Hay Skinners,

It's the "Gristle" greetin' ya. Here's one frightenin' account a what happened ta me y'all REALLY aint gonna b'lieve but it's true. A miracle, I'll tell ya.

'Member a few months back when we formed that posse of usselves an' awent out alookin' ta git even with them upstart injuns fer thievin' the Captain's tent, adrinkin' our whiskey an' achowin' down our beef? An' how we had ta cross the desert ta reach the last a them tribes tew days' ride East a here in Arizona Territory? Well what sum a y'all don't know is that Colorada an' Deadeye done picked up tew er three thumbnail-sized gold nuggets in a dry crickbed near one a the few waterin' holes along the way. An' them boys done staked theyselves a claim.

An' the reason y'all haint heard a this is that them tew sez they's agonna shoot the first one a us ta break the news ta the rest a ya. I figger I'm safe 'cause I'm probly the second er third one ta tell ya ba now... They sez, "We gots ours; y'all gots ta git yer own." Now, we aint bein' greedy but since we was thar with them tew when they made the find, we gits ta go back an' atry our luck tew, they sez. (That'll fix yew no-showin' sons-of-a-bitches what aint thar when we needs ya.) 'Sides, ifn thar was ta be a bunch of it, they's agonna need OUR help an' hosses ta trudge it all back ta camp.

Worth mention' tew, is that we figgered we wouldn' wanna start us no huge, ol' gold rush out thar an' have alla them would-be-rich folks abeatin' the shit out of us er hangin' us ifn they didn't find nuthin'...er ifn they DID... Lord knows y'all gots flappy moufparts an' ifn this thing agits tew big, we's agonna need ever one a us ta harvest the strike. Then we won't won't hafta rob no stages, trains er banks na more. Sos, y'all make a exter effert ta button them flaps, won'tcha please?

But I needs ta tell ya that since none a us idiot sons-a-bitches thot ta draw a map er at least take note a any landmarks out thar, we didn' rightly know whar that partic'lar crickbed was when we haided East. 'Course, Deadeye an' Colorada was busy atakin' turns akickin' each other in the ass fer days fer that bit a miscalculatin'. But what they figgered was, with the rest a us along, it might jus' dawn on one er tew a us jus' whar that thar claim might be.

Wellsir, we haided out at sunup the next day with picks, shovels, pans, burlap bags, whiskey, water, jerky, coffee, beans an a big ol' Sears catalog. Annn', we gots us a few packmules in town what were jus' astandin' thar not doin' nuthin', with nobody's brand on 'em er nuthin'. Honest...probly lost er abandoned.

One day out an' we finds usselves lost... LOST, I tells ya. Mainly 'cause differ'nt ones of us astarted anippin' on the whiskey by sundown an' akept aridin' fer sum time past nightfall. Yep, aridin' till we couldn' see nuthin' atall an' sum afallin' offa the hosses an' sum abein' pulled off by those already ahaidin' ta the ground. Wy, we all ends up in a pile an' alayin' thar a spell without even amakin' camp. Shameful.

Next mornin', we finds us all sick from that nasty, rotgut likker an' we finds we done had us a grand ol' waterfight an' done went thru ever waterskin we brung. Ate up all the jerky, tew...Captain Ball ayells out, " Curses on us dang fools what we are! Now we caint dew nuthin'. We gots ta find water an' hunt down a big ol' critter enuf ta feed us all fer a coupla days er so."

"Preacher," he sez, "Yew take Griz here, since yew tew aint good fer nuthin' else, an' go search out sum water an' we'll ahole up here whar we gots these big rocks an' scrub ta shelter us from the heat. Hurry yer asses 'cause we aint got long out chere without water an' I'm abettin' them buzzards over yonder would jus' love ta join us fer supper."

