![]() ‘It ain’t no Paul Bunyan, ner no John neither-it’s Tony Beaver! And I’m here to tell the world so!’ says Big Henry, jumping up.īut it was the stranger got in the furst lick. ‘Looks like the bunion’s on the tot her foot, then,’ says the stranger, acting smart. ‘That sure don’t sound like nothing I ever beared tell of John Bunyan,’ says the preacher, shaking his head mightily mystified. Each one of ’em’s big as a full-grown ox, and Paul crossed ’em a while back with a gang er moskeeters, and the offsprings of that wedding is the awfulest critters a person ever did see, fer they has stings both before and behind.’ The Bunyan I’m speaking of,’ he says, gitting into his stride ergin, ‘has the biggest bees a feller ever did see. ![]() ‘Paul mought of had a brother by the name of John, but I never heared tell of him. ‘It’s John Bunyan you mean - him as writ that holy book, The Pilgrim’s Progress,’ he says, rolling back his eyes, and tipping up his chin to let them pious words trickle down his throat, like a ole hen drinking. The ole preacher claws his fingers through his beard for a spell, looking as earnest as a billy goat. ‘Did you ever hear tell of a feller by the name of Paul Bunyan?’ ![]() ‘Here comes ole Preacher Mutters! He’s got all kinds er book sense if he ain’t got no other kind. ‘ Thar, now! ’ says he, looking down the trail. ‘Sompen’s wrong, sure,’ says Big Henry, mightily outdone. ‘Or else sompen’s the matter with the paper - mebbe you fellers in this camp has sorter overworked it.’ ‘Hey! Looks like I’ve been telling the truth all erlong!' says the strange hand, kinder tickled, and some s’prised too. But no, sir! He did n’t ketch nary ernother lie. ‘Here, now, we’ll jest see what’s what!’ says Big Henry, swishing the paper all erbout in the air whar the stranger’d been talking. Thar was two or three ole lies still hanging on to the thing, and if thar’s one thing worse-looking ’an a fresh lie, it’s a ole one. With that he goes into the bunk house, and comes back with a great roll of that thar lie paper. lie’s invented him some sticky lie paper that ketches lies as fast as fly paper ketches flies. ‘Well,’ says Big Henry, knowing he has to be polite to company, ’we don’t have to say nothing erbout lies in this camp, for Tony Beaver’s got a trick for ketching ’em. ‘If the word yer aiming at is “lie,” hit it!’ says the stranger, standing up kinder dangerous. ‘That’s a - ’he says ergin, riding right up to the word and jumping off jest in time. ‘That’s a-’ says Big Henry, and sidesteps. ‘Paul Bunyan is the man I’m speaking of,’ says the tother, buttoning up his mouth in a right stubborn way. ‘Look a-here, stranger, didn’t you hear me say that was Tony Beaver you was talking erbout?’ says Big Henry, git ting mighty restless. It sure is hot work fer the fellers! Every slide they make they leave a trail of smoke behind ’em, and they have to keep stomping they feet all the time to stomp the flames out.’ It’s really eight he uses, and in a pinch I’ve seen as many as ten er twelve hands skating over it, with them slabs of bacon on they feets. ’I hate to git things wrong,’ says the stranger, looking like he was doing his best to hit the truth ‘and it’s a fact I made a slip when I said Paul Bunyan needs six men to grease that there griddle. ‘It’s right here in Tony Beaver’s camp you belong - only first you got to git them names straight.’ ![]() In Paul’s camp now,’ he says, setting down on a stump and biting him off a chaw of terbacker, ‘ they got a griddle for frying the batter cakes the fellers eats so big that the onliest way they kin grease the thing is to have six men skate over it with a slab of fat meat on each foot.’ ‘I never heard tell of no Tony Beaver,’ says the stranger, ‘but Paul Bunyan I know well, being one of his hands. It wa’n’t no Paul Somebody growed that tree it was Tony Beaver hisself, and well I recollect the time.’ ‘That song’s all right, but you got the names twisted. ‘Hey, stranger!’ Big Henry, one of Tony’s stoutest hands, yells at him. ‘Paul Bunyan growed a mighty tree, Its branches scratched the sky And when he felled the doggoned thing It ripped a hole on high.’
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