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A Chaparral Prince

Short Stories


A Bird of Bagdad

A Blackjack Bargainer

A Call Loan

A Chaparral Christmas Gift

A Chaparral Prince

A Comedy in Rubber

A Cosmopolite in a Cafe

A Departmental Case

A Dinner at--------*

A Double-Dyed Deceiver

A Fog in Santone

A Harlem Tragedy

A Lickpenny Lover

A Little Local Colour

A Little Talk about Mobs

A Madison Square Arabian Night

A Matter of Mean Elevation

A Midsummer Knight's Dream

A Midsummer Masquerade

A Municipal Report

A Newspaper Story

A Night in New Arabia

A Philistine in Bohemia

A Poor Rule

A Ramble in Aphasia

A Retrieved Reformation

A Ruler of Men

A Sacrifice Hit

A Service of Love

A Snapshot at the President

A Strange Story

A Technical Error

A Tempered Wind

According to Their Lights

After Twenty Years

An Adjustment of Nature

An Afternoon Miracle

An Apology

An Unfinished Christmas Story

An Unfinished Story

Aristocracy Versus Hash

Art and the Bronco

At Arms With Morpheus

Babes in the Jungle


Between Rounds

Bexar Scrip No. 2692

Blind Man's Holiday

Brickdust Row

Buried Treasure

By Courier

Calloway's Code


Cherchez La Femme

Christmas by Injunction

Compliments of the Season

Confessions of a Humorist

Conscience in Art

Cupid a La Carte

Cupid's Exile Number Two


Dougherty's Eye-Opener

Elsie in New York

Extradited from Bohemia

Fickle Fortune or How Gladys Hustled

Friends in San Rosario

From Each According to His Ability

From the Cabby's Seat

Georgia's Ruling


He Also Serves

Hearts and Crosses

Hearts and Hands

Helping the Other Fellow

Holding Up a Train

Hostages to Momus

Hygeia at the Solito

Innocents of Broadway

Jeff Peters as a Personal Magnet

Jimmy Hayes and Muriel

Law and Order

Let Me Feel Your Pulse

Little Speck in Garnered Fruit

Lord Oakhurst's Curse

Lost on Dress Parade

Madame Bo-Peep, of the Ranches

Makes the Whole World Kin

Mammon and the Archer

Man About Town

Masters of Arts

Memoirs of a Yellow Dog

Modern Rural Sports

Money Maze

Nemesis and the Candy Man

New York by Camp Fire Light

Next to Reading Matter

No Story

October and June

On Behalf of the Management

One Dollar's Worth

One Thousand Dollars

Out of Nazareth

Past One at Rooney's


Proof of the Pudding

Psyche and the Pskyscraper

Queries and Answers

Roads of Destiny

Roses, Ruses and Romance

Rouge et Noir

Round the Circle

Rus in Urbe

Schools and Schools

Seats of the Haughty

Shearing the Wolf



Sisters of the Golden Circle


Sociology in Serge and Straw

Sound and Fury

Springtime a La Carte

Squaring the Circle

Strictly Business

Strictly Business

Suite Homes and Their Romance

Telemachus, Friend

The Admiral

The Adventures of Shamrock Jolnes

The Assessor of Success

The Atavism of John Tom Little Bear

The Badge of Policeman O'Roon

The Brief Debut of Tildy

The Buyer From Cactus City

The Caballero's Way

The Cactus

The Caliph and the Cad

The Caliph, Cupid and the Clock

The Call of the Tame

The Chair of Philanthromathematics

The Champion of the Weather

The Church with an Overshot-Wheel

The City of Dreadful Night

The Clarion Call

The Coming-Out of Maggie

The Complete Life of John Hopkins

The Cop and the Anthem

The Count and the Wedding Guest

The Country of Elusion

The Day Resurgent

The Day We Celebrate

The Defeat of the City

The Detective Detector

The Diamond of Kali

The Discounters of Money

The Dog and the Playlet

The Door of Unrest

The Dream

The Duel

The Duplicity of Hargraves

The Easter of the Soul

The Emancipation of Billy

The Enchanted Kiss

The Enchanted Profile

The Ethics of Pig

The Exact Science of Matrimony

The Ferry of Unfulfilment

The Fifth Wheel

The Flag Paramount

