BY MAC A'RONY.
What a thrice double ass
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,
And worship this dull fool!
Where and how to celebrate the Fourth of July greatly concerned Pye Pod. The third was spent in Julesburg, a town in Colorado, two miles west of the boundary line; as Sunday was the Fourth, we naturally expected a lively programme for Saturday.
We were disappointed. Everybody had gone off on an excursion, and Julesburg was dead. So my master, realizing the long journey before us, inquired as to the possibility of obtaining an extra donkey, and was told of one, some six miles from town. He rode in a buggy to a ranch right after lunch and brought back the prettiest damsel I ever saw. Her name was Skates; Pod said he so named her because she ran all the way and beat his pride-broken, wind-broken horse into town. I gave Skates a loving smile, but she gave me a look, which said, "Keep your distance, young feller." So I did. But I lost my heart to that girl then and there.
Pod noticed my leaning toward Skates, and asked me my intentions. I frankly told him. "But what nonsense for a youth of four years," he remarked. "Mac, be patient; wait until you are of age, at least."
Time was precious, and we could not tarry. That afternoon we set out for Sterling, sixty miles into the desert, where, it was said, there would be a big time on the fifth.
Monday dawned cloudy and threatening, as is usual with celebration days. The tent door was open, and Skates and I were looking in, I waiting for a chance to pull a bag of eatables out of the tent for her.