[Western stories tall and not so tall]

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Title Re et ern I t ;wits tall sod N9t 00 41
Place of origin Ill. Date..12./.2.08....
y
Project worker Fre nk He ne r
Project editor
Remarks

Dec. 28, 1938.
Dear Mr. Frederick:
I am sending in a contribution to the folk lore
assignment as you requested in your recent communication.
The stories I am giving here were told to me at various times.
None of them, so far as I know, are anywhere recorded though of
course, most of them fall into definite folk lore patterns. The
only alterations I have made from the original narratives consist
in changing names or circumstances of naAtion, or addiiig details
of local color, or in giving the narrator a tongue. None of the
main incidents have been invented.
A. Western stories tall and not so tall.
1. A strange diet.
"Yes," said the old Captain, "I went west right after the war, in
1867 to be exact. Those were great old days. I went up the Missouri
river to Fort Benton Montana. The blackfeet Indians were out in
full force at that time. Old Chief Raven Claw had two thousand
w warriors at his back. Then, there were the mining camns,every-
thing wide open day and night. We all had money and we all
blew it in as soon as we got it. I remember when I made fourteen
dollars a day workin in the drift and I wouldInt have enough to pay
my board bill at the end of the week. Expenses were high but I
lost most of it buckin the tiger, that is, farobank. The saloons
were full all the time. There were shootin scrapes every day but
that did'nt make no difference in the ropulation. There were al-
ways new neople in town, cattle men, miners, road agents. I remember
seeing five road agents hung one day. They'd just rut 'em up on a

2.
pile of barrels, tibia rope arround their necks, and kick the barrels
from under them. When one of them named George Ives had gone AID
and started to wiggle like a fish out of water, one of his pals
named Boon Hallam looked at him and says, "Cheer up Partner, I' 11
be in Hell with you in afew minutes." Yes' you'd
run up against some strange characters out there in those days."
Always eager to play the roll of foil with leading question's
when there is the chance of a yarn, I said, "Captain, who is the
strangest character you remember at that times" The old man reflected
and said "just about the strangest was Liver Satin Jo on. There
was nothin against the man. He was a good fellow, just kind of in-
human like. He was a great big powerfOl fellow, a regular giant.
Most of the time, he kerrt to himself and did'nt have a word to say
to anyone but sometimes, he would come into town and drink and when
Liver Satin got a couple of quarts under his belt, he was apt to
gat a little noisy. He was good natured but noisy and what's more,
he was so big that he las likely to break anything that got in
his way, glass or furSture or ordinary people, without even meanin
to do it. One night when he had one of his jags on, the town
Marshall came up to him and told him that he was under arrest.
The Marshall came about up to his elbow and Johnson could have put
him over his knee and spanked him. We all thought something like that
or worselwould happen. At least the Marshall might have had sense
enough to draw a gun first and get the drop on his man. But he
did'nt. He and Liver Satin were pretty good friends and Liver Satin
just went along with him as meek as a lamb.
Now, the jail was a board shanty that did'nt amount to
anything. It was scarcely ever used. The Marshall told his prison -14(3m
er that he could just sleep off his drunk and ray a fine next morning.