The Fool-Killer

The Foreign Policy of Company 99

The Fourth in Salvador

The Friendly Call

The Furnished Room

The Gift of the Magi

The Girl and the Graft

The Girl and the Habit

The Gold That Glittered

The Greater Coney

The Green Door

The Guardian of the Accolade

The Guilty Party - An East Side Tragedy

The Halberdier of the Little Rheinschloss

The Hand that Riles the World

The Handbook of Hymen

The Harbinger

The Head-Hunter

The Hiding of Black Bill

The Higher Abdication

The Higher Pragmatism

The Hypotheses of Failure

The Indian Summer of Dry Valley Johnson

The Lady Higher Up

The Last Leaf

The Last of the Troubadours

The Lonesome Road

The Lost Blend

The Lotus And The Bottle

The Love-Philtre of Ikey Schoenstein

The Making of a New Yorker

The Man Higher Up

The Marionettes

The Marquis and Miss Sally

The Marry Month of May

The Memento

The Missing Chord

The Moment of Victory

The Octopus Marooned

The Passing of Black Eagle

The Pendulum

The Phonograph and the Graft

The Pimienta Pancakes

The Plutonian Fire

The Poet and the Peasant

The Pride of the Cities

The Princess and the Puma

The Prisoner of Zembla

The Proem

The Purple Dress

The Ransom of Mack

The Ransom of Red Chief

The Rathskeller and the Rose

The Red Roses of Tonia

The Reformation of Calliope

The Remnants of the Code

The Renaissance at Charleroi

The Roads We Take

The Robe of Peace

The Romance of a Busy Broker

The Rose of Dixie

The Rubaiyat of a Scotch Highball

The Rubber Plant's Story

The Shamrock and the Palm

The Shocks of Doom

The Skylight Room

The Sleuths

The Snow Man

The Social Triangle

The Song and the Sergeant

The Sparrows in Madison Square

The Sphinx Apple

The Tale of a Tainted Tenner

The Theory and the Hound

The Thing's the Play

The Third Ingredient

The Trimmed Lamp

The Unknown Quantity

The Unprofitable Servant

The Venturers

The Vitagraphoscope

The Voice of the City

The Whirligig of Life

The World and the Door

Thimble, Thimble


To Him Who Waits

Tobin's Palm

Tommy's Burglar

Tracked to Doom

Transformation of Martin Burney

Transients in Arcadia

Two Recalls

Two Renegades

Two Thanksgiving Day Gentlemen

Ulysses and the Dogman

Vanity and Some Sables

What You Want

While the Auto Waits

Whistling Dick's Christmas Stocking

Witches' Loaves

Nine o'clock at last, and the drudging toil of the day was ended. Lena
climbed to her room in the third half-story of the Quarrymen's Hotel.
Since daylight she had slaved, doing the work of a full-grown woman,
scrubbing the floors, washing the heavy ironstone plates and cups,
making the beds, and supplying the insatiate demands for wood and
water in that turbulent and depressing hostelry.

The din of the day's quarrying was over--the blasting and drilling,
the creaking of the great cranes, the shouts of the foremen, the
backing and shifting of the flat-cars hauling the heavy blocks of
limestone. Down in the hotel office three or four of the labourers
were growling and swearing over a belated game of checkers. Heavy
odours of stewed meat, hot grease, and cheap coffee hung like a
depressing fog about the house.

Lena lit the stump of a candle and sat limply upon her wooden chair.
She was eleven years old, thin and ill-nourished. Her back and limbs
were sore and aching. But the ache in her heart made the biggest
trouble. The last straw had been added to the burden upon her small
shoulders. They had taken away Grimm. Always at night, however tired
she might be, she had turned to Grimm for comfort and hope. Each time
had Grimm whispered to her that the prince or the fairy would come and
deliver her out of the wicked enchantment. Every night she had taken
fresh courage and strength from Grimm.