Wellsir, me an' the Preach ahaids out an' after a day's ride an' a night unner the stars, we's not found nuthin'. The tew a us is aroastin' in that devil sun an' we's ablubberin' on each other, afeelin' sorry fer usselves 'acause a the pow'rful thirst an' hunger. The water's long gone an we's reduced ta playin' mirage games an' alaughin' at what them "wigglies" alooks like ta take our minds offa our disp'rit sitiation.

An bye an' bye, them tew hosses-a-ours refuses ta take nary a step further an' we's forced ta trudge off on foot aleavin' them nags ta die whar they stands in the blisterin' heat. An, five er so dang buzzards is acirclin' over haid.

After 'bout tew hours, them blisters on our feets is ableedin' bad an' them boots afeels like theys afillin' up with boilin' blood. Soon, we caint walk na more sos we starts acrawlin' on all fours. An' crawlin's a hail of a chore with the sand aburnin' thru our gloves an' us abreathin' the dust our hands akicks up with each move we makes.

Then the preacher, acrawlin' along in jus' his longhandles (his black coat an' britches a mile er so back), suddenly sees sump'um an yells, "Griz, look...a tall rock over yonder with enuf shade fer us ta maybe git usselves outa this here hellish sun. Ifn we kin jus' git over thar, we kin maybe make it till sundown, don'tcha think?" I don't say nuthin'. I jus' keeps acrawlin'.

Well, here we was alyin' on our backs, ajammed inta the shade alookin' up at the blue sky an' tryin' ta wring the sweat outa our bandannas ta wet our moufs. Caint hardly talk with our tongues stuck tew our cheeks an' all. I begins ta mumble, " Caint 'member when I took ma last leak...maybe ma leaker don't work na more, it's been sa long." Preach laughs then we bofe goes quiet agin athinkin' 'bout them buzzards. Tew a them is afollowin' US now an' then, SUDDENLY, them tew is apeerin' down on us atop the rock we's alyin' baside.

"Watchout they don't shit on ya, Preach!" I sez. "Come on, Griz," he replies, any dang fool knows ya don't shit whar ya eat." We's alaughin' agin. Preach sez, "Maybe we kin cut a deal with these here varmints an US picks what they eats first...ya know, parts we don't really need sa bad as sum others." "Ya mean like luv handles an' saggy asses?," I sez. "Yep," he sez, "...an corns an' callouses on our knees an' elbows." "Yeah," I sez," ...an' since ma pisser don't work na more...no, no, FERGIT THAT." We's bofe athinkin', we gots ta be thrifty with our words now, with our moufs astickin' an' adryin' out all the more ever time we opens 'em. We's quiet agin.

It's even hard ta breathe with our dried out ol' lungs afeelin' like they's acrackin' and ableedin'. " Lookie here, Preach," I sez, "That smaller one is adroolin' on hisself an' that aint a good sign. Nosir, ...How the hail does they know jus' how close dinnertime actchooly is an' we don't? ...Does critters say grace before they eats? 'Cause then we'll know fer sure our time's up. ...Does buzzardshit alook somewhat like what thems jus' ate? I never checked." "Shut-up, Griz!" he sez. "Don't say no more."

Then I gits a flash. "Hey Preach," I sings out, cotton-mouth an' all. "Caint yew call on yer Jesus ifn he's real ta git us out of this here perdickerment?" "DON"T TALK TA ME 'BOUT NO JESUS, BEAGLE BREATH!" he yells. "Well shit," I yells back, "Yew's agonna scare away the birdies!" Preach don't hear me." Nope", he sez, his eyes aglazin' over, "I done flushed that relationship down the loo years ago. ...Why da ya think I threw in with yew Muleskinners? ...I'm a fallen servant."

