Tales of Calabazas.

(Editor's Note: The following is the third of a series of stories of Calabazas, the Old West. Re-written by Elizabeth Toohey. State Historian from the Reminiscences of Cabell Brown. The fourth will appear in an early issue.) The mule was small and flea-bitten, with a baleful gleam in his eye. His extraordinary long ears would have been burden enough to support, but upon his back sat a man with legs that were as much too long for his body as the mule's ears were for his.

Although it was still early morning the sun's rays beat down with great intensity, and the Calabazas flies bit the poor beast. The dust rose in little clouds to add to the discomfort.

The man sat hunched upon the mule's back, his legs almost brushing a fiery red beard that waved like a banner from his chin. His eyes were small and of a peculiar greenish shade. There was something hypnotic in his gaze. The fingers holding the reins were long, muscular and flexible. A dirty linen dust er covered his body. The man seemed to be in deep thought and unaware of the discomforts of his journey.

His arrival in Calabazas caused no little excitement. He didn't look like a cattle rustler, a saloon keeper, sheriff or a member of any other profession familiar to Calabazas.

Arriving at the town he asked in a musical and pleading voice where he could find feed for his mule and was sent to the Custom House corral.

The mule watered and fed, the man

The Preacher. He Had a Racket. He Put It Over and Departed for “The Line.”

made his way to Cum Sing's Palace Ho tel, where he paid his four bits and ate an unbelievable amount of food, washed down with numerous cups of coffee.

Cum Sing's slant eyes bulged. Never before had he seen so much food put under one belt. Cum Sing timidly asked the stranger how long he would stay, hoping in his heart that it would not be for long, or Chinese New Year would find one Chinaman very much in the red.

The man replied that he was the Rev erend Smithers, and that the next day being the Sabbath he would hold Holy services and depart Monday.

Cum Sing drew a breath of relief and joining his brethren ordered Hi Sing to cook plenty more beans.

“His pleacher eat eberything; him clazy!” The Reverend Smithers, the inner man being appeased, if not satisfied, made his way to the store where a few of the more curious citizens had congregated to discuss the stranger.

The Reverend Smithers introduced himself, saying that he belonged to no church or creed, but went about the country preaching “the Word.” That he had just come from Tubac where he had been warned that Calabazas wouldn't let him live long enough to say “scat” when they found out that he was a preacher; however, he was delighted to find so many charming gentlemen.

The gentlemen informed him that by God he done the right thing in coming to Calabazas. He could bet his damned last dollar that Calabazas was the most God-forsaken town in the whole world.

The preacher was taken from saloon to saloon to meet the gentry of the town. He was also introduced to a few of the more presentable hurdy girls. Then the Reverend Smithers asked for a suitable place to hold services next day.

Stuttering Simpson, having abandoned his saloon, “The Star,” rather hurridly, and the Star now being under the juris diction of the sheriff of Tucson, it was decided that services should be held there.

The Reverend Smithers, followed by a small group of men, was led to the Star, where he went to work with a will, quot ing from the Scripture that God loved a willing worker. No one seemed to care or offer to help. Undaunted, Smith ers worked on, moving tables, sweeping up cards, hiding bottles and glasses under the bar, making trip after trip to borrow chairs, boxes, benches, anything that could be used as a seat.

The Calabazasans looked on in aston ishment. They had never seen such energy, as the day was blisteringly hot. Well, they'd be damned if he'd have all (Continued on Page 28)