To whatever tale she read she found an analogy in her own condition.
The woodcutter's lost child, the unhappy goose girl, the persecuted
stepdaughter, the little maiden imprisoned in the witch's hut--all
these were but transparent disguises for Lena, the overworked
kitchenmaid in the Quarrymen's Hotel. And always when the extremity
was direst came the good fairy or the gallant prince to the rescue.

So, here in the ogre's castle, enslaved by a wicked spell, Lena had
leaned upon Grimm and waited, longing for the powers of goodness to
prevail. But on the day before Mrs. Maloney had found the book in her
room and had carried it away, declaring sharply that it would not do
for servants to read at night; they lost sleep and did not work
briskly the next day. Can one only eleven years old, living away from
one's mamma, and never having any time to play, live entirely deprived
of Grimm? Just try it once and you will see what a difficult thing it

Lena's home was in Texas, away up among the little mountains on the
Pedernales River, in a little town called Fredericksburg. They are all
German people who live in Fredericksburg. Of evenings they sit at
little tables along the sidewalk and drink beer and play pinochle and
scat. They are very thrifty people.

Thriftiest among them was Peter Hildesmuller, Lena's father. And that
is why Lena was sent to work in the hotel at the quarries, thirty
miles away. She earned three dollars every week there, and Peter added
her wages to his well-guarded store. Peter had an ambition to become
as rich as his neighbour, Hugo Heffelbauer, who smoked a meerschaum
pipe three feet long and had wiener schnitzel and hassenpfeffer for
dinner every day in the week. And now Lena was quite old enough to
work and assist in the accumulation of riches. But conjecture, if you
can, what it means to be sentenced at eleven years of age from a home
in the pleasant little Rhine village to hard labour in the ogre's
castle, where you must fly to serve the ogres, while they devour
cattle and sheep, growling fiercely as they stamp white limestone dust
from their great shoes for you to sweep and scour with your weak,
aching fingers. And then--to have Grimm taken away from you!

Lena raised the lid of an old empty case that had once contained
canned corn and got out a sheet of paper and a piece of pencil. She
was going to write a letter to her mamma. Tommy Ryan was going to post
it for her at Ballinger's. Tommy was seventeen, worked in the
quarries, went home to Ballinger's every night, and was now waiting in
the shadows under Lena's window for her to throw the letter out to
him. That was the only way she could send a letter to Fredericksburg.
Mrs. Maloney did not like for her to write letters.

The stump of the candle was burning low, so Lena hastily bit the wood
from around the lead of her pencil and began. This is the letter she

Dearest Mamma:--I want so much to see you. And Gretel and Claus
and Heinrich and little Adolf. I am so tired. I want to see you.
To-day I was slapped by Mrs. Maloney and had no supper. I could
not bring in enough wood, for my hand hurt. She took my book
yesterday. I mean "Grimm's Fairy Tales," which Uncle Leo gave me.
It did not hurt any one for me to read the book. I try to work as
well as I can, but there is so much to do. I read only a little
bit every night. Dear mamma, I shall tell you what I am going to
do. Unless you send for me to-morrow to bring me home I shall go
to a deep place I know in the river and drown. It is wicked to
drown, I suppose, but I wanted to see you, and there is no one
else. I am very tired, and Tommy is waiting for the letter. You
will excuse me, mamma, if I do it.

Your respectful and loving daughter,

Tommy was still waiting faithfully when the letter was concluded, and
when Lena dropped it out she saw him pick it up and start up the steep
hillside. Without undressing she blew out the candle and curled
herself upon the mattress on the floor.

At 10:30 o'clock old man Ballinger came out of his house in his
stocking feet and leaned over the gate, smoking his pipe. He looked
down the big road, white in the moonshine, and rubbed one ankle with
the toe of his other foot. It was time for the Fredericksburg mail to
come pattering up the road.

Old man Ballinger had waited only a few minutes when he heard the
lively hoofbeats of Fritz's team of little black mules, and very soon
afterward his covered spring wagon stood in front of the gate. Fritz's
big spectacles flashed in the moonlight and his tremendous voice
shouted a greeting to the postmaster of Ballinger's. The mail-carrier
jumped out and took the bridles from the mules, for he always fed them
oats at Ballinger's.

