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Updated: June 22, 2025
"You don't s'pose that Parky might have took him, out of spite?" said Jim, eager for hope in any direction whatsoever. "No! He hates kids worse than pizen," said the barkeep, decisively. "He's been a-gamblin' since four this afternoon, dealin' faro-bank." "We could go and search every shack in camp," suggested a listener. "What would be the good of that?" inquired Field.
"Where's Shorty Hobb with his fiddle?" said he. "Parky wouldn't leave him come," answered Bone. "He loaned him money on his vierlin, and he says he owns it and won't leave him play in no church that ever got invented." "Parky, hey?" said Jim, drawlingly. "Wal, bless his little home'pathic pill of a soul!"
The day was cold, but the men perspired from every pore, and even then the night came on before the work was completed. When at length they ceased their labors for the day, there was still before them the appalling task of preparing the Christmas banquet. In the general worry incident to all such preparations throughout the world, Parky, the gambler, fired an unexpected shot.
He descended in wide circles, his machine canted all the time at an angle of forty-five degrees and lighted gently on the even surface of the field a quarter of an hour after he had crossed the line. He descended to the ground stiff and numb, and Bertram walked across from his own machine to make inquiries. "Parky, Tam?" "It's no' so parky, Mr. Bertram, sir-r," replied Tam cautiously.
He waited, however, by the side of the moaning little pilgrim. Then, half an hour later, Bone, the bar-keep, came up to see him, in haste and excitement. They stood outside, where the visitor had called him for a talk. "Jim," said Bone, "you're in fer trouble. Parky is goin' to jump your claim to-night it bein' New Year's eve, you know at twelve o'clock. He told me so himself.
"You can't go and leave your claim unprotected," said Bone. "How did Parky happen to tell you his intentions?" said Jim. "He wanted me to go in with him," Bone replied, flushing hotly at the bare suggestion of being involved in a trick so mean. "He made me promise, first, I wouldn't give the game away, but I've got to tell it to you. I couldn't stand by and see you lose that gold-ledge now."
"The boys don't want no gun-play here this mornin'." "You're a lot of old women and babies," said Parky, and pushing through the group he walked away, a certain graceful insolence in his bearing. "Speakin' of catfish," said Field, "we ought to git up some kind of a celebration to welcome Jim's little skeezucks to the camp." "That's the ticket," agreed Bone.
"If only I had the resolution," said he, "I wouldn't take nothing that Parky could sell." "When we git you once talkin' 'if-only, the bluff is called," replied the smith, with a grin. "Now what are you needin' at the shack?" "You rich fellers want to run the whole shebang," objected Jim, by way of an easy capitulation.
"Come back here, Tintoretto. Don't you touch that skinny little critter with the shakes. I wouldn't let you eat no such a sugar-coated insect." The crowd was enjoying the set-to of words immensely. They now looked to Parky for something hot. But the man of card-skill had little wit of words. "Don't git too funny, old boy," he cautioned. "I'd just as soon have you for breakfast as not."
With a few more staccato yelps, the shivering black-and-tan retreated behind the gambler's legs. "Of all the ugly brutes I ever seen," said Parky, "that's the worst yellow flea-trap of the whole caboose." "Wal, I don't know," drawled Jim, as he patted his timid little pilgrim on the back in a way of comfort. "All dogs look alike to a flea, and I reckon Tintoretto is as good flea-feed as the next.
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