Three Wise Men

Back in the days when cattle range was prairies wide and lone, Three Bar Z hands were winter-camped upon the Cimarron. Their callin’ names was Booger Bill and Pinto Pete and Tug, And though their little dugout camp was plenty warm and snug, They got plumb discontented, for with Christmas drawin’ near, They couldn’t see no prospects of no kind of Christmas cheer. Pete spoke about the bailes he’d be missin’ up at Taos. Tug said he’d give his gizzard just to see a human house Alight with Christmas candles; and ol’ Booger Bill avowed He’d shoot the next galoot who spoke of Christmas cheer out loud. They sure did have the lonesomes, but the first of Christmas week, A wagonload of immigrants made camp off down the creek. They’d come out from Missouri and was headin’ farther west, But had to stop a little while and give their team a rest. They seemed to be poor nester folks, with maybe six or eight As hungry lookin’, barefoot kids as ever licked a plate. "We’ve just got beans to offer you," the wagon woman smiled, "But if you boys will join us, I will have a big pot b’iled On Christmas day for dinner, and we’ll do the best we kin To make it seem like Christmas time, although our plates are tin!" Them cowboys sort of stammered, but they promised her they’d come, Then loped back to their dugout camp, and things began to hum. They whittled with their pocketknives, they sewed with rawhide threads, They hammered and they braided and they raveled rope to shreds. They butchered out a yearlin’, and they baked a big ol’ roast. They scratched their heads to figger out what kids would like the most, Till when they went on Christmas day to share the nesters’ chuck, They had a packhorse loaded with their homemade Christmas truck: Bandana dolls for little girls, with raveled rope for hair; Some whittled wooden guns for boys, and for each kid a pair Of rough-made rawhide moccasins. You should have seen the look Upon the nester woman’s face when from their pack they took A batch of pies plumb full of prunes, some taffy made of lick, And a pan of sourdough biscuits right around four inches thick. That ain’t the total tally, but it sort of gives a view Of what three lonesome cowboys figgered out to try and do To cure the Christmas lonesomes on the Cimarron, amid The wild coyotes and cattle—and they found it sure ‘nough did! —Author Unknown

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