While the mules were eating from their feed bags old man Ballinger
brought out the mail sack and threw it into the wagon.

Fritz Bergmann was a man of three sentiments--or to be more accurate--
four, the pair of mules deserving to be reckoned individually. Those
mules were the chief interest and joy of his existence. Next came the
Emperor of Germany and Lena Hildesmuller.

"Tell me," said Fritz, when he was ready to start, "contains the sack
a letter to Frau Hildesmuller from the little Lena at the quarries?
One came in the last mail to say that she is a little sick, already.
Her mamma is very anxious to hear again."

"Yes," said old man Ballinger, "thar's a letter for Mrs.
Helterskelter, or some sich name. Tommy Ryan brung it over when he
come. Her little gal workin' over thar, you say?"

"In the hotel," shouted Fritz, as he gathered up the lines; "eleven
years old and not bigger as a frankfurter. The close-fist of a Peter
Hildesmuller!--some day I shall with a big club pound that man's
dummkopf--all in and out the town. Perhaps in this letter Lena will
say that she is yet feeling better. So, her mamma will be glad. /Auf
wiedersehen/, Herr Ballinger--your feets will take cold out in the
night air."

"So long, Fritzy," said old man Ballinger. "You got a nice cool night
for your drive."

Up the road went the little black mules at their steady trot, while
Fritz thundered at them occasional words of endearment and cheer.

These fancies occupied the mind of the mail-carrier until he reached
the big post oak forest, eight miles from Ballinger's. Here his
ruminations were scattered by the sudden flash and report of pistols
and a whooping as if from a whole tribe of Indians. A band of
galloping centaurs closed in around the mail wagon. One of them leaned
over the front wheel, covered the driver with his revolver, and
ordered him to stop. Others caught at the bridles of Donder and

"Donnerwetter!" shouted Fritz, with all his tremendous voice--"wass
ist? Release your hands from dose mules. Ve vas der United States

"Hurry up, Dutch!" drawled a melancholy voice. "Don't you know when
you're in a stick-up? Reverse your mules and climb out of the cart."

It is due to the breadth of Hondo Bill's demerit and the largeness of
his achievements to state that the holding up of the Fredericksburg
mail was not perpetrated by way of an exploit. As the lion while in
the pursuit of prey commensurate to his prowess might set a frivolous
foot upon a casual rabbit in his path, so Hondo Bill and his gang had
swooped sportively upon the pacific transport of Meinherr Fritz.

The real work of their sinister night ride was over. Fritz and his
mail bag and his mules came as gentle relaxation, grateful after the
arduous duties of their profession. Twenty miles to the southeast
stood a train with a killed engine, hysterical passengers and a looted
express and mail car. That represented the serious occupation of Hondo
Bill and his gang. With a fairly rich prize of currency and silver the
robbers were making a wide detour to the west through the less
populous country, intending to seek safety in Mexico by means of some
fordable spot on the Rio Grande. The booty from the train had melted
the desperate bushrangers to jovial and happy skylarkers.

Trembling with outraged dignity and no little personal apprehension,
Fritz climbed out to the road after replacing his suddenly removed
spectacles. The band had dismounted and were singing, capering, and
whooping, thus expressing their satisfied delight in the life of a
jolly outlaw. Rattlesnake Rogers, who stood at the heads of the mules,
jerked a little too vigorously at the rein of the tender-mouthed
Donder, who reared and emitted a loud, protesting snort of pain.
Instantly Fritz, with a scream of anger, flew at the bulky Rogers and
began to assiduously pummel that surprised freebooter with his fists.

"Villain!" shouted Fritz, "dog, bigstiff! Dot mule he has a soreness
by his mouth. I vill knock off your shoulders mit your head--

"Yi-yi!" howled Rattlesnake, roaring with laughter and ducking his
head, "somebody git this here sour-krout off'n me!"

One of the band yanked Fritz back by the coat-tail, and the woods rang
with Rattlesnake's vociferous comments.

"The dog-goned little wienerwurst," he yelled, amiably. "He's not so
much of a skunk, for a Dutchman. Took up for his animile plum quick,
didn't he? I like to see a man like his hoss, even if it is a mule.
The dad-blamed little Limburger he went for me, didn't he! Whoa, now,
muley--I ain't a-goin' to hurt your mouth agin any more."

