The Lost Wagon Train
Page 32
Tremendous curiosity was evident among the Bowdens and their kin as to the proofs of my heritage. You bet I did not show them to everybody.
I must tell you about Corny. He’s the handsomest fellow you ever saw in stylish clothes. But he is a little bowlegged and he will wear that big sombrero. They’re all crazy about him. I’ve suppressed his trail driver’s speech considerably, but nothing could ever change that drawling Texas accent and his cool, easy, careless air.
Uncle John adores Corny. Just listen to this. The other night Uncle invited us to dinner at a fashionable hotel. Corny looks perfectly grand in a full-dress suit after you get him in it. Well, we went to dinner. There were four guests besides Corny and me. Uncle John asked us if we’d like some of the famous Cape Cod oysters, and of course I said “Yes.” Then he asked Corny if he liked tabasco sauce. My beloved said: “Shore! I like thet fine.” Well, what do you think?He spilled about a quart of tabasco over his oysters, in spite of my kicking him on the shins. I’m always doing that, though.
Then Corny forked one of the oysters—as he afterward said—and swallowed it whole. Merciful Heavens! You should have seen his face. It went bright red—then pale. His eyes almost popped out of his head. Tears streamed down his face. He gulped.
Uncle John asked: “How do you like the tabasco?” And that dear brave cowboy came up with a smile: “Shore is the best tabasco I ever tasted.” Then heroically he picked up another and a larger oyster, more generously spread with tabasco (which he afterward told me he thought was catsup), and he swallowed that.
The result was terrific. I thought Corny would burst. I feared he’d die. But I helped him to a drink of water. One glass-then another!…He didn’t eat any more oysters.
The funniest part, though, came after. Corny was not his usual self that night. He appeared very thoughtful. Next morning he did not get up for breakfast, and when I called him he Just lay there.
Uncle John had news at breakfast. He positively beamed upon me. He could scarcely contain himself. “Estelle, your husband awakened me at four o’clock this morning. ‘Please come to the door,’ he said. I went, fearing from his sober voice that you might be sick. He looked as sober as his voice.
“ ‘Uncle John, what’n hell was that red stuff I put on the oysters at dinner?’
“I replied that it was tabasco sauce.
“ ‘Tabasco sauce, huh?’ he repeated. ‘Wal, it shore was turrible hot. I’m gonna pack a lot of it back West and pour it all over the range. Then there never will be no more snow an’ ice to freeze us cowboys!’”
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Zane Grey, author of over 80 books, was born in Ohio in 1872. His writing career spanned over 35 years until his death in 1939 in Altadena, California. A prolific writer, Zane Grey left behind enough unpublished manuscripts to last another fourteen years. Estimates of Zane Grey’s audience exceed 250 million readers.