05-02-2018, 04:13 PM
In Monterrey, GG had started a mariache band and was churning out the hits hand over fist. My horse bought a few of her wax cylinders to play on his Edison gramophone, but they melted in the desert heat after a few plays.
The ghost of Trix was hanging around fairly regularly then. Some nights I'd wake up in a cold sweat to find her floating above me, grinning in my face like a Cheshire cat. I'd gotten used to it, but it's the kind of thing that always startles a feller no matter how many times he sees it. Since me and my horse were the only ones who could see her, she had ditched the petticoats and bustles in favor of something a little more comfortable.
Well, a lot more comfortable, really.
We would occasionally put her up to playing practical jokes on unsuspecting yokels. One day, we spotted a couple of men panning for gold in a creek west of Salt Lake City. Trix snuck up behind one of them and knocked his hat off his head. He spun around and didn't see anybody but his friend in the creek up to his ankles, some twenty yards away. My horse snickered. I nudged him in the ribs to make him keep quiet. The man fetched his soggy hat from the creek, put it back on his head, and went back to panning.
Then she drifted up behind the other man and knocked his hat off. My horse was braying like a jackass with laughter at this point, and so was I. This went on a few more times until the two men came to blows. We tired of the festivities after awhile and headed back to camp.
The ghost of Trix was hanging around fairly regularly then. Some nights I'd wake up in a cold sweat to find her floating above me, grinning in my face like a Cheshire cat. I'd gotten used to it, but it's the kind of thing that always startles a feller no matter how many times he sees it. Since me and my horse were the only ones who could see her, she had ditched the petticoats and bustles in favor of something a little more comfortable.
Well, a lot more comfortable, really.
We would occasionally put her up to playing practical jokes on unsuspecting yokels. One day, we spotted a couple of men panning for gold in a creek west of Salt Lake City. Trix snuck up behind one of them and knocked his hat off his head. He spun around and didn't see anybody but his friend in the creek up to his ankles, some twenty yards away. My horse snickered. I nudged him in the ribs to make him keep quiet. The man fetched his soggy hat from the creek, put it back on his head, and went back to panning.
Then she drifted up behind the other man and knocked his hat off. My horse was braying like a jackass with laughter at this point, and so was I. This went on a few more times until the two men came to blows. We tired of the festivities after awhile and headed back to camp.