Perhaps the mail would not have been tampered with had not Ben Moody,
the lieutenant, possessed certain wisdom that seemed to promise more

"Say, Cap," he said, addressing Hondo Bill, "there's likely to be good
pickings in these mail sacks. I've done some hoss tradin' with these
Dutchmen around Fredericksburg, and I know the style of the varmints.
There's big money goes through the mails to that town. Them Dutch risk
a thousand dollars sent wrapped in a piece of paper before they'd pay
the banks to handle the money."

Hondo Bill, six feet two, gentle of voice and impulsive in action, was
dragging the sacks from the rear of the wagon before Moody had
finished his speech. A knife shone in his hand, and they heard the
ripping sound as it bit through the tough canvas. The outlaws crowded
around and began tearing open letters and packages, enlivening their
labours by swearing affably at the writers, who seemed to have
conspired to confute the prediction of Ben Moody. Not a dollar was
found in the Fredericksburg mail.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Hondo Bill to the mail-
carrier in solemn tones, "to be packing around such a lot of old,
trashy paper as this. What d'you mean by it, anyhow? Where do you
Dutchers keep your money at?"

The Ballinger mail sack opened like a cocoon under Hondo's knife. It
contained but a handful of mail. Fritz had been fuming with terror and
excitement until this sack was reached. He now remembered Lena's
letter. He addressed the leader of the band, asking that that
particular missive be spared.

"Much obliged, Dutch," he said to the disturbed carrier. "I guess
that's the letter we want. Got spondulicks in it, ain't it? Here she
is. Make a light, boys."

Hondo found and tore open the letter to Mrs. Hildesmuller. The others
stood about, lighting twisted up letters one from another. Hondo gazed
with mute disapproval at the single sheet of paper covered with the
angular German script.

"Whatever is this you've humbugged us with, Dutchy? You call this here
a valuable letter? That's a mighty low-down trick to play on your
friends what come along to help you distribute your mail."

"That's Chiny writin'," said Sandy Grundy, peering over Hondo's

"You're off your kazip," declared another of the gang, an effective
youth, covered with silk handkerchiefs and nickel plating. "That's
shorthand. I see 'em do it once in court."

"Ach, no, no, no--dot is German," said Fritz. "It is no more as a
little girl writing a letter to her mamma. One poor little girl, sick
and vorking hard avay from home. Ach! it is a shame. Good Mr.
Robberman, you vill please let me have dot letter?"

"What the devil do you take us for, old Pretzels?" said Hondo with
sudden and surprising severity. "You ain't presumin' to insinuate that
we gents ain't possessed of sufficient politeness for to take an
interest in the miss's health, are you? Now, you go on, and you read
that scratchin' out loud and in plain United States language to this
here company of educated society."

Hondo twirled his six-shooter by its trigger guard and stood towering
above the little German, who at once began to read the letter,
translating the simple words into English. The gang of rovers stood in
absolute silence, listening intently.

"How old is that kid?" asked Hondo when the letter was done.

"Eleven," said Fritz.

"And where is she at?"

"At dose rock quarries--working. Ach, mein Gott--little Lena, she
speak of drowning. I do not know if she vill do it, but if she shall I
schwear I vill dot Peter Hildesmuller shoot mit a gun."

"You Dutchers," said Hondo Bill, his voice swelling with fine
contempt, "make me plenty tired. Hirin' out your kids to work when
they ought to be playin' dolls in the sand. You're a hell of a sect of
people. I reckon we'll fix your clock for a while just to show what we
think of your old cheesy nation. Here, boys!"

Hondo Bill parleyed aside briefly with his band, and then they seized
Fritz and conveyed him off the road to one side. Here they bound him
fast to a tree with a couple of lariats. His team they tied to another
tree near by.

"We ain't going to hurt you bad," said Hondo reassuringly. "'Twon't
hurt you to be tied up for a while. We will now pass you the time of
day, as it is up to us to depart. Ausgespielt--nixcumrous, Dutchy.
Don't get any more impatience."

