The first issue of the Oklahoma Wigwam actually appeared on Thursday, as scheduled. It was a masterly mixture of reticence and indiscretion. A half column, first page, was devoted to the church meeting. The incident of the shooting was not referred to in this account. An outsider, reading it, would have gathered that all had been sweetness and light. On an inside column of the four-page sheet was a brief notice:
“It is to be regretted that an unimportant but annoying shooting affray somewhat marred the otherwise splendid and truly impressive religious services held in the recreation tent last Sunday, kindness of the genial and popular proprietor, Mr. Grat Gotch. A ruffian, who too long had been infesting the streets of our fair city of Osage, terrorizing innocent citizens, and who was of the contemptible ilk that has done so much toward besmirching the dazzling fame of the magnificent Southwest, took this occasion to create a disturbance, during which he shot, with intent to kill, at the person presiding. It was necessary to reply in kind. The body, unclaimed, was interred in Boot Hill, with only the prowling jackals to mourn him, their own kin. It is hoped that his nameless grave will serve as a warning to others of his class.”
Having thus modestly contained himself in the matter of the actual shooting, Yancey let himself go a little on the editorial page. His editorials, in fact, for a time threatened the paper’s news items. Sabra and Jesse Rickey had to convince him that the coming of the Katy was of more interest to prospective subscribers than was the editorial entitled, “Lower than the Rattlesnake.” He was prevailed upon to cut it slightly, though under protest.
“The rattlesnake has a bad reputation. People accuse him of a great many mean things, and it cannot be denied that the world would be better off if his species were exterminated. Nine times out of ten his bite is fatal, and many homes have been saddened because of his venomous attacks. But the rattlesnake is a gentleman and a scholar beside some snakes. He always gives warning. It is the snake that takes you unawares that hurts the worst. …”
Thus for a good half column.
Sabra, reading the damp galley proof, was murmurous with admiration. “It’s just wonderful! But, Yancey, don’t you think we ought to have more news items? Gossip, sort of. I don’t mean gossip, really, but about people, and what they’re doing, and so on. Those are the things I like to read in a newspaper. Of course men like editorials and important things like that. But women—”
“That’s right, too,” agreed Jesse Rickey, looking up, ink smeared, from his case. “Get the women folks to reading the paper.”
Sabra was emerging slowly from her role of charming little fool. By degrees she was to take more and more of a hand in the assembling of the paper’s intimate weekly items, while Yancey was concerned with cosmic affairs. Indeed, had it not been for Sabra and Jesse Rickey that first issue of the Oklahoma Wigwam might never have appeared, for the front office of the little wooden shack that served as newspaper plant was crowded, following that eventful Sunday, with congratulatory committees, so that it seemed stuffed to suffocation with sombreros, six-shooters, boots, tobacco, and repetitious talk.
“Yessir, Yancey, that was one of the quickest draws I ever see. … And you was on to him all the time, huh? Sa‑a‑ay, you’re a slick one, all right. They don’t come no slicker. … The rest of the gang has took to the Hills, I understand. That shows they’re scairt, because they got a feud with the Kid and his outfit, and the Kid sees ’em he’ll drop ’em like a row of gobblers at a turkey shootin’. Yancey, you’re the kind of stuff this country needs out here. First thing you know you’ll be Governor of the Territory. How’s that, boys! Come on out and have a drink to the future new Governor, the Honorable Yancey Cravat!”
The group moved in a body across the dusty street into the Sunny Southwest Saloon, from whence came further and more emphatic sounds of approbation.
Sabra, in her checked gingham kitchen apron, was selecting fascinating facts from the stock of ready-print brought with them from Wichita, fresh supplies of which they would receive spasmodically by mail or express via the Katy or the Santa Fe.
Swimming Brides
Girls inhabiting the Island of Himla, near Rhodes, are not allowed to marry until they have brought up a specified number of sponges, each taken from a certain depth. The people of the Island earn their living by the sponge fishery.
Strength of the Thumb
The thumb is stronger than all the other fingers together.
Compressed Air for Mine Haulage
During the last ten years a great many mines have replaced animal haulage with compressed air motors.
As the printing plant boasted only a little hand press, the two six-column forms had to be inked with a hand roller. Over this was placed the damp piece of white print paper. Each sheet was done by hand. The first issue of the Oklahoma Wigwam numbered four hundred and fifty copies, and before it was run off, Yancey, Jesse Rickey, Sabra, Isaiah—every member of the household except little Cim—had taken a turn at the roller. Sabra’s back and arm muscles ached for a week.
Yancey made vigorous protest. “What! Ink on the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand! Out, damned spot! See here, honey. This will never do. My sweet Southern jasmine working over a miserable roller! I’d rather never get out a paper, I tell you.”
“It looks as if you never would, anyway.” The sweet Southern jasmine did not mean to be acid; but the events of the past two or three weeks were beginning to tell on her nerves. The ready-print contained the opening chapters of a novel by Bertha M. Clay in which beauty and virtue triumphed over evil. An instalment of this would