3.
But Liver Eatin Johnson was'nt that kind of a man. As soon as the
Marshall was gone, he just put his back against the wall of that
shanty and down it tame. He kicked aside the rutish and simply walked,
out of town to his own cabin to sleep off his jag. Nobody ever
asked him to pay a fine of or even to help rebuild the jail.
But the story I was gone to tell you is how Liver Eatin Johnson
got his name. Be was out trannin one time and he run out of food.
Then, the Indians attacked. Be was a good shot and when he killed
seven of the bastards, they they decided to let him alone. Now, he
was mighty hungry. H. had'nt eaten for a day or so. The way Liver
Eatin told it afterward was, "I looks over them Indians and thinks
I, there might be good meat an some of them. I picked out the yeemobe-,
youngest for I figured that he was likely to be the tenderest. I
did'nt want all of him. Which part should I choose? I could cut me
a nice steak if I wanted but no, thinks I, the choicest part will
be the liver. There's notbin I like better than mice tender liver.
And let me tell you, boys, I never had a choicer meal in all my
days than the liver ofn that young Indian."
I don't know whether Liver Eatin Johnson was naturally a canibal
or whether things just came out that way. But one time, later, he
was out trapnin with another man. Food was scarce as the time be-
fore and again, the Indians attacked. This time, Johnson's partner
was killed but there were no dead Indians left arround. Johnson knew
that he could get back to the fort in a couple of days and there was
a lot of extra meat on his rartner that would'nt be any good to
a dead man. So he just cut off a leg from his dead partner and
hung it over his saddle horn and went on his way. He took some meat 0
off whenever he needed it and the leg was half eaten when he got
to the fort. Out comes a young officer fresh from the states in his

4.
bright new uniform and says he, "What have you got there on your
saddle horn, Johnson?" And Johnson anymore him, "The ham of a man."
Then, the old timers arround the fort came out and gathered uP
the young dude officer who had fainted and asked Johnson how it
happened."
2, It was cold just then.
Mr. X. was definitely of the old west. His type was authentic
and the picture would be incomrlete and less interesting without it.
He was a bit of a prospector and a good deal more of a promoter.
The old Captain said Mr. X. had done all his prospecting from a
Pullman car window. Be that as it may, Mr. X. was a genial liar.
He had on tap a large enough supply of imagination and other people's
experience which he always told as his awn to make up for the time
he had spent in the smoking car rather than the wilderness. Sometimes
he expected to be believed and sometimes, it was pure stretching
the story to get a laugh. No one believed him in either case, so
it did'nt matter.
"Sure, I've been in
versation got arround to
gold rush or just after,
I spent the winter there
Alaska," said Mr. X. one day when the con
that subject. I was there just before the
I don't remember which but it wasint 1898.
Ye Gods, was it cold? When you went out,
your breath would freeze on you so you could melt it down for ice
water. When your breath froze, you had to knock it off. If enough
of it accumulated, it would fall and crush your toes.
There were five or six of us that lived up in a cabin. We had
gond up into the mountains to prospect but the winter caught us.

5.
There was nothing for us to do but to lay up until Spring. We had
plenty of sunnlies and it would'nt have been so bad if it wereInt
for the cold. It was cold enough to freeze your hair off.
Well, there was a young fellow with us named Jimmy and he w
was'nt so strong. His family never should have let him come to a
country like that. The rest of the Darty were hard and tough like
me, you know, the kind that can eat rocks and ask why the Hell they
make the boulders so soft nowadays, I felt sorry for Jimmy. I
did'nt think he could get through that Alaskan winter and he did'nt.
Poor Jimmy died. At last, the cold got him.
Well now, we had a dead man on our hands and the question was
what to do with him. We broke about a half dozen picks on the ground
trying to dig a grave for Jimmy. We did'nt have any dynamite and
if we had, the ground was frozen so bard we couldInt have blasted a
hole big enough for a grave anyway. Finally, I had a bright idea.
It makes it hard sometimes to be the kind of man I am. When the rest
throw up their hands, I just take everything over and get them out
of their scrape. They just say, "Leave it to X. He knows what to
do. He'll get us out of this and do I come through? You bet."
As I was saying, I had a bright idea. I called one of the
other boys to help me carry Jimmy out of the cabin and we stood him
up against the wall outside. I could see the boys look at each
other and I knew they wondered what I had in mind. They did'nt ask
me though for they knew that if I made up my mind to do a thing,
it would turn out allright.
I let Jimmy stand out there all night and when we went out to
look at him next morning, there he stood frozen as solid as cement.
'Then, I went and got a pile-driver that we had arround the camp. We
moved Jimmy away from the wall. We brought the tile -driver down on

