Besides Len, the sturdy pioneer of '49, there were the foremen, store-keeper, blacksmith, bronco buster, justice of the peace, postmaster, cowboys, cooks, and numerous wives and daughters and cousins and aunts all willing and anxious to make our party comfortable. Pod was at once escorted to the house to entertain and be entertained by the ladies, while Coonskin unpacked, watered and fed us donks, like a good fellow. For once on my long journey, I had my fill.
Finally we were left to entertain ourselves. In less than a half hour I wanted a drink, for when we were led to the well I refused to imbibe; now I regretted it. Donks are funny creatures—regular Chinese puzzles. When you think us thirsty we ain't, and when we are we must help ourselves, or go dry.
I discovered a rope dangling from a projecting arm of a high gatepost, nabbed it, and pulled; the gate did the rest—opened. So I walked straightway to the well trough and drank, then sauntered to the house to learn how Pod was faring. S' help me, Balaam! there he sat with Coonskin at a long table, surrounded by men and women, all talking and laughing and "joshing." But I noticed the travelers kept their knives and forks busy, and wasted no time. It made me hungry to see them eat, so I returned to the corral to finish my barley; but when I got there I found it already finished. No use talking, a jackass ain't to be trusted, nohow, at any time. The only thing left for me to do was to go foraging.
Out I went, nosing around, hoping to discover a clothesline with some shirts and socks hanging on it, or to stumble over an old gunnysack or cast-off garment. After a little, I observed that the second largest house was the scene of considerable activity, and I sneaked up and peeped in the window.
The ground floor was one vast room, presumably the bunk house for those men not having homes of their own. At one extremity a ladder reached from the floor to the loft. One half of the ceiling was boarded, and the other half looked white, as if it were made of canvas or sheeting. I suppose lumber was scarce out there in the desert. Now, a donkey's curiosity ain't to be sneezed at. Fearing lest I might be discovered and locked up, I withdrew to the rear to another window, when, suddenly, I ran into a heap of bedding and other stuff. I could arrive at only one conclusion; there was to be a dance in honor of Pye Pod.
I had devoured half of a hay mattress before the guests began to arrive for the dance. They came from the various houses and cabins, clad in their finest, and among them were a fiddler and a mouth-organ grinder, who at once pitched camp in one corner of the room and tuned up.
To open the dance, the Prof. led off with the landlord's pretty daughter in a waltz, Coonskin sailed around close behind with her black-eyed companion, and soon that bunk-house was as busy as a stock exchange.
After several dances had occurred, the men excused themselves and came out to the table beside the luggage, and commenced opening several bottles of the "real article." I stood stock still at some distance in the darkness, but within smell of the refreshments, and noted that some took it straight, while others mixed it with sugar and water, or milk. Coonskin doted on punches of all kinds (except one variety reserved for obstreperous donks), milk punches, rum punches, whiskey punches, claret punches, etc., but milk punches mostly, and so this was an event for that unbridled youth. He gulped down several milk punches with great glee, and then followed the gang into the house and went at the dance again in earnest. Later on the men came out for more refreshments. At a late hour that "O be joyful dance" was brought to a sudden finish by a frightful incident, or accident.
It seems that the cowboys had to rise early to hunt up stock on the range, and therefore went up the ladder to bed before the dance was over. As Coonskin had a cot with them, he was asked to retire at the same time, so as not to disturb them. But that boy wanted just one more dance—it was one too many.
When he started to climb the ladder I held my breath; once he slipped through the rungs and only caught himself by his chin. The rest of the dancers kept their feet as busy as ever, and the fiddler had just called "Balance ter corners," and everybody looked to be in good spirits—the best of spirits was in the men—when all at once Coonskin dropped through the sheet ceiling overhead on to the floor in their midst. I was glad to see he lit on his feet like a cat, instead of on his head, as one would suppose with such a heavy "load" as it must have had. The frightened, embarrassed fellow chased himself in his shirt tail round and round that room, passing three doors at every lap, yet calling: "Where's th' door?" For a moment everybody looked paralyzed. But by the time the first of them regained his senses, Coonskin discovered a door and scooted out into the darkness, and ran plumb over me. Both of us went sprawling on the ground. It broke up the dance and everybody there. The women gathered in one corner and laughed in their sleeves, and the men ran out to look for what had dropped out of the ceiling, or sky—they seemed sort of dazed like, as if they didn't know. When I got my breath, I set out for the corral and brayed with laughter all the way.