Hay yew muleskinnin' marvels,

Griz back tew ya with the rest a the story. (Note: Y'all's gots ta read the last 'stallment ta make haid er tail a what yew's areadin' today - Part ONE: "WATER  WUNDERS" - GRIZZLY FILES, NO. 30)

Aaaaahhh...whar was I? Oh yeah...

An' I was adozin' off agin while tryin' ta pull back that great idear-a-mine. Gots ta stay awake, I does, as I snaps back tew attintion an' eyes them birds once agin aclosin' in. They thinks they's abein' cute a-edgin' forward li'l by li'l an' atryin' ta whistle an' look around like they is. I'm adozin' off agin, acatchin' maself an' ashakin' off the sleep. I dozes... I jus' smiles an' sez, "It's agittin' dark, ya know... Yew boys better eat yer food er it's off ta bed with ya an' nuthin' till breakfast, yew hear?" An' I musta yelled out them last tew words 'cause I wakes maself up agin. An' whad-da-ya-know, that great idear-a-mine done steps out inta the spotlight an' takes a bow.

Slowly, I areaches fer ma hat an' lifts them tew loops a ma stampede string off from aroun' ma hatband. Then, with great effert, I snips off the tassels an' ties them tew thongs together now with a loop at each end. After that, I loops one aroun' ma right wrist an' alays t'other out thar in the sand as a snare. Then, I settles down fer a time a bein' perfectly still atryin' ta look even more delicious than I was... "Gots ta keep ma belly from abouncin' tho, an' stop laughin'. I'm so smart," I thinks ta maself. "I don't need no Jesus with the great mind I gots. I alweez had ta live by ma wits. Wyyy, my god is...ME," I thinks excitedly with visions a drumsticks an' breasts asteamin' on a platter.

Shore 'nuff, bye an' bye, I'm apeerin' out from unner ma hat an' the bolder a them varmints is a-edgin' ever closer. An' I waits an' I waits. Alla sudden, I yanks the string an' acatches 'im by the foot, acinchin' it up an' agittin' the shit clawed outa me an' bit at. Quickly, I wraps the tew feet with a calf-ropin' tie (sos he'll quit makin' hamburger outa the the front a me) an' barly avoids losin' a finger er tew. "What was I clocked at?" I wunders. An, I whips off the only garter I gots left from the one sleeve, agrabs 'im by his scrawny neck, agrinnin' inta his face, an' loops it aroun' his beak an' neck a few times an atosses 'im aside. "Whew," I sez, "This shirt's a goner."

Then exhossted, I lays back fer sum serious shuteye aknowin' that the flap-flappin'll keep t'other one away fer a spell. "Been trappin' tew many years ta not tew a thought a this one," I sez ta maself. "Gotchyew, yew sorry son-of-a-bitch!", him ahavin' the same, pathetic face on what we jus' had sum fifteen minutes bafore. Purty good ifn I dew say so maself... An' soon I'm off ahavin' sweet dreams, agin, alookin' ta git sum serious, wet water, 'acause a what I jus' done...

...An' thar I sits in ma smokin' jacket jus' as proud as I kin be with a see-gar in ma mouf an' asippin' water from a shotglass with a whiskey chaser along side a silver bucket a ice cubes with silver tongs thar at fireside. An' would ya b'lieve tew fine-lookin', slate-faced, dang buzzards right thar in them's tuckseedoes awaitin' on me han'-over-fist. Yep, with fire fer ma smoke an' fresh shots a de-lishus water when I gits low an'...ma paper a'course. 'Magine that.

Y'all didn't think the likes a me could afford no tew, stiff, starchy manservants, did ya? Er, is it manSERVERS I gots. (I gits confused. Gots ta check.) No, no...don'tcha worry none. I'm away ahaid a ya... The cook's a Chinaman. I ain't that stooped, ya know... An' that li'l yeller feller awants ta serve up them tew fer me jus' as bad as thems wants ta serve him up sos, I gots me an ongoin' standoff, heh, heh. No luv lost, I'd 'spect. Jus' in case, tho, fer peace a mind's sake, I peeks inta the kitchen ever night 'afore supper, I does. Caught the big one atryin' ta stretch his eyes in front a the mirror t'other day, I did. No way, heh, heh.