6.
his head several times and there he was, fixed there in the frozen
ground, standing upright and looking as natural as life. I would'nt
be surprised if he's there still.
A Great Unappreciated Builder.
Dolan was a man past the middle age but he was not of the old
west. He was of the new west, a modern hobo. When I knew him, he was
one of the janitors in a medical school where I happened to be narking
as a student at the time. Dolan had had a variety of occupations.
"Sure, I've been a timber beast up in the North West," he
would say to me. "And I was a WO too. A lot of us used to carry
the red card."
"Say, Dolan, Pete doesInt think much of your way of life," I
said to him once. Pete was a young Polish janitor, dreamy, idealistic
and religious. Pete enjoyed thinking of love, domestic bliss, and a
home of his own with birds and running brooks and all: the trimmings.
"Is that so," said Dolan. "Yes," I continued. "Pete says he
wants to marry and settle down and live on a farm."
"I know," Dolan answered contemptuously. "He's the
kind of guy that will save for fo y years to buy twenty acres,"
"If these hoosiers would travel ten miles, they might learn
something," Dolan would say. His use of the term Hoosier did not
signify any particular hostility to the people of Indiana. Be used it
to mean hick. He was friendly with the students but he regarded
most of them as naive and resented their tendency to Patronize him.
One morning, a student said, "I suppose, Dolan that you have

7.
traveled quite a little."
"Jah," Dolan answered curtly.
"Have you ever been in Colorado," Again, "Jah."
"Did you see Pike's Peak?"
Dolan flashed back, "Pike's Peak. I built it. And then, when
the news got arround that I had built Pike's Peak and what a good
job it was, they sent for me to come to C aliforniatto come and
build Yosemite Valley for them. I refused go at first but finally)
when they coaxed me, I went out there. I finished Yosemite Valley
in three days and when I had it all done, they said; "Throw him out,
the god damned bum. He's no good anyway."
Fiéod damned .bum."
B. Where Worlds Meet.
It is a truism that in this gorgeous fantastic aggregate we
call America, the customs and traditions of older worlds meet and
mingle with new conditions and a new life. As an extension of this
fact, it frequently harrensin.the world of railroads and factories
and mushroom cities, there is an echo of that sririt worldlborn of
pre -scientific thinking and primitive imagining, the reflex of a
rrimitive society.

8.
1. "Thou shalt not let a witch live."
This story was told me by an elderly Negro woman from the south.
I should say, the two follirwing stories were told me by her. She
was interested in ghostly yarns. She was not an educated woman
but she was far less surerstitious than many neople who have more
advantages. We cannot too strongly insist that superstition is a
cultural and not a racial phenomenon. In fact, with such people as
the Negroes or the Irish who have a rich tradition of supernatural-
ism, the reaction is apt to be violent and pronounced in the reverse,
when they find that their beliefs are myths. The sensationalism of
ix "b"
Mr. Paul Maurana about atavisms of the Negro blood calling them
back to the dark ancestoral jungle worshir is misleading andmommilmWmP
rernicious.
My narrator said, "There are a lot of old tales down in the
south where I came from. I don't know whether there's any truth in

them or not. I remember one story that the old folks used to tell us.
It was about a miller that married a woman and after he was married
a while, he began to hear strange stories about his wife. Some
follmsaid she was a witch. One evening when he came home late,
he came into the house and called his wife but there was no answ,,T.
Then, a cat ran into the house and rest him and into the room
where he and his wife slept. Just then, his wife came out of the room
and said, "Here I am dear. Did you call me?" He was sure she
was'nt there before and the cat wasInt anywhere arround but he
he just never let on he noticed anything. After a while, his wife
said to him, "When you came in, a cat ran in here and he ran right
through the house and right into the bedroom and jumped right out
of the window. Did you see him?“
The husband just put her off

