Puck — May 1877 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

INCONSTANCY. nA SAW ber when the year was young, Bl Her hair was raven black; In wavelets round her brows it hung, ‘And rippled down her back. I saw her when the earth was clad In summer's verdant gown, As frank as e’er, as blithe and glad, But oh, her hair was brown. Once more, when summer fires were tame, In autumn hale and mellow, This girl across my vision came, And then her hair was yellow. In faith I live again to see ‘That hair before I die, But what peculiar shade "twill be, « Lord only knows, not I. Georce Dantos. DEADWOOD JUSTICE; OR, GUNPOWDER McCLUSKY. Cuarter I, HE late Gunpowder McClusky was for many months the hero and terror of Deadwood —Deadwood of the Black Hills, Cuapter II. History. Born in Texas, on the Pecos River. Brought up by an uncle. Uncle's last gift, as he lay going to the bright and shining shore, perforated with twenty buckshot, the family bowie-knife. Last injunction to Gunny: “Never let it rust, boy, in a quarrel.” The uncle died and was buried. Affecting sermon by a Methodist minister of the Southern church, who at its close mounted his horse and rode forty miles to assist at the hanging of two cattle thieves. Little Gunny sent to school. Yankee schoolmarm boxed his ears. Family bowie- knife flashed in air and explored the North- ern pedancess’s digestive organs. Chronic dyspepsia ever after; effect of this cutting re- proof. Cuarter III. Pecos’ Board of Education procure educa- tional services of one Jonas Natick, of Had- dam, Conn., former clock-peddler, sewing-ma- chine, lightning-rod, insurance and book-agent and editor. Natick runs the school one week. Little Gunpowder is sent. Determination of “Gun” to clean that school out. Gunpowder brings three bull-terriers with him. Disturbance. Natick kicks a bull-terrier. Gunpowder Mc- Clusky jerks his iron and blows top of Natick’s head off. School, being without a head, breaks up. Natick and schoolmarm, buried together, form nucleus of little Gunpowder’s grave-yard. ‘ Cuaprer IV. McClusky grows up, assumes leading position in Texan society, and’ blows tops of heads off. Hears of Black Hills. Goes. Finds a “pard,” one Jago McTrigger. Behold the deadly pair seated on piazza of Red Eye Hotel, Deadwood. McClusky becomes studious. Reads Malthus on evils of over-population. Feels he has a mission in reduction—reduction of human race. Conscience gnaws. Has killed but one book- agent for the last four days. Feels his right arm losing its cunning. Feels out of practice “on the draw.” Conversazione: McClusky, loguitur: ‘Jago Necropolis to preserve the uniformity of the third row left plat.” Jago MeTrigger, interrogatively: “In the sewing-machine agents’ department?” G. McC. ‘No. It is the chromo-peddlers’ row which lacks uniformity.” ‘Two strangers, well mounted, ride up to the Red Eye door. “That's my horse!” roared Gunpowder, “that’s my brand on the off-shoulder!” ‘Stranger. “Why, 1 bought this horse — I'll: show you the bill of sale” (stranger puts hand in coat-pocket for bill). Bang! McClusky blows top of stranger's head off. “Can't get the draw on me; it was his pistol the cuss was after,” remarked McClusky, “any- way, I'd rather face a dozen six-shooters than one genuine bill of sale’? —— Bang! McTrigger blew the top of the other stranger’s head off. ‘‘He needed company, and I gave him his companion,” said McTrigger; “but we're no better off than be- fore.” “Wherefore?” asked G. McClusky. J. McT. “Because there were six lightning- rod men in one row, and seven sewing-machine agents in the other. But now I perceive that we've killed two more sewing machine-agents, which makes it still an odd number—eight to seven, you know.” “Confound that eight to seven,” said Mc- Clusky. ‘‘It’s made the country no end of trouble. Never mind. I'll make it all right;” and he leveled his pistol at another passing light- ning-rod man, and blew the top of his head off. “Here, take these men and bury them,” said Gunpowder McClusky to a passing tramp, giv- ing him a dollar. Cuapter V. McClusky and McTrigger promptly gave themselves up to the Deadwood Justice. *Justifiable homicide, wasn’t it?” said Wad- ding, who hailed from Cheyenne. “Of course it was,” said Gunpowder Me- Clusky. “Why, both the cusses carried con- cealed weapons.” “Well, I'll let you off this time, but you must be a little more careful in future, boys,” said Judge