Bless ma soul...a full-time butler an' a part-timer what spinds the rest a his time a-openin' the front doors ta let in all ma rich friends from San FRANcisco... I say, ta let in alla them ratty-lookin', poor-as-Lazarus, muleskinnin' sons-a-bitches. 'Course the boys gots ta leave alla them's dust at the door IN MA HOUSE. Yessir, them tew birds-a-mine gots instructions ta beat the shit outa them with rug-beaters an' aspray 'em all down good with sheepdip, first, afore they kin set a boot inta MA parlor er abelly up ta MA bar. (Them cowboys really needs charm school, tew, but yew caint tell 'em nuthin' an' I shurly aint agonna be the one tew.)

But agittin' back ta them tew hirelings-a-mine, wyyy, they don't say nuthin' in no Engleesh drawl er nuthin'. But that's okay, 'cause they jus' does their job an' I kin use the peace an' quiet ta dew ma best thinkin'... Take it back. That aint quite acc'rit. The smaller a the tew thinks he's a dang parrot, sumtimes, 'cause he been taught ta "throw his voice" (like them fellers with the puppets) by one a his li'l friends at Butlerin' school. An' when the Muleskinners is over here at the house ahavin' a beer, I swear I hears a li'l voice asayin', "Fuck yew!", "Eat shit!" an' "Yer an asshole!" probly in the hopes a startin' a big ol' brawl an' aleavin' aroun' a few daid ones a y'all when ya leaves. Yep, I'm on ta them li'l varmints with them's stone faces. Wy, I'll awash that li'l smartass's mouf out with soap an' it wouldn' hurt 'im a bit. Nosir!

But them's is fine housekeepers nonetheless, what with abein' the lively featherdusters they is an' all. Wy, I allows 'em ta fly 'round in each room ta dust long's they's careful. An what's more, they atakes turns asleepin' on the roof, astraddlin' one a them gables er another akeepin' them pesky possums an' other varmints from ashittin' on the roof like they dearly luvs ta dew.

An' when the pipes gits aclogged an' the water backs up, I alweez atells 'em sump'um adrownded in thar atryin' ta find his way out an' WHOOSH, inta the water they goes. Works ever time. Who needs a dang plummer? 'Course, I caint bear ta look 'em in the eye when they acomes up empty-handed so ta speak with that pathetic look as I'm asprayin' em down with sheep dip. Grievous, but I caint have it no other way... I caint. Tew 'spensive.

Hail, I feeds 'em, don't I? ...An' I feeds 'em good, I does. Gots me a great idear t'other day an' I up an' re-lieved 'em a them's "roof duty", 'cept at night, y'understand. Yessir, now I bags me a big ol' fat possum 'bout ever other early evenin' as I'm atakin' ma leisure in the upstairs sittin' room, thar. Yep, them possums an' other varmints agots ta git them's cummupence fer the great luv they's ackwired fer ashittin' on MA roof. An' jus' ta make shur the affection fer that great possum pastime don't fade from the scene, I done rigged maself a long wire loop astretched 'tween tew li'l pulleywheels from ma windersill on out yonder ta that big ol' weathervane. An' I wheel a piece a chicken fat out tew it with clothes pins ta hold it on. Purty clever ifn I dew say so maself.

Annn, when them simple, sorry sons-a-bitches areach up fer the prize, I picks 'em off one ba one with ma squirrelgun an' down they goes aflop-floppin' over an' over inta the downspout. 'Course, when them tew "buzzlers"-a-mine ahears them gunshots, off they goes, adroolin' on 'emselves, an' all manners agoes out the winder with 'em, damm'em... Purty good system, tho.