9.
let on like it was nothin to him.
The next night, he pretended like he was real tired and wanted
to go to bed early. He pretended to go to sleep right away but
all the time, watched his wife to see what she would do.
As soon as she thought it was all safe, she slid out of her
skin and changed herself to a cat and was out of the window and away.
And she just left her skin layin there on the bed. The miller
knew then that his wife was a witch
He gotup then and got some pepper and spilled it all over his
wife's skin and the skin shrunk all up. Pretty soon, she came back
and changed back to a woman again and tried to get into her skin
but no matter how she tried, it would'nt fit er.
She cried out, "skinny, skinny, don't y u know md?"
i
But that didint do any good either and finally, whe just ran off
without any skin and nobody ever saw her or heard of her again."
2, Some Queer Zoology.
"There was another story that I used to hear," continued the
Negro woman. "Down in our part of the country, there was an old woman
that everybody called Aunt Liza and people were afraid of her be-
cause we all knew she was a witch.
One time, she and her husband that we called Uncle Johnlhad
some sort of argument with a white man they'd done some work for.
Now, this white man owned a big farm and all of a sudden, the _
funniest animals began to be born on his farm. There were sheep
with feathers and chickens with wool. There were calves with pigs'
snouts ailp pigs with horns.

10.
Of course, the farmer knew right away that it was Aunt Liza
done all that mischief. So one day when he saw Uncle John goin
by, he stopped him and said, "You tell Aunt Liza that if whe don't
take the spell of off of them animals of mine, I'm gone to get a
silver bullet and kill her with it."
Aunt Liza got afraid of him and didint give him no more trouble.
Note.
The idea of the silver bullet or the bullet blessed by a priest or
bishop having apoiss special potency against witches or those with
charmed lives, occurs in the folklore of nearly every European
country. Meurassant uses it in one of his stories. Robert Chambers
made good use of it in a short story,F2AVAggAm_a Death. The
silver bullet or the blessed bullet is the one sure shot when bunting
the webr %calf if you should care for that sport. It was said of
James Graham of Claverhouseyiscount of Dundeeithat be was killed by
a silver bullet. One version makes it a crooked sixpence fired
from the gun of a Cameronian.
For these reasons, it was of special interest to me to find
the silver bullet as a factor in the story of the southern Negro
woman who had consulted none of these authorities.
Father Antonio's White Hair.
Where old beliefs are most likely to persist on American soil
is among highly organized religious and national groups. It would
follow that there would be an abundance of them among the Catholic
population. This is particularly true of the Irish but the Germans,
Poles and Italians have a good store.
The incident I am about to tell occurred among the Italians

11.
and the Italian priest who is the central character is so widely
known that if I were to mention his name, he would be immediately
recognized by many who knew him during his lifetime. The story
was told to me by an old resident of Chicago.
/.1
Father Antonio was a kindly priest/beloved by al 1 the people
of his parish on the north side of Chicago and by a great many
other people who were not of his noel. Father Antonio thought of
everyone he knew as his parishoners, even Beppolwho did not know he
was in anyone's parish, even Benno whom nobody spoke to and whom
they all spoke of in hushed voices.
Father Antonio had 4 snow white hair and the strange thing was
that his hair had been white as long as most of us could remember.
Early on the evening when these things happened, the priest
heard that Benno was dying. No one sent for him as Benno had no
friends. He heard it casually remarked by some of the young people.
It may have been Maria or Pasquale. He could not remember correctly
afterwards just who it was that told him.
There were many Bennos in his parish but ah, this particular
Benno. It made one shudder to think of him and yet, he was a human
soul that belonged to God and that and that God loved. Most of the
people of the parish were simple, hard-working people. They loved
their children and they loved the sun and wine and dancing. They
lost their tempers sometimes but they meant no harm. Benno was
different. In the old country, he had been an
assassin and had only left for the new world when his native land