"Well, aint he in the fergivin' business," I asks? "Not fer me," he sez, "I'm in hopeless bondage ta drink, whores an' gamblin'. 'Member yew an' me aswappin' them tew purty, li'l floozies up at the Bordello in Goldfield that night?" "Yep, ...so what, ...I'm guilty as yew with alla that shit. ...How 'bout his dad? Caint he save us?" "Uh,uh," he sez, "It's the Son who saves 'cause he done give His life fer us that we all might live forever an' thar aint no fergiveness without the sheddin' a blood, the Good Book sez." "He could dew that?" I sez. "Yep," he sez, ...He'll still dew that fer yew but not fer me. Tew late."

"...But ifn God, who walked the earth in the flesh caint save YEW, nobody kin, I reckon. All ya gots ta dew is ask an' be sincere in yer askin'. An' fer gorsh sakes, don't go back ta doin' the things I done. Ya gots ta allow God ta git ahold a ya...an' HE caint dew that without yew aturnin' from yer wicked ways...fer good. God's in the fergivin' business alright but he aint agonna put up with ya the way yew is fer long. An' yew never knows jus' how long 'long' is. He's agots sum folks up thar akeepin' track. ...What the hail am I doin' apreachin' a sermon ta yew fer? I hain't gots a shread a creedence na more...Too late."

"...Annnn, I brought together in marriage a couple I had no business amarryin'." "Oh," I sez, "a whiteman an' a heathen, huh?" "No," he sez, "after a few whiskeys, I married a man an' his goat in the name a Jesus with sum Muleskinners an' others as witnesses alaughin' 'emselves silly. Why da ya think yer pardners liked me sa much an' atook me in? That's baldfaced blasphemy, son, an' I'm ashamed. I'm jus' like Judas, the betrayer, an' there aint no hope fer me..."

"I'm shur sorry, I sez." ...He goes on. "...I even the lost the deed ta ma church in a poker game ta sum lyin', cheatin' ol' riverboat dandy back in Missoura. Ma best sermons went tew, in the same game an' I got away with jus' abein' rode out a town on a rail, tarred an' feathered by ma fit-ta-be-tied flock. Lucky I didn't git maself linched. I'm hopeless..."

"But," he sez, "we gots birds here awillin' ta pick our ol' bones white, at least, rather than have worms acrawlin' out our noses, ears an' eyesockets an' us not able ta dew nuthin' about it." "Yep," I agrees." "...An' THEN THERE'S HELL," he sez grimly, "...ascreamin' in turrible pain with no relief while our souls an' regenerated bodies is aburnin' forever..." His voice trails off tew a heavy snore. "OH, NO!" ...I shudders at that gruesum thot an' I'm off ablubberin' agin...an' out loud, mind ya...'cause I'm dyin'.

"Well hail, Reverend, pray fer us!" I yells. He wakes up. "What? Oh... Caint Griz. ...Only one in this gatherin' whose got a prayer a gittin' thru is yew. Ma prayers jus' bounce back off the brim a ma hat..." He dozes off agin.

Them tew nasty-bad buzzards is agittin' bolder...only eight ta tin feet away. Now it's up ta me ta keep them dang scavengers away from the dinner table. An' finally, as I'm adozin' off, maself, an idear astarts ta well up in ma brain. I musta been sleepin' sum 'cause I wakes up with a start an' them vultures is nose-ta-nose with me an' suddenly, ALL EYEBALLS as they jumps back ta whar they was a minute-er-so ago. 'Bout tin feet. "Me an' the preach needs yer help NOW, Jesus, sir." I yells out, "...er soon's yew kin break from yer other chores, that is."

Then, I'm atryin' ta 'member that idear I was adreamin' of but I caint. Sos, I goes back ta dreamland ta fetch it. But, shore enuf, I yells, "Ouch!" as pain streaks thru ma body an' the ar thar is all full a arms an' feathers. "Wyyy, that uppity dang varmint's abit me on the tit an' its pleasin' contours aint the same as they was...I gots a gapin' fleshwound what's amakin' a mess outa ma shirt. " I'm shore sorry, Jesus, fer all the things I done what aint right," I yells out. ...Guess they's used ta rippin' on a feller tin ta twinty times afore he stops awavin' an' gives up the ghost. ...Er the roast. "We don't wants ta go alittle at a time with thems apickin' away at us. Save us, Jesus... sumhow!" ...Guess that's whar that 'spression "bird-eater" acomes from.