...But ya know, I gots me a sneakin' sus-spishion that them tew is asupplementin' them's diet as spoiled, fat an' jowl-ly as they's agittin'. It's that smug 'spression them's is alweez asportin' what gives 'em away. I notice them sorts a things, me abein' a man a keen observation like I is but it's agittin' tew me... Caint 'zactly figger it out.

I jus' know they don't eat no leftovers from all them laveesh dinner parties-a-mine 'cause the richness an' all agives 'em the gout an' I don't know what all an' y'all don't never wanna be 'round no dang buzzards with a bout a the gout. Take it from me on that one. Mercy it's messy.

Nosir, it's sump'um else they's adoin' on the sly, I b'lieve. Now, vultures is shurly scavengers but they aint no dang killers as far's I knows. I mean, they likes fer ya ta be daid, first. Still an' all, ya gots ta wunder. They DEW seem ta foller aroun' an' give exter-special attintion ta the bone-skinny daughters a them bigtime, industr'alist friends-a-mine what abrings 'em outchere from the City ever now an' agin. An' I gits the feelin' it aint the beauty a them wimmens what captivates 'em. Is it the LOOK a them bony critters what atakes after the starvin' varmints them buzzards is achawin' on out in the desert? I don't know. Sump'um's up fer shur, tho, 'cause them rich ol' boys don't never seem ta bring the same daughters back a second time.

An' jus' how does I know them's sweety-beauties is daughters, yew asks? Hail, haint yew ever noticed that ever one a them movin' pitchers alweez gots the good, rich, ol' fart ranchers, er bankers er mayors er mine-owners ahavin' a beeyootiful daughter what is jus' awaitin' fer the good guy ta show up ta meet? Aint that true? Alweez? Now what amazes me is that them rich types never seem ta have NO DANG SONS. Ya notice that? Never seen ONE. Either them wealthy, embarrassed cattlebaron-types an' such ties up all them sissified sons-a-theirs in them's barns (what gots that way 'cause them's dad's was never aroun' when they was agrowin' up ta set 'em straight on shit) ER that rich diet-a-theirs has astopped them's amatin' parts from amanufacterin' sons-a-the-speeshees. Grievous either way ifn ya ask me. Aint the whiskey's fault. I kin attest ta that.

Could ALLL them "pitchers" an' dime novels be wrong? Must be. Who the hail is them rich types agonna leave alla that wealth tew? ...NOT THEM'S DAUGHTERS. 'Sides, what daughter in it's right mind really ever calls it's father "Father" like it alweez has it in them pitchers an' books? Nosir. An' these here daughters don't, neither, but I caint recall 'em refurrin' ta the dapper, ol' farts as "Daddy", come ta think of it. Rich farts? Skinny daughters? No sons? ...It's a dang mystery ta me...

Now, boys an' girls, I shurly hope it's jus' that them houseguests-a-mine is so busy atalkin' industr'alizin' er aplayin' cards an' has so many beeyootiful, skinny daughters, that they must jus' fergit whar they leaves sum of 'em. But I also shurly hopes they's all in the coach with 'em when them men's ahaids back ta the city. 'Cause, hail, I gots the funny feelin' that down the line, this here could, eventually, look bad fer me an' the tew "lads"...them. Gots ta snoop aroun' fer daughterly remains as weez acleanin' up afterwards each time, jus' ta be shur, dontcha think? Caint have no such grizzly, murderous business agoin' on unner MA roof (unless it's group-approved aforehand with the Captain's blessin', a'course. An' then thars gots ta be a sinse a romance, vingince, humor er honor er sump'um athrown inta the mix, sumwhars, 'cause the money's already thar. Wouldn' yew agree?)

Achowin' on the guests...the nerve a them. Ifn I catches either a them in the act er after the fact, wyyy, it's back out ta the desert with 'em an' agoin' back ta rippin' on ol' shoes an' such...an I AINT APAYIN' NO SEVERANCE (good word)...............AN' GIT YER DANG FEATHERS OUTA MA MOUF...(splut, ptoowy, poot!)

"OH!". It's the next mornin' an' we's awakened at sunup ta the flappin' a wings. "Whew! Thems was sum nightmares, alright."