12.
became too hot to hold him. In Chicago, he was implicated in several
robberies but his cunning got him out of trouble. Then, finally,
a young girl was found with her skull crushed. She bad been ravished
and murdered with the utmost cruelty. Beppo had been seen in the
vicinity. One woman avered that she had seen blood on his clothes.
He was arrested and grilled but nothing could be proven against
him and he had to be released.
The people of the parish talked together in little groups and
determined to kill Berpo. He suddenly disappeared and was gone
for years. That was before Father Antonio had came to the parish
though he knew the story.
Then, Beppo returned as suddenly as he had.. disappeared. He
lived alone and went about without a word to anyone. The priest
would not have avoided him but the opportunity of becoming acquainted
never presented itself. And now, this Berm) was dying.
Father Antonio entered a dirty hovel and found a mortally sick
man. The man was delirious and did not know that anyone was near
him. There was nothing for the priest to do but wait ,in the hope
that the dying man would regain consciousness for a space long enough
to receive the last rites.
As he waited alone with the dying man, Father Antonio prayed.
He implored God to grant him that one favor, that Berm would
regain consciousness. He thought of the thief upon the cross who had
repented. Often and often, the last moment brought salvation.
It was a torment to Father Antonio to think that any soul must be
eternally damned. It pained him to think even of Iscariat in Hell.

13.
God's mercy was easy to understand. God's justice must be taken
for granted. There were some things one could not dwell:on.
Such was the fervor of his devotion that Father Antonio did not
notice the hours slide by. Finally, he beard a stirring among the
filthy rags which Benno used for a bed. The dying man was looking
at him, breathing hard but fully conscious.
Mello," said Berno weakly, "You are a nriest I stabid
one once.A
"Tell me all about it, my son," said Father Antonio.
"Who sent you," Beppo asked.
”NoAnta. I heard you were sick and I came."
"That is good of you."
"It is my duty and I am glad to be,here."Benpo did not answer.
e,
"Benno, you are dying," said the priest softly but insistAntly.
"I know it," said Benno. The nriest continued, "now, you must
tell me your sins and be sorry for them. We are all sinners and
God is ready to forgive any of us if we will just repent and take
his gift of salvation."
"Yes, I will. Please save me, Father," said Berno.
Then, Benno poured out such a story of crime and degradation as
the priest had never heard be4re and never heard again. Benno talked
until he was not able to talk any more and lay back exhausted.
Atn that moment, Father Antonio became aware that they were
no longer alone. There was something, someone else, in the roam.
It was a rresence, a person. He saw it, he felt it. Yet, he never
could describe exactly what it was. It was so many things at once.

14.
It was the blood on the murderer's knife, the choking gasp
from the gallows, the mad man's shriek of terror.
He not only saw it but the thing oozed into him and mingled
with his sririt. He was Bepro and there was just enough of himself
left to feel the shame and horror of it all. It was he who had
slipped up behind people and cut their throats and felt the blood an
his fingers. It was he who had laughed at the scream of pain from
the old man as they burned his hands and feet with the torch to make
him tell where the 44 money was. It was his nails that had torn
at the dying woman's flesh.
But some -Where, oh somewhere, there was a priest. Somewhere,
someone had died to save him, Berro, Antonio. It was crushing him
to the floor. He was losing, fainting. He must speak,
"Christ, redeemer of us all. Holy Mother of God."
The air cleared. It was gone. Father Antonio looked about him.
It was not like awakening from a sleep. What was it? Had that lasted
a minute or hours? The early light of morning streamed in through
the broken window. He was shaken but how good to breathe the free
air again. He bent over Bepro who obviously had but a very few
minutes to live.
flmy child, you are forgiven," he said. "Ask God to have mercy on
you. Do you hear me?"
"Have mercy," the dying man mumbled mechanically.
The sun was well ur by now. Peorle were beginning to move
about in the streets. Father haprened to glance at a battered
mirror on the table. He was astonished to see that his hair had
become snow white.

