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Page 37
He held open the front of his blue flannel shirt. Out of it crawled a
horned frog. A bright red ribbon was tied jauntily around its spiky
neck. It crawled to its owner's knee and sat there, motionless.
"This here Muriel," said Hayes, with an oratorical wave of his hand, "has
got qualities. She never talks back, she always stays at home, and she's
satisfied with one red dress for every day and Sunday, too."
"Look at that blame insect!" said one of the rangers with a grin. "I've
seen plenty of them horny frogs, but I never knew anybody to have one for
a side-partner. Does the blame thing know you from anybody else?"
"Take it over there and see," said Hayes.
The stumpy little lizard known as the horned frog is harmless. He has the
hideousness of the prehistoric monsters whose reduced descendant he is,
but he is gentler than the dove.
The ranger took Muriel from Hayes's knee and went back to his seat on a
roll of blankets. The captive twisted and clawed and struggled vigorously
in his hand. After holding it for a moment or two, the ranger set it upon
the ground. Awkwardly, but swiftly the frog worked its four oddly moving
legs until it stopped close by Hayes's foot.
"Well, dang my hide!" said the other ranger. "The little cuss knows you.
Never thought them insects had that much sense!"
II
Jimmy Hayes became a favourite in the ranger camp. He had an endless
store of good-nature, and a mild, perennial quality of humour that is well
adapted to camp life. He was never without his horned frog. In the bosom
of his shirt during rides, on h is knee or shoulder in camp, under his
blankets at night, the ugly little beast never left him.
Jimmy was a humourist of a type that prevails in the rural South and
West. Unskilled in originating methods of amusing or in witty
conceptions, he had hit upon a comical idea and clung to it reverently.
It had seemed to Jimmy a very funny thing to have about his person, with
which to amuse his friends, a tame horned frog with a red ribbon around
its neck. As it was a happy idea, why not perpetuate it?
The sentiments existing between Jimmy and the frog cannot be exactly
determined. The capability of the horned frog for lasting affection is a
subject upon which we have had no symposiums. It is easier to guess
Jimmy's feelings. Muriel was his chef _d'oeuvre_ of wit, and as such he
cherished her. He caught flies for her, and shielded her from sudden
northers. Yet his care was half selfish, and when the time came she
repaid him a thousand fold. Other Muriels have thus overbalanced the
light attentions of other Jimmies.
Not at once did Jimmy Hayes attain full brotherhood with his comrades.
They loved him for his simplicity and drollness, but there hung above him
a great sword of suspended judgment. To make merry in camp is not all of
a ranger's life. There are horse-thieves to trail, desperate criminals to
run down, bravos to battle with, bandits to rout out of the chaparral,
peace and order to be compelled at the muzzle of a six-shooter. Jimmy had
been "'most generally a cow-puncher," he said; he was inexperienced in
ranger methods of warfare. Therefore the rangers speculated apart and
solemnly as to how he would stand fire. For, let it be known, the honour
and pride of each ranger company is the individual bravery of its members.
For two months the border was quiet. The rangers lolled, listless, in
camp. And then -- bringing joy to the rusting guardians of the frontier
-- Sebastiano Saldar, an eminent Mexican desperado and cattle-thief,
crossed the Rio Grande with his gang and began to lay waste the Texas
side. There were indications that Jimmy Hayes would soon have the
opportunity to show his mettle. The rangers patrolled with alacrity, but
Saldar's men were mounted like Lochinvar, and were hard to catch.
One evening, about sundown, the rangers halted for supper after a long
ride. Their horses stood panting, with their saddles on. The men were
frying bacon and boiling coffee. Suddenly, out of the brush, Sebastiano
Saldar and his gang dashed upon them with blazing six-shooters and
high-voiced yells. It was a neat surprise. The rangers swore in annoyed
tones, and got their Winchesters busy; but the attack was only a
spectacular dash of the purest Mexican type. After the florid
demonstration the raiders galloped away, yelling, down the river. The
rangers mounted and pursued; but in less than two miles the fagged ponies
laboured so that Lieutenant Manning gave the word to abandon the chase and
return to the camp.
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