(Funny how dreams is: ...how they goes off on them's merry ways jus' as purty as ya please, with no regard atall fer what's really agoin' on in a feller's life... Like what I'm adoin' here in San FRANcisco with water an' a big ol' house an' super-skinny, other-men's daughters amakin' eyeballs at me when I gots a tew-bit ranch, a hoss what hates me an' five no-good, dang kids hunderds a miles away in the desert. 'Course, no dream's agonna help ya dispince with all that shit, first. Most times, it jus' pertends the reg'lar, everday, ol' stuff aint thar fer fear a boggin' down a great adventure with minOOshit. Annn', who the hail cares when yer dreamin', anyhow? It's the half a life when yer awake that's hard. T'other half oughter be as good as it kin git, right?...............No tellin' what them dang kids-a-mine is up tew while I'm alivin' the good life, here. Shur as tits on a cow, they's up ta sum'pum. Jus' wait till I gits home...)

Bofe me an' the preach is amazed we's still alive. But our moufs is astuck shut bofe a us. Preach is ahavin' trouble amakin' sinse a all this. Then, he's agrinnin' from eyeball ta eyeball. An', "Hay look," I yells, "the sorry-lookin', hogtied an' gagged son-of-a-bitch is abein' eyeballed by t'other one as ifn he's athinkin': 'The preach, him bein' the biggest, is a hearty breakfast, Griz here, is a decent lunch an' you, ma friend, is jerky fer the road." We smiles at each other grimly.

Well, with no energy whatsoever, we's back ta lookin' up at the blue sky with li'l puffy clouds aqin', us aplayin' "What's-That-Cloud-Remind-Ya-Of?". We goes back an' forf with short, harse, throaty sounds, alaughin' sum... My turn. "That li'l cloud off by hisself out thar on the horizon alooks like a big, fat, white glove apointin' down, don't it?" "Wyyy, it shore 'nuff does an' it's apointin' down onta them buildin's a that thar town aways off," he sez. "Whaatt?" we yells together an' bofe a us aprops usselves up on an elbow ta git a better look. "It's a mirage, Griz," he sez. "Nope," I replies, "too early an' aint hot enuf, yet." "Right!" he sez, an' we jumps up an' astarts arunnin' in its d-irection, a frantic, bound an' gagged breakfast awhippin' in the wind bahind us.

After twinty-five yards er so, we feels our crusty, sore feets an' slows tew a trudge, jus' thankful that the desert sun aint too high yet. We finally gits thar, I dunno how, an' after agoin' in an' out a one empty buildin' after another a that God-forsakin', ol', has-been minin' town with no luck a findin' water, we comes onta the town squar. An' BLESS MA SOUL, thar's a covered well at the end of a row a buildins thar with a big ol' bucket jus' awaitin' ta be discovered. "HURRAH!" we yells an' aruns over tew it, atakin' the cover off an' apeerin' in.

Yep, thar was water alright. Not purty water, all brown with bugs an' lizards afloatin' on the surface but, by golly, it was genuine water. 'Bout twinty feet er so down. Poisoned er not, we was agonna drink it.

Well,  we was adancin' an' adoe-see-doein' each other right proper an' asingin' our lungs out. Preach throws down that ol' bucket an' abrings up the first drink. Looks terrible, asmells worse but we drinks it down an' soon we's like bran' new critters discoverin' life all over agin. Not even no good whiskey ever tasted so good as that thar brown, slimy swill.

Fas' as we kin, we hobbles back ta the hosses which, tho, on them's sides, is barly still alive an' we slowly nurses em' back ta life. Back ta the well an' we's aworshippin' the god a liquid refreshmint agin. Then, we fills alla a the skins an' starts aplannin' which di-rection ta go ta git back ta whar the boys is aholed up. Preach finds sum hay fer the hosses. Suddenly, our bellies atells us at once that we haint eatin' an' we bofe eyeballs the buzzard.