15.
4. The Taking of Mary Dugan.
"Do I believe in fairies?" the elderly Irish woman answered.
"I would'nt say that I believe in them but many's the rerson in the
old country that will tell you they saw them. Myself never saw them
but when I was young, I did hear the cry of the Banshee and the
whole village heard it.
There don't be many of those things In this country, you under-
stand. Just the same, strange :things harren to some people.
For years, before we moved to Chicago, we lived in a little town
in Illinois not so far from here. There was an old woman that lived
there named Mary Dugan. She was as funny as Dick's hat band and
peorle said a lot of things about her but you know how they'll talk
in a little rlace. I always let it go in one ear and out the other.
There was no harm in the roor old creature. She had no one related
to her except one son that lived in some city, I can't think now
just where. The only rerson she used to go to visit very often
was another old woman about her awn age named Mrs. Mulvaney and the
two of them were great old cronies. One day, Mrs. Dugan comes over
to see Mrs. Mulvaney and asks her would she come over and helr her
find her son. "Find your son. In God's name, woman, have you taken
leave of your senses."
Mrs. Dugan told her that ,that morning, as she was urstairs doin
her work, she heard her son's voice on the lower floor calling her,
Ma, I'm home. Come and get me something to eat." When she went
downstairs, there was nobody there but the voice still called her

16.
from room to room. By the time she told her story, Mrs. Mulvaney
was excited and ready to go with her. The two of them searched the
house from garret to celler and not a sign of any one but they
both heard the voice calling and calling. Next day came a itelegram
that the son had been killed.
Well, that just about broke Mary Dugan and there was no con-
sorting her atfall. Every day, she would walk to a spot a little way
out of the town where there was a low fence at the edge of a field
and the poor thing would sit there for hours and hours, God help her.
Sometimes, her old friend Mrs. Mulvaney would go out there and sit
beside her and talk to her.
Then, all of a sudden, Mary Dugan disanpeared. Not a soul knew
what became of her. She could'nt have gone away. There was no place
for her to go. They searched the country arround for her but they
couldInt find hide nor hair of her.
Then, one day, if you can believe Mrs. Mulvaney and she swore
that it was the God's truth, she walked out to the fence near the
field where the two of them used to sit. She sat down there just
thinkin when all at once, she heard a noise and what should she
see but Mary Dugan in the midst of the Good People, surrounded with.
a cloud of them. They were different sizes, she saidjbut most of
them were little bits of things ,knee high to a grasshopper. And
they were singin and dancin arround and some of them had musical
instruments.
Mary Dugan had a broad smile on her face and seemed to be hay.
She waved to Mrs. Mulvaney but when Mrs. Mulvaney tried to speak

17.
to her, the Little People whisked her away.
So that's how Mary Dugan was taken by the fairies and if you
don't believe it, all I can say is, "Ask me no questions and I'll
tell you no lies."2
The Signal of. Doom.
Among the Anglo-Saxon peorleosave in certain definite sections,
we do not find the organized patterns of beliefs which are rresent
among some of the other groups. Rapid urbanizationrhas destroyed
them. Nevertheless, there is a rich tradition or ghost stories and
exreriences with the supernatural which when reople can be gotten
to talk, is "Pia4Krichly rewarding. I am convinced that there is
no block in this city and scarcely a family which has not some such
memory. The following story was told me by a friend of an old
New England family.
limy mother went one time to the house of a friend whose father
was ill and arrarently dying. Yrs. W. was a young married woman
lIke my mother but had had less experience in care of the sick and
household responsibilities.
As it grew late in the evening, the question of sleeting quarters
had to be considered. Mr. and Mrs. W. were keeping house on rather a
small scale and had not provided for emergencies. Mts. W. suggested
that there was a bed stored in the basement and that if her husband
and brother who were there, could bring it up, it would solve the
situation.
The two men went down into the basement to bring up the bed.
My mother remained in the kitchen. Mrs. W. went to her father's room
to see if the sick man needed anything.

