Slim Randles
“Hot? You boys think this here weather is hot? You jest don’t know, do you?”
“What do you mean, Windy?” said Doc.
“Wellsir, back in the old days, you know, when we was younger, there came upon us here in the valley a hot-em-up wave that tried to kill us. Your folks ever tell you ‘bout the wreck at the river with me and Old Man Jenkins?”
Didn’t look like anyone had.
“Pass that syrup over, will ya, Steve? Thanks. Well, the hot-em-up started off slow, you know they do that sometimes. Little stuff like burnin’ up your hands jest grabbin’ a brandin’ arn.”
“Well, sure,” Doc said, “if you’re dumb enough to grab a branding iron, you’re going to get burnt.”
“This here was the handle of the brandin’ arn, Doc, not the part in the fire.”
“Oh, I see. You were wearing gloves though, right?”
“Couldn’t stand to have them on. Too hot. And sweat? Never saw nothin’ like it.
Old Man Jenkins sweated so much his boots filled up with sweat and it cooked his toes to a perfect parbroiled brown.”
“Did he eat them, Windy?”
“Naw. We had plenty of mountain oysters around, you know how it is, and he said he hadn’t had a shower in a while, so they probably wouldn’t taste that good anyway. So he kept them.”
“They didn’t fall off?”
“They thought ‘bout fallin’ off. Thassa fact. But sometimes ol’ Mama Nature knows how to help an ol’ cowboy. Yessir, thass what saved Jenkins’ toes. Had a terrible freeze that night and jest froze them toes back in place.”
Nature, and Windy’s stories, sometimes defy history.
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