"Yew go an' see ta gittin' sum fire wood," I sez, "an' me an' 'Breakfast', here'll dig up sum mesquite." Almost daid, the ol' bird looks over, but don't seem ta care at this point. He could be bluffin', tho, an' jus' awaitin' fer his chance ta make a break fer it.

Me an' the critter awaits an' awaits an' no preacher an' we awaits an' awaits an' no dang preacher. Annn', I'm afashionin' tew li'l pairs-a-panties fer the drumsticks with ma knife an' hanky while we's awaitin' an' a-askin' the bird which he prefers: tight an' sexy er loose an' comfy? But still no preach...An' I'm atryin' ta'magine how that li'l carcass is agoin' ta smell aroastin' over that mesquite fire. "Hope it tastes like chicken," I sez ta maself...

Then, low an' bahold, thars the preach all sweaty but with a whole armload a wood. " Yaayyy," I yells. "What took ya?" "Hail Griz," he sez, " Couldn' find a stick a wood anywhar. Wyyy, freeloaders done sniped it all...even them boardwalks. Finally had ta rip the ol' rotten sidin' offa that buildin' down on the end thar what's come ta lean away from the wind like most of 'em is adoin' . I was aworried, thar, fer fer a minute that I might atook too much 'cause the whole, dang struckture was astartin' ta move on me an' I thot I'd have ta run ta keep from it afallin' on me. Whew!"

"Well, let's eat," I sez. Now aint that ironic that us mens here is 'bout ta pick away at the daid carcass of a dang buzzard (scrawny as he is) an' we gits the same glint in our eyes as we seen that big one agittin' as he was apacin' a few feet off, back at the rock?

Buttt, jus' as I is 'bout ta ring its neck, the foul thing acomes ta life aflappin' its wings like crazy. Wyy, I was so startled, I fell back 'gainst the well, aknockin' the bucket over the edge. An' aloopin' the rope 'round ma wrist without knowin' it, I went ass-over-elbows over the edge, maself, affallin' haidlong intew 'bout six feet a water with a kersplash.

Preach ayells down, "Yew alright?" "Yeah," I sez, " Agit me outa here!" "I caint," he sez. I only gots eight feet a rope. Yew gots the rest. I'll go fetch sum from the stable yonder. Turn that thar bucket over atrappin' the ar an' it'll hold yer ass up ifn ya kin balance at all..." "Toss me down that uppity, dang buzzard," I yells. "We's agonna have it out here an' NOW!" But he don't hear me.

He comes back after a bit an' sez, "Haint probly seen rope here fer years. None in the stable. None nowhar... Uh-oh, breakfast jus' done made a gitaway, damm'im. I'll hafta git on ma hoss an' go meet up with the boys er find a real outpost sumwhars an' git back ta ya with a rope an' sum grub. Yew need a good bath, anyhow." " I DON'T NEEDS NO BATH. What I needs is a cocky, dang buzzard an' ta git outa here," I replies............An' I looks aroun' an' sez, "But I gots these bugs an' these here tew lizards ta munch on ifn I has ta an' no tellin' what's daid on the bottom a this here well." Preach spits, awipes his mouf with his sleeve an' sez, "Aww, you'd eat the ass outa a skunk ifn nobody done stopped ya."

"But what ifn ya starve afore ya gits back...ifn ya caint chase down them dang buzzards?" He yells back, "I'll eat ma bootlegs ifn I hasta before I'll starve. 'Sides, I kin maybe shoot me a jackrabbit on the way ta git help. Don't worry, I'll save all the bugs off it fer yew, heh, heh...I'd best be goin'."

"Well, hail, yew'd best come back," I yells... "I'd face deaf fer yew, ya know..." "Oh yeah," he sez, "the way ya done turned tail an' left me ta face that grizzly bar we was a-ambushed by last spring...Shurrr, Griz." " Well shit," I sez, " he wadn' daid yet! Heh, heh!"

