When the joobilant Texans set down to kyarve out the destinies of that empire they wrests from the feeble paws of the Mexicans an’ Santa Anna, they decides on Austin for the Capitol an’ Old Houston to be President. An’ I’ll say right yere, Old Houston, by all roomer an’ tradition, is mighty likely the most presidential president that ever keeps a republic guessin’ as to whatever is he goin’ to do next. Which he’s as full of surprises as a night in Red Dog.

About the first dash outen the box, Old Houston gets himse’f into trouble with two Lone Star leadin’ citizens whose names, respective, is Colonel Morton an’ jedge Webb.

Old Houston himse’f on the hocks of them vict’ries he partic’pates in, an’ bein’ selected president like I say, grows as full of vanity as a prairie dog. Shore! he’s a hero; the drawback is that his notion of demeanin’ himse’f as sech is to spread his tail feathers an’ strut. Old Houston gets that puffed up, an’ his dignity is that egreegious, he feels crowded if a gent tries to walk on the same street with him.

Colonel Morton an’ Jedge Webb themse’fs wades through that carnage from soda to hock freein’ Texas, an’ they sort o’ figgers that these yere services entitles them to be heard some. Old Houston, who’s born with a notion that he’s doo’ to make what public uproar every o’casion demands, don’t encourage them two patriots. He only listens now an’ then to Morton; an’ as for Jedge Webb, he jest won’t let that jurist talk at all.

“An’ for these yere followin’ reasons to wit,” explains Old Houston, when some Austin sports puts it to him p’lite, but steadfast, that he’s onjust to Webb. “I permits Morton to talk some, because it don’t make a splinter of difference what Morton says. He can talk on any side of any subject an’ no one’s ediot enough to pay the least attention to them remarks. But this sityooation is changed when you-all gets to Webb. He’s a disaster. Webb never opens his mouth without subtractin’ from the sum total of hooman knowledge.”



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When Morton hears of them remarks he re-gyards himse’f as wronged.

“An’ if Old Houston,” observes Morton, who’s a knife fighter an’ has sliced offensive gents from time to time; “an’ if Old Houston ain’t more gyarded in his remarks, I’ll take to disapprovin’ of his conduct with a bowie.”

As I intimates, Old Houston is that pride-blown that you-all couldn’t stay on the same range where he is. An’ he’s worried to a standstill for a openin’ to onload on the Texas public a speciment of his dignity. At last, seein’ the chances comin’ some slow, he ups an’ constructs the opportunity himse’f.

Old Houston’s home-camp, that a-way, is at a hamlet named Washin’ton down on the Brazos. It’s thar he squanders the heft of his leesure when not back of the game as President over to Austin. Thar’s a clause in the constitootion which, while pitchin’ onto Austin as the public’s home-ranche or capitol, permits the President in the event of perils onforeseen or invasions or sech, to round up the archives an’ move the capitol camp a whole lot. Old Houston, eager to be great, seizes onto this yere tenet.

“I’ll jest sort o’ order the capitol to come down, yere where I live at,” says Old Houston, “an’ tharby call the waverin’ attention of the Lone Star public to who I be.”

As leadin’ up to this atrocity an’ to come within the constitootion, Old Houston allows that Austin is menaced by Comanches. Shore, it ain’t menaced none; Austin would esteem the cleanin’ out of that entire Comanche tribe as the labors of a holiday. But it fills into Old Houston’s hand to make this bluff as a excuse. An’ with that, he issues the order to bring the whole gov’ment layout down to where he lives.

No, as I tells you-all before, Austin ain’t in no more danger of Comanches than she is of j’inin’ the church. Troo, these yere rannikaboo savages does show up in paint an’ feathers over across the Colorado once or twice; but beyond a whoop or two an’ a little permiscus shootin’ into town which nobody minds, them vis’tations don’t count.

To give you-all gents a idee how little is deemed of Comanches by them Texas forefathers, let me say a word of Bill Spence who keeps a store in Austin. Bill’s addin’ up Virg Horne’s accounts one afternoon in his books.

“One pa’r of yaller-top, copper-toe boots for Virg, joonior, three dollars; one red cal’co dress for Missis Virg, two dollars,” goes on Bill.

At this epock Bill hears a yowl; glancin’ out of the winder, he counts a couple of hundred Injuns who’s proselytin’ about over on t’other side of the river. Bill don’t get up none; he jests looks annoyed on account of that yellin’ puttin’ him out in his book-keepin’.

As a bullet from them savages comes singin’ in the r’ar door an’ buries itse’f in a ham, Bill even gets incensed.

“Hiram,” he calls to his twelve-year old son, who’s down cellar drawin’ red-eye for a customer; “Hiram, you-all take pop’s rifle, raise the hindsight for three hundred yards, an’ reprove them hostiles. Aim low, Hiram, an’ if you fetches one, pop’ll give you a seegyar an’ let you smoke it yourse’f.”

Bill goes back to Virg Horne’s account, an’ Hiram after slammin’ away with Bill’s old Hawkins once or twice comes in an’ gets his seegyar.

No; Old Houston does wrong when he flings forth this yere ukase about movin’ the capitol. Austin, even if a gent does have to dodge a arrer or duck a bullet as he prosecootes his daily tasks, is as safe as a camp-meetin’.

When Old Houston makes the order, one of his Brazos pards reemonstrates with him.

“Which Austin will simply go into the air all spraddled out,” says this pard.

“If Austin sails up in the air an’ stays thar,” says Old Houston, “still you-all can gamble that this yere order goes.”

“You hears,” says another, “Elder Peters when he tells of how a Mexican named Mohammed commands the mountain to come to him? But the mountain calls his bluff; that promontory stands pat, an’ Mohammed has to go to the mountain.”

“My name’s Sam Houston an’ it ain’t Mo-hommed,” retorts Old Houston. “Moreover, Mohammed don’t have no written constitootion.”

Nacherally, when Austin gets notice of Old Houston’s plan, that meetropolis r’ars back an’ screams. The faro-bank folks an’ the tavern folks is speshul malignant, an’ it ain’t no time before they-all convenes a meetin’ to express their views on Old Houston. Morton an’ Jedge Webb does the oratory. An’ you hear me! that assembly is shore sultry. Which the epithets they applies to Old Houston kills the grass for twenty rods about.

Austin won’t move.

Austin resolves to go to war first; a small army is organized with Mor............