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Updated: July 22, 2025
Jim had told him of Christmas by the hour all the beauty of the story, so old, so appealing to the race of man, who yearns towards everything affording a brightness of hope and a faith in anything human. "What would little Skeezucks like for his Christmas?" the man inquired, for the twentieth time. The little fellow pressed closer against him, in baby shyness and slowly answered: "Bruv-ver Jim."
"And Field kin look around and see if there ain't some extrys for little Skeezucks." "If only I had the determination I wouldn't accept a thing from Parky's stock," drawled the miner, as before. "I'll go to work on the claim and pay you back right off."
"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.
"I'll put him in the sack I've got, and tie him on behind the saddle when he gits too much of runnin' on foot. He wouldn't like it to be left behind and Skeezucks gone." "Guess that's kerrect," agreed the teamster. "He's a bully pup, you bet." Poor Miss Doc remained inside the gate.
Would little Skeezucks like a train of cars?" Again the little pilgrim shook his head. "Then what more would the baby like?" coaxed the miner. Again with his shy little cuddling up the wee man answered, "Moey bwead an' milk." "By jinks!" repeated the flabbergasted Keno, and he pulled at his sleeves with all his strength. "Say, Keno," said Jim, "go find Miss Doc's goat and milk him for the boy."
"One morning my old friend was laughing as we stood on the river bank washing ourselves. "'What are you laughing at? I asked. "'That got dum leetle skeezucks! he answered. 'He were kickin' all night like a mule fightin' a bumble bee. 'Twere a cold night an' I held him ag'in' me to keep the leetle cuss warm. "'Hadn't you better let him sleep with his mother? I asked.
Outside, the red-headed Keno was chopping at the brush. The weather was cold and windy, the sky gray and forbidding. When the smith had gone, old Jim, little Skeezucks, and the pup were alone. Tintoretto, the joyous, was prancing about with a boot in his jaws. He stumbled constantly over its bulk, and growled anew at every interference with his locomotion.
Preacher, you and the three little girls ought to see our little boy." Field, who had recently developed a tender admiration for the heretofore repellent Miss Doc, started immediately. He found old Jim and the pup already at the house where the tiny, pale little Skeezucks still had domicile.
"Jim," said he, producing a buckskin bag, which he dropped in the miner's pocket, "the boys can't do nuthin' fer little Skeezucks when he's 'way off up to Fremont, so they've chipped in a little and wanted you to have it in case of need." "But, Webber " started Jim. "Ain't no buts," interrupted the smith. "You'll hurt their feelin's if you go to buttin' and gittin' ornary."
He rang a lusty summons from the steel, that fetched all the dressed-up congregation of the town hastening to the scene. Still, old Jim, the faithful Keno, little Skeezucks, and Tintoretto failed to appear.
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