated: May 29, 2025
Stacy Brown's pony now stood the picture of dejection, its nose clear to the ground. Chunky had settled in his saddle until it seemed that the boy was less than half his natural height. His body had fairly telescoped itself. The fat boy sat leaning forward, his sombrero tipped forward until it covered his face, leaving only the point of the chin exposed.
Tad and Chunky, one bearing a rifle, the other a handsome saddle, were proud boys when they rode home with Tom Phipps and their companions that night. The Pony Rider Boys had carried away the real prizes of the cowboy meet. Chunky had few words. He was so filled with self-importance that he could only look his gratification.
Go down it did, with a crash that seemed to shake the mountain. Rolling to the edge of the shelf, it had toppled over, taking a large strip of shelving rock with it. "Wow!" howled Chunky; The other boys uttered no sound, though their faces were a little more pale than usual. Kris Kringle stepped to the edge, peering over. "No one will get that up here again, right away," he said.
Old Hicks made a swing at the animal with the long stick he had been using to prod the kettle of mutton. He missed and sat down suddenly, his lame leg refusing to bear the strain that had been put upon it. It was astonishing the endurance the goat showed, for Chunky was no light weight in any sense of the word.
Finally he chose the latter fashion, took a long breath, like a swimmer coming up out of the depths, and walked forth in a pair of squeaking brown shoes. How different from the usual Johnnie Smith he looked! He had lost that curious chunky appearance which Barber's old clothes gave him, and which was so misleading.
When he reappeared Petway, the Whig leader of the gathering, who had been deriding the convention, the candidate and all things else Democratic, exclaimed: "Here comes Chunky Towles. He's a good Democrat; and I'll bet ten to one he never heard of Franklin Pierce in his life before." Chunky Towles was one of the handsomest men of his time.
Speaking of eating that reminds me of a story " "Will some one please muzzle the fat boy?" begged Ned. "You can go out and hide in the bushes while I'm telling the story," returned Chunky. "This is a nice ladylike story. It's about a fellow -a clerk who was out with a party of surveyors, running a line across the desert.
Every time she comes around afterwards and lays down the law. Sometimes she brings her man, and they both lay down the law. Well, it's lively! That one on the left," he says, pointing to the children, "that's Nan, proper name Ananda. She's one of their four. She's got the nerve of a horsefly! The chunky one in the middle, his name's Sokai, but I call him Soaker for short.
"He shot six times, didn't he?" "Let's see yes, I believe he did." "Well, that's all the bullets he had in the gun. He'll have to throw stones if he sees anything else to shoot at." A startled expression appeared on Walter Perkins's face. "You're right, Chunky. But why don't he come back, then?" "Lost, I guess," replied Stacy, not appearing to be in the least disturbed by his own announcement.
Tad ran back to camp, which lay some distance to the east of where they were gathered. Searching out a pick and two shovels, he leaped on his pony, dashing back to the arroyo. "That was quickly done," smiled Santa Claus. "Are all of you lads as quick on an errand as that?" "Only Chunky," answered Ned solemnly.
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