"Hay," I yells, "What ifn Injuns git ya out thar er ya runs outa water afore ya reaches the boys?" "Well then," He sez, "you'd best git yer foul self on speakin' terms with Jesus Christ 'cause ya might be shit-out-a-luck, otherwise." "...He aint gonna save the likes a me ifn he won't save yew," I yells up. "Wrong," he sez. "I not only allowed Satan ta steal me away with temptation when I knew better, I'm also guilty a blasphemy an' worst of all, fer merchandisin' God. That means abeggin' money, asayin' shit what aint true in the name a Jesus fer ma own gain. Yew haint done that."

"No I haint...but I done murdered a few folks." That's bad, bad," he sez, "but the Apostle Paul, before he was the Apostle Paul, was the o-fficial Jewish bounty hunter what done in a whole raft a Jews-turned-Christians jus' fer b'lievin' in Christ. God fergave him, by golly, an' araised him up ta be the greatest spreader a the gospel in history. An' git this: King David, in the OLD Bible, had the husband a the woman he was apokin' murdered sos he, hisself, wouldn' git fingered fer the child she was abearin' while her ol' man was off ta war. An', heh, it sez he was '...a man after God's own heart'. God fergave him."

Then I asks, "Well, what about alla the drinkin' an' whorin'?" "Son, Jesus IS in the fergivin' business. That's why He allowed Hisself ta be killed on the cross an' aspill His blood fer yew, alla them Muleskinners an' anyone else who sincerely has a mind ta be saved... Haint yew never heard a Samson, the strong man-a-God an' Deelilah, the pagan whore? Not only was he apokin' her reg'larly, but he was adippin' inta the whiskey plenty er he never woulda slipped the secret a his strength an' had that historic haircut-a-his, right? God fergave him...an' even agive him back his strength once agin ta push the temple pillars over, akillin' all a His enemies."

"An' then thar's Noah, bless his (drier-than-yer) ol' bones. The Book a Genesis sez that, after the cruise, he grew hisself a vineyard an', natcher'ly, got drunk jus' like us. An' I'll jus' bet, with a vineyard an' all, it wadn' jus' once. God fergave ol' Noah."

"An' then thar was Abraham...er was it his nephew, Lot? Yep, it was Lot. Well, Lot was drunk one night 'cause he was agiven too much wine by his tew daughters an' I b'lieve he did them tew right thar on the rug. Shameful fer Lot but actchooly, them tew preverted, young tarts had schemed the whole thing fer sum reason er other. I caint remember. But that much is the truth. God fergave Lot... Now, I might add, ifn that kind a carryin' on was ahappenin' on a reg'lar basis, maybe 'Lot' was a nickname ahung on him by the neighbors. I dunno."

"Well, What about thievin'? An', what about lyin'...'specially ta save our own necks," I asks? "Well," sez the preach, "in Jesus's day, tax collectors was 'bout the biggest thieves an' liars aroun' then an' He made one er tew a them His apostles. ...ANNNN', the Apostle Peter three times denied that he ever knowed Christ jus' before His death. THREE, mind ya, ta save his own skin. Now, fer his part, he was askeered shitless but that's still alyin' in anybody's book. God fergave them boys."

"Look here, Griz, ya low-livin' scum, I gots ta git goin' after sum rope fer ya. Sos, jus' say yer sorry fer all yer sins, don't dew 'em no more, turn yer life over ta Jesus an' have faith that He'll save yer soul an' atake ya ta heaven. Then it don't matter ifn ya die sooner er later, right? He luvs ya, alright, an' in yore case, that aint easy ta dew."

Preach is afeelin' bad 'cause he don't know how he's agonna git back in time ta keep ma sorry ass from adrowndin' in this here smelly, dank pit. Even ifn it's jus' afew hours. I caint even stand up. When I caint stay awake no longer, I'm gone... The good part is that the next critter ta fall in'll have plenty ta eat, heh, heh."

