“He was a sort of ignorant and superstitious man, and the next day when I happened by, he says to me that the fairies had come and shelled his corn. Well, I never did take no stock in fairies and the like, and I knowed there must be a reasonable and sane explanation somewheres. So I picked up one of the corn cobs and stuck it in the knothole. It was jest a good tight fit. Then I told the old man what must of happened. The wind got up and would of blowed all his corn out of the crib, but the knothole wasn’t big enough for an ear to go through. Hence each ear got shelled, and all the corn was left in the crib. It was jest as simple as that. Perfectly natural. If them old fellers we read about that believed in fairies and witches, and all that crap, had jest of used their heads, they’d found out that everything’s natural and simple enough. They put me in mind of Mex’cans. But as I was about to say, the old man sold his corn and got on purty well.”
“There was a farmer close to us one time,” said Joe, “that lost his milk cows in a curious manner. He had a little patch of pop-corn, and one hot day the cows broke into the patch and started eatin’ it up. All of a sudden that corn begun poppin’ and flyin’ every which away.”
“Did the shooting grains kill the cows?” asked Lanky.
“Naw,” said Joe. “When the fool critters saw all that pop-corn flyin’ through the air, they thought it was snow, and jest naturally froze to death.”
“Do you ever have tornadoes out here?” asked Lanky.
“You mean cyclones?” asked Joe. “Well, yes, sometimes. A queer thing happened to me one time up here jest below the Caprock. We was goin’ up the trail, and one evenin’ it was hot as blazes and sultry and still. The cattle was gittin’ nervous and we was all expectin’ hell to break loose any time. And shore nuff it did. A cloud come up in the northwest and it thundered and lightened, and then the storm struck us. Them steers jest naturally histed their tails and left the country. I was on a good hoss, but it was all I could do to stay in sight of them cattle. My pony was givin’ me all he had, and he wasn’t gainin’ on them steers none. Neither was the other boys gittin’ close to ’em.
“D’rec’ly I looked back over my shoulder like, and there was them clouds bilin’ and whirlin’ around in the sky; then all at once a funnel drops down and takes out after me. I started quirtin’ my hoss. I feel right mean about it yet when I think about it, for he was doin’ his best to ketch that herd, and he couldn’t do no more.
“Well, the next thing I knowed I was up in the air still in the saddle with my hoss under me, whirlin’ round and round like a top. That cyclone carried me around in the air like that for a half an hour or more, me scered all the time that it was goin’ to drop me. But it didn’t. After a while it sets me down jest as gentle as a mother with her baby.
“I looks up, and there’s the herd comin’ hell-bent for election right toward me. I gits off my slicker and fires off my six-shooter and turns them steers and gits ’em to millin’. Purty soon the other boys rides up, and we gits ’em quieted down, and the whole outfit has to set up and sing to ’em all night.