"I didn't know that buzzardkind was a bunch a titmen," I sez ta maself. "'Magine that, the dang preverts. Wy, that's shameful...but interestin' at the same time...fer a buncha birds..." Preach is still asleep an' I don't have the heart ta wake 'im. But I would like him ta know what I jus' learned. 'Cause I know he'd like ta write that shit down... maybe...fer one a his sermons er sump'um..."

"Yessir, buzzards is interestin' critters, alright. Maybe they gots summore fascinatin' fetishes... Make good pets, tew, I s'pose, ifn things were differn't...once they got ta know ya... But when they'd fetch the ball an' bring it back, they'd aswap yer hand fer it an' think nuthin' of it. But hail, ya jus' gots ta overlook that sort a idiotsinkracy sumtimes. Guess we all gots our personal shit ta deal with... Buuttt, thems alookin' ya squar in the face when yer tryin' ta make a point an' aslatherin' ya up an' down with 'secret sauce'...I dunno..." "An BAD BREAF, the WORST! ...Am I qualified ta speak on that subject? I shurly am. How in the hail would a feller asneak clorofill inta that diet? ...Ya know, the constipation a them critter gots ta be tin times worse than mine. No wunder they looks pissed off all the time. No ruffage...none atall...unless yew kin count har ruffage... er fur. Pubic har's probly good. I wunders who kin set me straight on all this stuff..."

"But hey, fer "watch animals"...? WHOA!, the BEST! ...Kin ya see the sign: INTRUDERS WILL BE EATEN ALIVE...ER DAID? "Yessir, an' asendin' 'em off ta obedience trainin' school in the mornin'... Would ya have ta contind with thems abringin' home all their li'l friends after school er would they eat 'em on the way? I know, maybe charm school's a better idear. I don't think anyone's done checked out any a this shit before. But, ifn they's smart enuf ta 'preciate tits (even with turrible taste in tits), they kin shur's hail git 'emselves sum manners. They'd HAVE ta git manners, don'tcha figger, ifn yew was ta ever take 'em out in public."

"Wyyy, a feller could feel purty good 'bout hisself ifn he was amozyin' aroun' town with an exotic bird on his shoulder. Yessir, but could ya even 'walk tall' with that sly grin fer the ladies with TEW a them varmints aridin' ya, aslippin', aslidin' an' atearin' up flesh like they dew? Nope, but ifn the one on yer left shoulder happened ta nibble off yer ear an' ya didn't have the one on yer right shoulder ta nibble the other, wy, yer haid would git lopsided, wouldn' it?. An' the weight a that right ear after a spell would give a feller a permanent stiff neck 'specially ifn there was a lifetime a wax in it, don'tcha 'spose? This here is deep shit ta think about...Nosir, one varmint's all a feller could handle at a time, all things considered."

"Annn', like them dang kids-a-mine, they'd hafta learn ta eat only at mealtime. None a this non-stop asnackin' they's sa good at. Otherwise, babies, cha-wow-waz an' fur stoles everwhar would be agittin' munched on sump'um fierce an' I don't think that even 'I' could 'splain away the ruination a any one a them three varmint-types successfully, dew yew, Preach? Caint have that. Wy, them proper ladies could inflict a life-threatenin' asswhoopin' on a feller fer a li'l forepaw like that, don'tcha think, Preach? ...Preach? Asleep agin, damm'im..."

"An' I don't s'pose they'd take kindly ta torlet trainin', neither, come ta think of it. Be jus' like the onry varmints they is, ta dew it the way they's s'posed ta AT HOME but act up when they's out...an' embarrass the hail out a ya jus' as yew's abraggin' on 'em. An' agittin' pissed at 'em an' ashootin' 'em daid in one a them respectable eatin' places wouldn' dew, neither."