Wadding. “0, you dry up,” said Gunpowder McClusky, “or we'll blow the top of your head off. We're the law in Deadwood.” Judge Wadding was silent, but the insult was not forgotten. That night McClusky and McTrigger were running their faro-bank in the ‘Lost Cause. Pavilion.” ‘Their stakes were doubling at every turn of the cards. Already had they won five- sixths of the corner lots in Deadwood. Mc- Trigger was jubilantly singing “Now I can read my title clear to corner lots both far and near.” A voice was heard at the door saying, “McClusky, I want to speak with you a mo- ment.” McClusky stepped to the door, put out his head, and the last vision on which his mortal eyes rested was that of the insulted Judge Wad- ding, behind a large double-barreled goose- gun. The next moment came a stunning re- port, and the seat of McClusky’s intellect ap- peared to have been blown off. McTrigger ran to the assistance of his friend, but was met by the reserves of buckshot in the other barrel of Judge Wadding’s goose-gun, and in a second the remains of his intellect sprinkled the door- posts of the ‘‘ Lost Cause Pavilion.” “That's getting the Deadwood on’em. I'll let em know who runs the law in Deadwood,” was the burthen of Judge Wadding’s soliloquy as, after loading his goos¢-gun, he shouldered it and marched home to his cabin. PRENTICE MuLForD, Jago, NEW YORK. YI. RACING AND CLOSE OF THE SEASON, Ya-as,it’s alweady beginning to be in- folerwa hot, and evewybody is talk- ing about going in- to the countwy and to other places of wesort where it's considerwed wa- ther the corwect thing to weside durwing the warm weather. I suppose a fellaw will have to go; for, yer know, there’s a pwoverb which I wemember tells a fellaw when he’s a W'oman he must do as the W'omans do, or something of that sort. Amer- wicans go in for wacing about this perwiod, just as we do at-home; they’ve a gweat deal to learn, but still their ideas are not bad, con- siderwing how jolly gween and young they are. I dwove to Jerwome Park in a dwag belonging to a New York fellaw who twies vewy hard to be a pwoper ‘‘Bwitish” swell, and pon my honor weally deserves pwaise for his tolerwably suc- cessful efforts in this diwection. He was dwessed* quite wespectably; he had on a Melton coat, fine corduwoy twowsers, and a Billycock hat, but wore a horwid diamond pin in his shirt fwont—a gweat many fellaws here wear dia- monds—doosid caddish, I think. Jerwome Park is all vewy well in its way, but it won't do afte: Epsom, Ascot, Newmarket or Goodwood; that would weally be too absurd. The wace- course is of a curwious shape, a spirwal ar- wangement like a letter B, yer know. There was a fairwish cwowd pwesent, but the majorwity did not appear to look upon wacing as a wecwe- ation, or to know how to,bet pwoperly. Some Amewican fellaw wemarked that there used to be some widiculous things, called ‘ pools,” for betting. They don’t have them now; I believe there was a dwought at the Cwoton water weser- voir, and that dwied them all up. Pools at a wegatta I think might be all wight, but at waces they would be devilishly absurd, A good many other young fellaws, as well as my fwiend, wig themselves out in sporting costume, and apj vewy knowing, and pwetend to be as well up in wacing as a gwoom ought to be, but in weality are atwociously ignorwant in such matters; but then few wespectable awistocwats own the wace- horses. Some decent individuals have a or two, but Iwish liverwy stable k TS, an firms of wetchedly common bweeders and twadesmen own the celebwated nags. If I were an Amerwican, I should weflect sevewal times before I saw the pwopwiety of enterwing a horse, and then I don’t think I should Have the courwage to do it; the other fellaws are too wough without being weal sporting car- wackters. FITZNOODLE IN “Wuat shall our boys do?” asks an exchange. Well, if it rains, and they can’t go out and tie the cats across the clothes-line, or affix a tin- kettle to the dog’s tail, let them stay indoors and plug up the kitchen faucets, or poke peas in their little sisters’ ears. Anything to keep them out of mischief. Tue Rochester Democrat thinks ‘there is too much divorcing.” Aye, marry, sO says Puck. Wuen a man is himself perplexed, he doesn’t care much for the perplexities of his fellow creatures, In other words, the dairy that con- tains no milk of human kindness whatever, is a quan-dairy. Viegas there be a grave needed in our comicbooks.com