"Gimme three days er sooner an' I'll be back with rope an' jerky," he sez with a squinty, toofy face. "THREE DAYS!," I gasps, "I'll be a drownded rat ba then." "No ya won't," he sez with that same, wrinkly face on. "Ifn ol' Jonah could hold out in the belly a the fish fer three days while abein' di-gested the whole time, I guess you kin. Hail, even Jesus, after he died, was in the bowels a the earth fer three days an' arose agin ta life, didn't He? Now, don't go nowhar..." Then, he vaneeshed. I yells up after 'im, " Make shur them weazly, business types don' steal the farm from ma kids."

Now, I'm agrumblin' an' alookin' aroun' atryin' ta sit this here bucket an' keep maself afloat an' I adrifts off ta heavy thot. "What would he wanna save the likes a me fer," I sez ta the green, slipp'ry walls. "Then agin, he done saved all them other slimy fellers..."

I tried the bugs but thems was jus' empty shells sos I started achewin' on them tew lizards an' was surprised that they even tasted decent, hungry as I was...like chicken. Musta been amatin' up thar when they fell off inta the soup, heh, heh..."Ifn they hadn't drownded theyselves, thar might be  a whole raft a 'or derfs' all aroun' me ba now. "I aint nuthin' but a dang water vulture aswimmin' aroun' alookin' fer daid things," I sez out loud, "...a dang scavenger. Shameful." 'Course, like scavengers, I s'pose, ifn I suck up enuf a this shit, I kin maybe, git this here bathwater back ta clean. Who knows? ...Good thing them real scavengers caint git at me down here... What am I thinkin'? What the hail difference does that make? Daid is daid. Big varmints er wee, li'l, tiny, baby varmints ya caint see. Food is food...everthing gots ta eat.

Well, needless fer me ta say, I spent the rest a the day an' inta the night adozin' an' afallin' in the water, adozin' an' afallin' in the water. Finally, I sez out loud, "I'm agonna die first a no sleep!" Gots ta git another great idear............THEN IT COME TA ME, right on time. Wyyy, I could jus' cross ma s'penders in front an' aslip 'em over the upsidedown bucket. Shore enuf, they kept ma haid up sos I could git sum shuteye adriftin' thar. Good thing the water was warm. Only woke up once er twice acoughin' an' asputterin'.

Don't know when it was I awoke the next day but I reckoned that the sun was high. An', I was ashivverin' in the warm water. Maybe I was acatchin' a fever er sump'um fer not eatin'...er FROM eatin'. Couldn' figger out which but ma stummick was adoin' flip-flops an' ahurtin' sump'um fierce. An' all waterlogged, I was atryin' ta lift ma carcass out a the water ta give it a rest from the wet by apushin' ma feet an' shoulders against the walls an' a-archin' ma back. Didn' work.

"C'mon Jesus," I yells, "either take me daid er take me alive but dew it quick. The preacher aint acovered by yore protection na more sos he's probly aroastin' on a spit in front a sum teepee sumwhar ba now, rest-his-soul...Er bring sum folks ta save me...er sum angels ifn they have a mind ta after that crack I made 'bout 'em, yesterdie."

Jus' then, I sees the light change alla sudden in ma prison an' thar's a flurry a commotion at the openin' a the well up thar an' I sez, "Thank...yew Jesus, fer a quick answer ta prayer. Yippee, I'm saved."  An' I alooks up asquintin' at the bright light atryin' ta make out the faces a ma rescuers. "OH SHIT," I bellows as I alooks up inta the cold, black eyes a them tew dang buzzards agin. "That aint abit funny, Lord, an' I don't appreciate yer sense a humor. This is serious," I sez. (...Me an' the varmints is astarin' back an' forf athinkin' up recipes fer each other.)

"Please Jesus," I yells, "No more jokes an' at least, gimme a sign sos I knows yew hears me down here...Jus' a li'l sign...Jus ONE sign." An', I breaks down an' starts ablubberin' like a baby afeelin' bad fer ma sorry, mizzable self. Then, I hates maself fer bein' such a sissy. I slides off ma "cork" an' astraps maself on sos I kin nap a little. The more I sleep, the sooner rescue er deaf'll come. 'Sides, in ma dreams, I kin be anywhar an' dew anything I want, right? Right!