18.
Suddenly, there was a terrible crash that shook the house.
My mother rushed to the basement door. The men must have fallen with
the bed they were bringing un: Some one must be hurt, rerhans-
killed.
No, the men were carrying the bed up the basement stairs and
nothing' had happened there. My mother turned to see Mrs. W. enter the
kitchen, white but calm.
"I can't tell you what that noise was," said Mrs W." I
don't know but I do know that my father will die tonight."
In answer to my mother's unexnressed question, Mrs. W. explained,
"every time a member of my family is about to die, this sound
occurs. It always comes afew hours before death. It has been so
for generations. None of us know when it started. Of one thing,
though, we are certain. If, at the moment, we are all in perfect
health and we hear that sound, for one of us, it is a
signal of doom."
You Can Have the House for Nothing.
This story was told by a traveling salesman who swears by its
authenticity which is the least ',valuable point in connection with it.
"Yes sir, this story is true and you can bet your last dollar
on it and your boots and your rants and evevIhing else you've got
and then out and au you Wr71010eYsfErsigarairtaitemmIgurthrg to
the Chamber of Commerce out there and they'll give you all the =_
Information. You can have the house for nothing. It won't cost you
a cent, a house worth two hundred thousand dollars, I'm tellin you,

19.
two hundred thousand dollars. How would you like to have a house
worth two hundred thousand dollars right outside of Los Angeles
without having to ray for it? It looks easy does'nt it? We] as
so often hapnens, it is'nt as easy as it looks. I'll tell you how
it works out.
Afew years ago, the richest man in this little town was an
old fellow named Joe Gyles. He had made a fortune on a lot of
property he owned and he was so tight he squeaked. As he got up
in years, though, he decided to let loose of some of his cash.
A
He thought he'd kind of spread himself and become a real citizen.
He built himself a house just outside (f‘ the town and spared no
expense in building it. Say, talk about your mansions.B4 certainly
did a good job while he was at it and it cost him two hundred
thousand dollars.
Well, he lived in his new joint there alone for some time
but the idea must have occured to him' that there was'nt much use
being the owner of such a swell place with no one to come and a
admire it. Mt.. Gyles was about as well liked by his neighbors as
smallpox.
The solution was to marry. People would come to his new house
if he had a wife there to entertain. What's more, the people arround
there say that as old as he was, he still felt his oats.
Be was too bashful to court any woman of the place. That is
to say, he was such a disagreeable old skunk that with all his
money, no girl would want to hang herself by marrying him. Be
usually got what he wanted though and he knew the answer to that one.
There was a widow and her daughter that lived in the town.

20.
You might have thought he'd have picked the widow. Not on your life.
Be went for the daughter like a hungry pooch after meat. To make
it nerfect, he had a mortgage on the widow's home just like in the
Inovies. De didtnt waste any time in courtship. AS knew he was
no lyomeo and so he just talked talked cold turkey to them. "You
come across or out you go."
It started that way like the mmovies or books but in the 'movies
or books, there would have been some handsome young nunk that would
have come to the rescue and the villain would have been foiled.
This did!nt hannen. The mother was kind of unscrupulous and the girl
gave in. The marriage took ,lace and Joe Gyles took his bride up
to his swell new two hundred thousand dollar honeymoon cottage.
Now, either the place or her loving husband must have gotten
on the bride's nerves because three days after the wedding,
she cut the old man's throat and came down and gave herself un to
the police. She made a good job of it too, they say. She just
hacked his neck from ear to ear.
Now get me carefully right here. This girl was under guard
in the jail and no one was allowed to come near her. She had been
searched so that she did/nt have any weapon on her. But the very
next morning after she surrendered, she was found in her cell with her
throat cut in exactly the same way she had done to her husband.
Now, account for that, will you? The authorities could'nt.
After that, nobody could live in the mansion. It was haunted
and believe you me, old Joe Gyles was a tough ghost. Be just drove
reonle out as soon as they moved in there. It seemed a shame to

