Reminiscences of a Liar

FEBRUARY, 1936 ARIZONA HIGHWAYS 11 Reminiscenses of a Liar Wherein We Are Deceived Into Believing That There Was a Petrified Rainbow and a Haircut Like Howland's

By RAY HOWLAND Our Hassayampers that have been unfortunate enough to have been following my efforts will remember me mentioning a hombre by the name of Foxtail Johnston. Well, that sonof-a-gun snuck up on my blind side the other day with a big yarn about a Spizzer Club.

Now, when Foxtail comes around actin' sort of mysterious-like then's the time to be on your guard. I would not satisfy him to inquire just what a Spizzer is, or was, but kinda gathered the idea, from the sound of it, that it was some kind of a fancy drink, so rather than run the risk of ridicule, or worse, I started me out on the trail of a Spizzer. I called at all the caffays and a few of the night clubs, but the best I got outa the wisest of the barkeeps was a sort of knowin' leer and the helpful advice that I'd better go home and get into the hay before the law picked me up, or somethin'. At last, and decidin' that it was some sort of club to kill snakes with, I took the bar-boys' advice and turned in.

But not before I'd made up my mind to steer clear of anything Foxtail suggested about anything atall unless it would be a suggestion to run me for president or somethin', which brought to my mind that I might have done about as good a job as the last few that I can remember. But at that I'd be afraid that Foxtail would gum up the deal somehow. I ain't forgettin' how he got me into that petrified rainbow deal and we run out of rainbow just about the time we'd worked up a good trade sellin' paint from same. And I still recollect that big diamond back that bit our best pickhandle when we'd been snowed in and plum outa wood and nigh froze to death, an' the pick handle swole up bigger'n any redwood log you ever seen and we had fire wood enough to last till spring if the smoke from that pizen-charged log hadn't drove us all outa camp.

I ain't callin' no man a liar, I can't afford to, but I do claim that Foxtail stretched the truth a whole lot when he said I drawed the short straw for the smigin of liquor in camp and succumed to the deadly venom in that smoke what blew down the flue from our fireplace.

For I distinctly remember crawlin' down the slope of Mount Ord in about seventeen feet of snow that fine July mornin' and when I was half off the mountain I heard somethin' that sounded like a rock-slide behind me and I lit runnin' and wound up at the foot of the hill safe, with the exception that I had that big rattler follerin' me and wagglin' his tail as he slithered over the hot rocks. You see, the snow was higher up.

I never stopped runnin' till I'd hit the upper end of Fossil Creek. That reminds me of them granite faced pelicans that punch cows in that neck of the woods. If you notice, they all have a sorta stoney look on their mapsnot hard, just sort of ossified eyes and fixed scowl on their foreheads. I have an idea it comes from drinkin' outa Fossil Creek. It's even worse than drinkin' outa the ole Hassayampa, which only makes a danged liar outa even a Baptist preacher, while a swig outa Fossil Creek only turns you by degrees into a pillar of poorlookin' rock.

The reason I say "good ole Fossil Creek" is because that same stream saved my life on that fateful day when I was just two jumps head of Foxtail's rattler, and him with the whole tribe of rattlers behind him, their fangs bared an' ready to strike once they got the range. But I fooled the varmints. I took a header into the creek, not knowin' the dangers of that beautiful stream until it was too late to pull my leap, an' not bein' a acrobat I couldn't do nothin' but land on my head as lightly as I could when I saw somethin' that looked like a petrified cowboy layin' on the bottom.

Of course I got my head wet clear to my Adam's apple and my hands got a little damp as I done a handspring outa that to the far side of the creek. The king of rattlers was so mad by bein' thwarted in his desire to sink a couple of six-inch fangs into my overhang that he forgot, or disregarded his natural in-(Continued on Page 21)