"'Course, ya could fit 'em out in li'l babies' rubber pants with the legs what don't leak...er old farts' rubber drawers fer the bigger a the tew, dependin', maybe. Buttt, then agin, they'd fight ya toof-'n'-nail ta keep from ahavin' ta leave the homestead alookin' like that, don'tcha know, an' YOU'd be the asshole fer it. Right? Nope, ta save them's pride, you'd hafta dye alla them diapers black an' glue black feathers onta them rubber pants afore ya did anything a the kind. But hail, tho them diapers could be warshed an' used agin, wyyy, you'd need a whole wagonload a rubber pants an' spind nights out ashootin' buzzards fer them's feathers. ...Wait a minute. Jus' a cotton-pickin' minute here. This whole dang thing don't make no sense."

"What the hail?" It'd be jus' like them sneaky devils ta reach up with a claw an' make a slit when ya wasn't lookin' jus' ta spite ya. An' who the hail's agonna change 'em, anyhow? Not me, nosir! Wy, I'd sooner jam a couple a corks up 'em afore I'd ago ta alla that trouble an' then ta have 'em dew that... But with them's awrful innerds, they'd probly blow them corks jus' when you's 'bout ta meet the ladies, can'tcha see? An' then agin, installin' them 'stoppers' would be a chore an' you'd probly end up agittin' yer own innerds ahanded tew ya in a steamin', greasy pile, no-thank-yew. An' what idiot could I connive er pay enuf tew ta be the dang 'dresser' fer this li'l interprize? ...Maybe a heathen. Hmmm... Hafta find jus' the RIGHT heathen, tho. Gots ta ponder that one, I does."

Then tew, you'd hafta be purty dang partic'lar 'bout the social evints ya'd take 'em tew. Wy, I'd s'pose a funeral would be the best thing 'cause they's already dressed fer it, like fer choir singin' er a judges' convention. ...Nope, 'nuther bad idear. Them nasty, dang, selfish critters would be athinkin' a them's stummicks the whole time an' insist on aridin' in the hearse 'tween the church an' the cemetery. An', then they'd probly be abelchin' an' afartin' at graveside 'causin' a hail of a ruckus an' apissin' off the fambly plenty, I 'magine.

Y'all know how that'd go. The kids'd start achortlin' first an' then the grown fambly members would catch the fever an' then the whole crowd... even them cement-faced morticians an' preachers...Mercy. An' at a time like this...Shame on us...them.

An', it might jus' git the angels er demons (whichever the case) achucklin', tew an' hail, they might even fergit fer a time, what they's there fer. Now, wouldn' that be a shameful thing ta cause in the sight a God? Naaa, I don't think them angels would see the humor in it...butttt, they jus' might. Ya never know...'bout them angels...

"I'm dyin', ya know..."

"I'm dyin'...ya dang, sin-ridden, preachy son-of-a-bitch...I didn' even really git ta know ya well...Yer selfish ya know, Preach, fer dyin' first. ...As preacher, I hears, yer s'posed ta turn t'other cheek er sump'um and allow me the honors...Then yew kin dew last rites on ma carcass, whatever that'll dew, ya holier-than-thou son-of-a-bitch..."

"WAIT! ...He's the one who's agoin' ta hail. Wy, he needs ta take alla the water we gots fer that trip. Where's them waterskins?...I had 'em right chere a minute ago...I'm dyin!..."

(Sorry ta break in on ya like this, folks, but I'm fresh outa ink an' I gots ta git inta town ta fetch sum more. Y'all don't move. I'll ketch with ya next month with the rest a the story. 'Course, yew knows the outcome. We's still with ya, yew poor sons-a-bitches...sos don'tcha wet yer pants now. Okay?)

Yores, Griz