on the brass knob and opened the door. The napkin lay neatly folded.
But the food was gone.
I stared at things. It wasnât rats who had got at the chicken and biscuits. Rats couldnât fold a napkin any more than a ghost.
No sir! Neither one. There was someone hiding aboard.
When I told Pa, he lowered his eyebrows thoughtfully. He said not to worry Ma and Glorietta about my discovery. A stranger aboard, prowling around at night, was enough to make anyone jumpy. Whoever it was, Pa calculated, he must have his own reasons for keeping himself out of sight. âLeaving a bit of food was clever of you, Wiley. That manâs shy as a rabbit. When he discovers we mean him no harm it wonât surprise me if he turns up big as life.â
Shagnasty John and the Fool Killer kept to the cottonwoods. Pa, with the pepperbox pistol in his coat pocket, himself carried them a pot of coffee and breakfast beans.
We spent the morning setting type and making up the pages of the newspaper. Ma pecked letters from the type drawer almost faster than the eye could follow. She said she was writing about âthe Incredible Talking Crows of Sunrise.â Glorietta, at a different typecase, wouldnât say what she was up to. But she was smiling and humming to herself.
I held an empty typestick in my left hand, thinking awhile. Then I began setting a column inch or two about the gold locket found in the craw of the chicken. But I ran out of the letter k so I left out the word locket. I reckoned it didnât matter; The Humbug Mountain Hoorah wasnât a real newspaper with real news.
Every so often Shagnasty John yelled up from the cottonwoods. âMorninâ folks! Ainât our newspaper ready yet?â
Pa ignored him.
As our typesticks filled up, we transferred the lead letters to the composing stone. Pa had laid out two chasesâcast-iron frames the size of the pageâand with all of us setting type, the news columns grew fast.
Pa plugged up leftover space with advertisements he made up on the spot. With a maple block and mallet he leveled the type for printing and locked up the front page. He clamped the chase on the press and inked up the roller while the rest of us were still busy setting the back page.
The Humbug Mountain Hoorah was going to be a single sheet, the size of a handbill, printed on both sides. Fifty copies, Pa said, would be enough. We didnât have paper to squander.
âAfternoon!â Shagnasty John called up. âWhatâs keepinâ you folks? Me and Fool Killer are rarinâ to travel!â
When the newspapers came off the press, we stood around reading all the foolishment we had set in type. Ma shook her head and laughed. âNo one with an ounce of sense is going to believe a word of it.â
GREAT EXCITEMENT! Outlaws Captured!
Shagnasty John and the Fool Killer Tried, Sentenced, and Hung!
Terrors of the Prairies Get their Necks Stretched.
Sheriff Wiley Flint makes daring,
single-handed arrest in Sunrise!
Pa filled two columns and a half with this brand of moonshine. I felt kind of embarrassed, but it was almost like reading a Quickshot Billy story. At the end Pa wrote:
After Justice was done, the citizens of Sunrise showed admirable compassion for the departed desperados.
Tombstones made of solid blocks of ice were set over their graves.
âTheyâll need all the melted ice water they can get, where theyâre going,â explained Mr. Johnson, the justice of the peace.
Pa didnât mention that Mr. Johnson was a bull goose. Ma had finished her story with the claim that the Incredible Talking Crows spoke the Kingâs English better than anyone else in the territories and were available for elocution lessons. Gloriettaâs story announced that Ma had just been elected mayor of Sunrise. Ma gave a little shriek of laughter when she read that.
When we had finished, Pa yelled down to the cottonwoods. âCome get your
But the food was gone.
I stared at things. It wasnât rats who had got at the chicken and biscuits. Rats couldnât fold a napkin any more than a ghost.
No sir! Neither one. There was someone hiding aboard.
When I told Pa, he lowered his eyebrows thoughtfully. He said not to worry Ma and Glorietta about my discovery. A stranger aboard, prowling around at night, was enough to make anyone jumpy. Whoever it was, Pa calculated, he must have his own reasons for keeping himself out of sight. âLeaving a bit of food was clever of you, Wiley. That manâs shy as a rabbit. When he discovers we mean him no harm it wonât surprise me if he turns up big as life.â
Shagnasty John and the Fool Killer kept to the cottonwoods. Pa, with the pepperbox pistol in his coat pocket, himself carried them a pot of coffee and breakfast beans.
We spent the morning setting type and making up the pages of the newspaper. Ma pecked letters from the type drawer almost faster than the eye could follow. She said she was writing about âthe Incredible Talking Crows of Sunrise.â Glorietta, at a different typecase, wouldnât say what she was up to. But she was smiling and humming to herself.
I held an empty typestick in my left hand, thinking awhile. Then I began setting a column inch or two about the gold locket found in the craw of the chicken. But I ran out of the letter k so I left out the word locket. I reckoned it didnât matter; The Humbug Mountain Hoorah wasnât a real newspaper with real news.
Every so often Shagnasty John yelled up from the cottonwoods. âMorninâ folks! Ainât our newspaper ready yet?â
Pa ignored him.
As our typesticks filled up, we transferred the lead letters to the composing stone. Pa had laid out two chasesâcast-iron frames the size of the pageâand with all of us setting type, the news columns grew fast.
Pa plugged up leftover space with advertisements he made up on the spot. With a maple block and mallet he leveled the type for printing and locked up the front page. He clamped the chase on the press and inked up the roller while the rest of us were still busy setting the back page.
The Humbug Mountain Hoorah was going to be a single sheet, the size of a handbill, printed on both sides. Fifty copies, Pa said, would be enough. We didnât have paper to squander.
âAfternoon!â Shagnasty John called up. âWhatâs keepinâ you folks? Me and Fool Killer are rarinâ to travel!â
When the newspapers came off the press, we stood around reading all the foolishment we had set in type. Ma shook her head and laughed. âNo one with an ounce of sense is going to believe a word of it.â
GREAT EXCITEMENT! Outlaws Captured!
Shagnasty John and the Fool Killer Tried, Sentenced, and Hung!
Terrors of the Prairies Get their Necks Stretched.
Sheriff Wiley Flint makes daring,
single-handed arrest in Sunrise!
Pa filled two columns and a half with this brand of moonshine. I felt kind of embarrassed, but it was almost like reading a Quickshot Billy story. At the end Pa wrote:
After Justice was done, the citizens of Sunrise showed admirable compassion for the departed desperados.
Tombstones made of solid blocks of ice were set over their graves.
âTheyâll need all the melted ice water they can get, where theyâre going,â explained Mr. Johnson, the justice of the peace.
Pa didnât mention that Mr. Johnson was a bull goose. Ma had finished her story with the claim that the Incredible Talking Crows spoke the Kingâs English better than anyone else in the territories and were available for elocution lessons. Gloriettaâs story announced that Ma had just been elected mayor of Sunrise. Ma gave a little shriek of laughter when she read that.
When we had finished, Pa yelled down to the cottonwoods. âCome get your
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