THE MAGIC GRINDSTONE Real Western Stories, October, 1958 Deputy Marshal Lee Winters, after a wanted monkey named Squint-eye Morgan, had lost his way at dusk in towering rough country southeast of Forlorn Gap. When he halted his horse Cannon Ball, he realized—too late—that he had ridden into a fearsome region theretofore known to him mainly by rumor and legend. It was Bellows Canyon, a ghostly place where winds blew in gusts, like air from a bellows, and with great wheezing sputters and roars. Lately, getting home had become his greatest problem, as if fateful spirits had conspired against him. Certainly he would not get out of this situation without trouble.
He grabbed his hat to keep it from flying away. Rising gusts had swelled to hurricane proportions. Earth and canyon walls vibrated; and rocks, dislodged from great heights, came down with tremendous crashing sounds. He would have turned and retraced his course, but a reversal of wind-direction made him hesitate then resolve to go on. Anyhow, this way was home.
He had gone a tortuous mile or so, when Cannon Ball, rounding a curve, stood on his hind legs. This was an old, infuriating habit he had, and Winters angrily sawed his bit when he had put his hoofs down again. Yards beyond, they came upon an explanation of Cannon Ball’s fright.
A bearded little man was down on hands and knees before a smoking, reluctant fire. He puckered his hairy mouth and blew. Winters grabbed his hat, for once more there was a hurricane.
“Hey!” Winters yelled. “That’s no way to make a fire burn. You’re blowing too hard.”
Gopher-like eyes blinked up. “Why, howdy, Winters. What are you doing here?”
“Now, let me ask one,” said Winters. “How come you know me, when I don’t know you from Adamineezer?”
“Oh, we all know you, Winters. I’m Cain Snuffer, better knowed as Lampwick or plain Lamp Snuffer. I prospect hereabouts. But right now I’m wrestling with this fire so’s to make coffee. Light, and lend a hand.”
Winters disregarded intuitive warnings, swung down and dropped Cannon Ball’s reins. “What you need, Lampwick, is some shavings.”
Snuffer got up. “Don’t I know that!” He eyed Winters with mixed hope and distrust, ready to fly into a tirade. “Winters, why ain’t you got no whittlin’-stick in your saddlebags?”
Winters gave him eye for eye. “It happens I have; why don’t you carry your own whittlin’-stick?”
Snuffer folded his arms across his chest and lifted his chin haughtily. “Sir, I carried a whittlin’-stick regular, but I whittled it up.”
“Naturally,” said Winters. “If you whittled long enough, you could whittle up a wagon wheel.”
“Now, that’s neither here nor there, Winters,” said Snuffer. “If you’ve got a whittlin’-stick trot it out, so’s I can get this fire going.”
“Since you ask it so nice,” said Winters, “I’ll oblige you. That is, for coffee.” He took a short pine stick from his warbags. “There, Snuffer. If you’ve got a knife fit to call such, you can get shavings from that.”
Snuffer snatched it. “If you’ve got a knife, he says. Winters, you ain’t seen no knife till you’ve seen mine.” Snuffer produced a folding knife, thumb-nailed it open and poised its blade over Winters’ whittlin’-stick. To Lee’s amazement, curls flew off like snowflakes. His whittlin’-stick disappeared and Snuffer stood knee-deep in shavings.
“Be-confound!” exclaimed Winters. “Beats anything I ever saw.”
Snuffer eyed him disdainfully. “If you’ve got a knife, he says. Winters, this knife is so sharp that when a shaving gets one good look, it don’t wait to be shaved; it just curls itself up and away it flies.”
“That I can see,” said Winters. “But what puzzles me is, how did you get your knife so sharp?”
“Ah,” said Snuffer, “that’s another story.” He dropped to his knees and in no time had a roaring blaze. “Set down, Winters, and first thing you know we’ll have coffee.”
Winters sat down and watched Snuffer prepare coffee and bacon. “About that knife, Snuffer?”
“Oh,” said Snuffer, “that’s right. You wanted to know how I got it so sharp, didn’t you? Well, I’ll tell you.”
He halted there. A voice had sounded a short distance away. An Indian and his woman came within their circle of light. “Now who?” asked Winters.
“That’s Cozy Bear and his young squaw,” said Snuffer. “Her name’s Silent Little Prairie Dog.”
“Humph!” Winters grunted. “Nothing silent about her.”
Silent Little Prairie Dog was talking to her husband. “You heap big lazy no-good Bannock no-good lazy heap big Injun call self Cozy Bear that not cozy and squaw not cozy but cold all winter and move about all summer and heap big lazy no-good Bannock go ’round with him head bent over and no buffalo meat in stomach and Silent Little Prairie Dog no buffalo meat in stomach because Cozy Bear heap big lazy no-good…”
That continued without let-up, and Cozy Bear and Silent Little Prairie Dog disappeared around a curve.
Snuffer removed his skillet of bacon and his coffee pot. He gave Winters bacon on cold hoecake and poured drinks.
Winters ate heartily.
“There’s quite a story about Cozy Bear,” Snuffer said between gulps of coffee and chomps of bread and bacon. “Cozy Bear got lonesome, living in his tepee with Silent Little Prairie Dog. It was because she never talked none. So, one day Cozy Bear decided to have her tongue sharpened.”
“Sharpened her tongue, did he?” said Winters sarcastically. “And just how did he do that?”
Snuffer replied impatiently, “How do you reckon he done it? Why, same as how I sharpened my knife. He done it with Twining Bowstring’s magic grindstone name of Rundum. Ain’t you never hear tell of Grindstone Rundum?”
Winters drained his coffee cup and angrily put it down. “Now, see here, Lampwick Snuffer, I don’t like people who tell jokes and pretend they ain’t no jokes. I asked you a fair question.”
Snuffer put down his cup with a bang. “Now, you see here, Winters. If you don’t like my conversation, you can get on your long-legged horse and skedaddle. You asked me a question and I answered it. What could be more fairer than that?” Winters got up. “When company’s no longer company, it ought to be broke up. I sure know a lick it’s done by.” He swung onto Cannon Ball. Courtesy suggested thanks for his supper, but Snuffer was shaking his fist at him.
“Winters, you’re complete unreasonable,” Snuffer raved. “But you’ll learn. More’n likely you’ll be more fool than I was about that grindstone. It’ll serve you right, too.”
Winters kneed his horse. He called back, “Snuffer, if you’re ever in Forlorn Gap, look me up. I’ve got a magic claw-hammer to show you. It pulls funny stories.”
Snuffer was shaking his fist when Winters last saw him.
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