Fritz heard a great squeaking of saddles as the men mounted their
horses. Then a loud yell and a great clatter of hoofs as they galloped
pell-mell back along the Fredericksburg road.

For more than two hours Fritz sat against his tree, tightly but not
painfully bound. Then from the reaction after his exciting adventure
he sank into slumber. How long he slept he knew not, but he was at
last awakened by a rough shake. Hands were untying his ropes. He was
lifted to his feet, dazed, confused in mind, and weary of body.
Rubbing his eyes, he looked and saw that he was again in the midst of
the same band of terrible bandits. They shoved him up to the seat of
his wagon and placed the lines in his hands.

"Hit it out for home, Dutch," said Hondo Bill's voice commandingly.
"You've given us lots of trouble and we're pleased to see the back of
your neck. Spiel! Zwei bier! Vamoose!"

Hondo reached out and gave Blitzen a smart cut with his quirt.

The little mules sprang ahead, glad to be moving again. Fritz urged
them along, himself dizzy and muddled over his fearful adventure.

According to schedule time, he should have reached Fredericksburg at
daylight. As it was, he drove down the long street of the town at
eleven o'clock A.M. He had to pass Peter Hildesmuller's house on his
way to the post-office. He stopped his team at the gate and called.
But Frau Hildesmuller was watching for him. Out rushed the whole
family of Hildesmullers.

Frau Hildesmuller, fat and flushed, inquired if he had a letter from
Lena, and then Fritz raised his voice and told the tale of his
adventure. He told the contents of that letter that the robber had
made him read, and then Frau Hildesmuller broke into wild weeping. Her
little Lena drown herself! Why had they sent her from home? What could
be done? Perhaps it would be too late by the time they could send for
her now. Peter Hildesmuller dropped his meerschaum on the walk and it
shivered into pieces.

"Woman!" he roared at his wife, "why did you let that child go away?
It is your fault if she comes home to us no more."

Every one knew that it was Peter Hildesmuller's fault, so they paid no
attention to his words.

A moment afterward a strange, faint voice was heard to call: "Mamma!"
Frau Hildesmuller at first thought it was Lena's spirit calling, and
then she rushed to the rear of Fritz's covered wagon, and, with a loud
shriek of joy, caught up Lena herself, covering her pale little face
with kisses and smothering her with hugs. Lena's eyes were heavy with
the deep slumber of exhaustion, but she smiled and lay close to the
one she had longed to see. There among the mail sacks, covered in a
nest of strange blankets and comforters, she had lain asleep until
wakened by the voices around her.

Fritz stared at her with eyes that bulged behind his spectacles.

"Gott in Himmel!" he shouted. "How did you get in that wagon? Am I
going crazy as well as to be murdered and hanged by robbers this day?"

"You brought her to us, Fritz," cried Frau Hildesmuller. "How can we
ever thank you enough?"

"Tell mamma how you came in Fritz's wagon," said Frau Hildesmuller.

"I don't know," said Lena. "But I know how I got away from the hotel.
The Prince brought me."

"By the Emperor's crown!" shouted Fritz, "we are all going crazy."

"I always knew he would come," said Lena, sitting down on her bundle
of bedclothes on the sidewalk. "Last night he came with his armed
knights and captured the ogre's castle. They broke the dishes and
kicked down the doors. They pitched Mr. Maloney into a barrel of rain
water and threw flour all over Mrs. Maloney. The workmen in the hotel
jumped out of the windows and ran into the woods when the knights
began firing their guns. They wakened me up and I peeped down the
stair. And then the Prince came up and wrapped me in the bedclothes
and carried me out. He was so tall and strong and fine. His face was
as rough as a scrubbing brush, and he talked soft and kind and smelled
of schnapps. He took me on his horse before him and we rode away among
the knights. He held me close and I went to sleep that way, and didn't
wake up till I got home."

"Rubbish!" cried Fritz Bergmann. "Fairy tales! How did you come from
the quarries to my wagon?"

"The Prince brought me," said Lena, confidently.

And to this day the good people of Fredericksburg haven't been able to
make her give any other explanation.

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