Wellsir, I musta slept thru the day an' inta the night 'cause I wakes up in the dark with jus' the stars ta see by. Now, it's cold an' scary down here an' I gits the feelin' I gots company. Ghosts behind me er the Grim Reaper er sump'um else...worse. "Hay Reap," I mumbles, "show yer smoky self." Nuthin', but I kin feel ther's sump'um thar. What dew I dew? Wy, I sings "Home On The Range" as loud as I kin ta git ma mind off it an' ahopin' someone else what also caint sleep, will hear me an' join in a course er tew. Sounds purty good in here with them echos.

An' I calls ta them birds, "Here Buzzy, Buzzy an' yer buddy... Come down fer a nice dinnn--ner. An' bring sum bar-be-que sauce withh--ya... An' salt 'n' peppp--per... An' maybe sum garrr--lic, ifn it's handy." I calls ma tew friends "Buzzy" an' "Buddy"...

"Tho, it's tew against one, I'll win, ya know, I yells."

But now I'm real weak an' not atall shur I kin whip them buzzards' asses when they 'rives fer dinner. Good thing ma s'penders is adoin' the work 'cause I aint shur I kin hang on na more. "Would I be able ta jus' tie them tew skinny necks together," I wunders ta maself out loud, "bafore them tew aclaws me inta bite-sized pieces.?" I dozes off fer I dunno how long...I wakes up.

"Almost the third day," I mutters. "Hay, I'm amutterin'...an' that aint a good sign. But the third day's a good sign. The preacher's acomin' with whiskey an' fricasseed chicken an' dumplin's. He's almost due now... It's three days in a matter a hours. Here preachy, Preachy... Don't fail me now. Lord Jesus, Please show that blind, phony, bloodsuckin' son-of-a-bitch the way. I still has faith in yew. Yew haint said er done nuthin' yew haint been able ta back up with deeds. I may not have faith in ya tomorra but I still dew today. That's good fer sump'um, aint it?"

"Preacher's in a dang saloon sumwhar with sum floozy but yew don't go inta them places na more, akickin' over tables an' such, dew ya? ...Er was that in a church? ...I fergits how it went. Nosir, yew gots more important things ta dew with yer time... like asavin' ma wretched self. I firmly b'lieves you'll save me either daid er alive ER BOFE an' I'm astickin' tew it. Dew me a favor an' put that ol' devil in a wig an' dancehall gitup an' scar the preach right outa that thar saloon an' back tew his sinses. Will ya dew that?"

I dozes off agin an' I'm adriftin' down a long tunnel. "HAY, I don't 'member that well ahavin' no tunnel agoin' off it." Maybe it was jus' unner the surface an I never thot ta check. Maybe I never turned aroun'. Well, fancy that. Hay, I'm afloatin' while asleep. "Whar's ma dang bucket? Hay, MAYBE I'M DAID," I yells.

The water's cold an' I'm freezin'. Whar's the current atakin' me tew? Ta heaven, maybe? I sees light yonder. It aint firey light an' I don't think I'd be afloatin' ta hail. Long's thar's water, I'm good... Unless this is another joke a Jesus... "Stop with this stuff, Jesus! I done had it with yer humor at ma expense, dang yer...precious, sweet mercy. Nice Jesus." I gots ta git outa this dream. Gots ta make shur I aint daid an' I slaps ma face good. I waits...But I don't wake up. 

"Dang! Sorry AGIN, folks. I jus' broke ma last quill an' I failed ta pick sum up when I was abuyin' this here ink last month. Been awaitin' fer a mail order deliv'ry a them an' a bunch a other things. The stage should abring 'em in this week er next... unless we robs it. In that case, won'tcha please keep an' eye out fer my goods afore ya stash the other woorfless stuff, an' I will tew? I'll tell ya ifn I died er didn't next month when ma yarn norm'ly gits tew ya. Till then, y'all ahang on ta yer seats, yew hear, heh, heh?)"

Yores,

Griz