How Santa Claus Came to Simpson's Bar Page #4

"How Santa Claus Came to Simpson's Bar" by Bret Harte is a charming short story set in a small mining town during the Christmas season. The narrative unfolds in a rough and rugged frontier community, where the arrival of Santa Claus brings warmth and joy amidst the harsh conditions of frontier life. Through Harte's engaging storytelling and vivid descriptions, the tale explores themes of generosity, the spirit of Christmas, and the unexpected magic that can flourish even in unlikely places. The story captures the essence of community, showcasing how the holiday can inspire kindness and connection among its residents.

• Short story

								

and lit up the room with a shameless glow from which Dick fled in
bashful terror.

His companions were already waiting for him at the crossing. Two of them
were struggling in the darkness with some strange misshapen bulk, which
as Dick came nearer took the semblance of a great yellow horse.

It was the mare. She was not a pretty picture. From her Roman nose to
her rising haunches, from her arched spine hidden by the stiff machillas
of a Mexican saddle, to her thick, straight, bony legs, there was not a
line of equine grace. In her half-blind but wholly vicious white eyes,
in her protruding under lip, in her monstrous color, there was nothing
but ugliness and vice.

"Now then," said Staples, "stand cl'ar of her heels, boys, and up with
you. Don't miss your first holt of her mane, and mind ye get your off
stirrup QUICK. Ready!"

There was a leap, a scrambling struggle, a bound, a wild retreat of the
crowd, a circle of flying hoofs, two springless leaps that jarred the
earth, a rapid play and jingle of spurs, a plunge, and then the voice of
Dick somewhere in the darkness, "All right!"

"Don't take the lower road back onless you're hard pushed for time!
Don't hold her in down hill! We'll be at the ford at five. G'lang!
Hoopa! Mula! GO!"

A splash, a spark struck from the ledge in the road, a clatter in the
rocky cut beyond, and Dick was gone.

*****

Sing, O Muse, the ride of Richard Bullen! Sing, O Muse of chivalrous
men! the sacred quest, the doughty deeds, the battery of low churls, the
fearsome ride and grewsome perils of the Flower of Simpson's Bar! Alack!
she is dainty, this Muse! She will have none of this bucking brute and
swaggering, ragged rider, and I must fain follow him in prose, afoot!

It was one o'clock, and yet he had only gained Rattlesnake Hill. For
in that time Jovita had rehearsed to him all her imperfections and
practised all her vices. Thrice had she stumbled. Twice had she thrown
up her Roman nose in a straight line with the reins, and, resisting bit
and spur, struck out madly across country. Twice had she reared, and,
rearing, fallen backward; and twice had the agile Dick, unharmed,
regained his seat before she found her vicious legs again. And a mile
beyond them, at the foot of a long hill, was Rattlesnake Creek. Dick
knew that here was the crucial test of his ability to perform his
enterprise, set his teeth grimly, put his knees well into her flanks,
and changed his defensive tactics to brisk aggression. Bullied and
maddened, Jovita began the descent of the hill. Here the artful Richard
pretended to hold her in with ostentatious objurgation and well-feigned
cries of alarm. It is unnecessary to add that Jovita instantly ran away.
Nor need I state the time made in the descent; it is written in the
chronicles of Simpson's Bar. Enough that in another moment, as it seemed
to Dick, she was splashing on the overflowed banks of Rattlesnake Creek.
As Dick expected, the momentum she had acquired carried her beyond the
point of balking, and, holding her well together for a mighty leap, they
dashed into the middle of the swiftly flowing current. A few moments
of kicking, wading, and swimming, and Dick drew a long breath on the
opposite bank.

The road from Rattlesnake Creek to Red Mountain was tolerably level.
Either the plunge in Rattlesnake Creek had dampened her baleful fire,
or the art which led to it had shown her the superior wickedness of
her rider, for Jovita no longer wasted her surplus energy in wanton
conceits. Once she bucked, but it was from force of habit; once she
shied, but it was from a new freshly painted meeting-house at the
crossing of the county road. Hollows, ditches, gravelly deposits,
patches of freshly springing grasses, flew from beneath her rattling
hoofs. She began to smell unpleasantly, once or twice she coughed
slightly, but there was no abatement of her strength or speed. By two
o'clock he had passed Red Mountain and begun the descent to the plain.
Ten minutes later the driver of the fast Pioneer coach was overtaken and
passed by a "man on a Pinto hoss,"--an event sufficiently notable for
remark. At half past two Dick rose in his stirrups with a great shout.
Stars were glittering through the rifted clouds, and beyond him, out of
the plain, rose two spires, a flagstaff, and a straggling line of black
objects. Dick jingled his spurs and swung his riata, Jovita bounded
forward, and in another moment they swept into Tuttleville and drew up
before the wooden piazza of "The Hotel of All Nations."

What transpired that night at Tuttleville is not strictly a part of this
record. Briefly I may state, however, that after Jovita had been
handed over to a sleepy ostler, whom she at once kicked into unpleasant
consciousness, Dick sallied out with the bar-keeper for a tour of
the sleeping town. Lights still gleamed from a few saloons and
gambling-houses; but, avoiding these, they stopped before several
closed shops, and by persistent tapping and judicious outcry roused
the proprietors from their beds, and made them unbar the doors of their
magazines and expose their wares. Sometimes they were met by curses, but
oftener by interest and some concern in their needs, and the interview
was invariably concluded by a drink. It was three o'clock before
this pleasantry was given over, and with a small waterproof bag of
india-rubber strapped on his shoulders Dick returned to the hotel. But
here he was waylaid by Beauty,--Beauty opulent in charms, affluent in
dress, persuasive in speech, and Spanish in accent! In vain she repeated
the invitation in "Excelsior," happily scorned by all Alpine-climbing
youth, and rejected by this child of the Sierras,--a rejection softened
in this instance by a laugh and his last gold coin. And then he sprang
to the saddle and dashed down the lonely street and out into the
lonelier plain, where presently the lights, the black line of houses,
the spires, and the flagstaff sank into the earth behind him again and
were lost in the distance.

The storm had cleared away, the air was brisk and cold, the outlines of
adjacent landmarks were distinct, but it was half past four before Dick
reached the meeting-house and the crossing of the county road. To avoid
the rising grade he had taken a longer and more circuitous road, in
whose viscid mud Jovita sank fetlock deep at every bound. It was a
poor preparation for a steady ascent of five miles more; but Jovita,
gathering her legs under her, took it with her usual blind, unreasoning
fury, and a half-hour later reached the long level that led to
Rattlesnake Creek. Another half-hour would bring him to the creek. He
threw the reins lightly upon the neck of the mare, chirruped to her, and
began to sing.

Suddenly Jovita shied with a bound that would have unseated a less
practised rider. Hanging to her rein was a figure that had leaped from
the bank, and at the same time from the road before her arose a
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