THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Posted on 12/3/2008 at 5:46:33 PM

(Marauder Style)

by Michael & Muriel Fahrion

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in the old bunkhouse
Not a creature was stirring, ‘cept maybe a field mouse;

The tall boots were set by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

Marauders in bedrolls were all snuggled down,
With visions of six-guns shootin’ all over town;
I had just a hung’ my hat up for the rest of the night
Geared up to bed down ‘n blow out the light,
When out in the corral there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Grabbin’ my six-gun and cockin’ the hammer,
I slipped to the window in the shiftiest manner.
The moon on the blue stem of the prairie below
Gave the barbed wire and fence posts a strange, spooky glow,
When, what did my keen eyes catch in the moon beam,

But a pint sized wagon, pulled by an eight mule team,
With a little old skinner, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
Faster then jackrabbits his mules they came,
And he whistled, and hollered, and called them by name;
Now Cactus! now, Chico, Loco and Bingo!
On, Stardust! on Smokey! on, Joker  and Gringo!
To the top of the fence! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As tumble weeds before the wild tornado fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the ranch top the mules they flew,
With the wagon of loot, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The clopping and pawing of each nimble hoof.
As I holstered my gun, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was decked out in homespun, from head to foot,
And his outfit was tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of loot he had flung on his back,
Why he looked like a peddler opening his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks all sun burnt, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little smirk was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
His jingling spurs were both shiny and bright,
And glittered and sparkled by my lanterns  warm light;
He had a broad face and a little pot belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
I squinted and stared at that dusty old sprite,
I wondered out loud if it could be Seth Wright.
No gun belt encircled his middle spread,
Which went to convince me I had nothin’ to dread;
T’wernt a jawin’ a bit, but went straight to his work,
And filled all them boots; and then turned with a jerk,
Puttin’ his trigger finger along side his nose,
He gave me a nod and up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his wagon, to his team gave a whistle,
Off they skedaddled like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him hollar, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”