21.
let a fine house like that go to ruin. It was imrossible to find a
buyer. Finally, the Chamber of Commerce offered it free to anyone
who would srend one night in the 'lace and that offer holds good
today.
Soon after the nlace was offered that way, a an old counle
from Arkansas wanted to try the rlace. They just brought in a
mattress and some rrovisions and camped there. They had been
farmers and the work in the fields had bent their backs so that they
had some kind of curvature and couldint stand un straight.
Well, old Joe gave them the works. They had a hard time
getting out of there and when they did, they ran so fast that it
straightened out their backs.
Then, someone had the bright idea of calling in a Spiritualist
medium. They thought that if they could get some one that knew
the spirits well enough to call them by their first names, they
could kind of talk it over with old Joe and make him be reasonable.
They got a medium anright, a woman who said that making
deals with spirits was right in her line and she agreed to snend
the night in the haunted house for a real business conference with
Joe. That spook was in no mood for business. According to the
story she told, she had to fight for her virtue. She said that he
was the obscenest sririt she ever met.
Well, I can't guarantee any of the things that happened before
I got into it but what I saw I'll swear to on a stack of bibles
and that's all there is to it. Shorty and Sam and I were laying ur
in that place getting some customers and waiting for orders from our
firms when we heard this story
We could hardly believe it but when it was told to us by

22.
responsible business men of the town, we could hardly doubt it.
"Fellas, I'l tell you one thing," Shorty said, "And that is that
I intend to spend a night in that house and if there's a whole army
of ghosts there, they won't rut me out."
Sam said, 41e too," and I made the vote unanimous.
We told the crowd down at the saloon what our intention was and
they were all interest and ready to cooperate in any way they could.
The proprietor had a big lunch of fried chicken packed for us and
we took some wet goods to fortify us, a little Dutch courage, you
know, and went on ur to the haunted house.
We just sat down in the front room with nobody on the rremists
to disturb us and made ourselves at home. "I wonder where old Joe
spends his time when he is'nt here on haunting duty," Shorty suggests.
"Oh, I don't know," says Sam. "He rrdbably just sits arround
and chews the rag in the spirit world."
"Maybe, he ruts in time rracticing on the harp," I venture.
Shorty says, "From all we hear, it's more likely that he prac-
tices the art of the shovel."
"Let's not Break disresrectful of the dead," Sam warns. "For
all you know, he may be standing right here among us getting an
ear full."
That was'nt so good. It made me feel creery but I wouldInt
be kidded. "Sam, he's probably right behind your chair," I said.
a minauialegfi: 4#411?4Weal0eAt' inolittlrihPatteltitarIgkWil OW'
what we'd do with the money we got on the house web we sOld it.
Everything was nice and comfortable. The .eorle at the saloon
had told us that the ghost generally shows up at twelve and though
that was closing time by law, they said they would keep the place

23.
onen for us for a while as they knew we would be needing drinks.
It finally got arround toward midnight. At just five minutes
to twelve, the door went shut with a bang. The imrortant roint
about that was that it was a still night, not a breath of wind
stirring anywhere. We all sat tight in our chairs, not saying a
word.
Two minutes passed like two hours. At just three minutes to
twelve, I know be because I was watching the clock) the lantern
went out with a puff.
We all stood up spontaneous like, not one of us saying anything.
Two more minutes nassed. Then, one minute to twelve, out goes
the fire, all at once just as you would blow out a match, a heap of
dead ashes, I never saw anything like it. T can tell you, my breathing
was anything but regular.
That next minute was the toughest I ever spent.
Then, before the clock finished striking twelve, there was a
tall old man standing in front of us just as if he had been there
all the time.
He was all in white and in the front of his neck was a big,
raw, gaping wound. It hung onen and looked the size of a cow's
mouth.
RA walked slowly toward us and as he got'about un to us, he
stuck his great big, long tongue out through the wound. We broke
and ran. We got to that saloon three quarters of a mile away in
five minutes. Yes sir, we were there at five minutes after twelve.
That's the last I ever saw of Joe (4es or his house but .I
hear from neonle out there that it is still unoccuried and the

24.
offer still holds good. If you're game enough, you can have the
house for nothing.
By way of comment.'
Though I have omitted a good many stories from this rerort which
might be of equal interest to any I have given, I selected the
above anecdotes as tyres which I thought may have some value for a
comrilation on American folklore. If more material is wanted,
I could send in other contributions.
Yours Sincerely,
F. C. Heiner.