Our Lady of the Mine

The Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all thought well uv,And there befell the episode I now perpose to tell uv;'Twuz in the year of sixty-nine--somewhere along in summer--There hove in sight one afternoon a new and curious comer;His name wuz Silas Pettibone--an artist by perfession,With a kit of tools and a big mustache and a pipe in his possession;He told us, by our leave, he'd kind uv like to make some sketchesUv the snowy peaks, 'nd the foamin' crick, 'nd the distant mountainstretches;"You're welkim, sir," sez we, although this scenery dodge seemed to usA waste uv time where scenery wuz already sooper-floo-us.

All through the summer Pettibone kep' busy at his sketchin'--At daybreak, off for Eagle Pass, and home at nightfall, fetchin'That everlastin' book uv his with spider lines all through it--Three-Fingered Hoover used to say there warn't no meanin' to it--"God durn a man," sez he to him, "whose shif'less hand is sot atA-drawin' hills that's full of quartz that's pinin' to be got at!""Go on," sez Pettibone, "go on, if joshin' gratifies ye,But one uv these fine times, I'll show ye sumthin' will surprise ye!"The which remark led us to think--although he didn't say it--That Pettibone wuz owin' us a gredge 'nd meant to pay it.

One evenin' as we sat around the restauraw de Casey,A-singin' songs 'nd tellin' yarns the which wuz sumwhat racy,In come that feller Pettibone 'nd sez: "With your permissionI'd like to put a picture I have made on exhibition."He sot the picture on the bar 'nd drew aside its curtain,Sayin': "I recken you'll allow as how that's art, f'r certain!"And then we looked, with jaws agape, but nary word wuz spoken,And f'r a likely spell the charm uv silence wuz unbroken--Till presently, as in a dream, remarked Three-Fingered Hoover:"Onless I am mistaken, this is Pettibone's shef doover!"It wuz a face, a human face--a woman's, fair 'nd tender,Sot gracefully upon a neck white as a swan's, and slender;The hair wuz kind of sunny, 'nd the eyes wuz sort uv dreamy,The mouth wuz half a-smilin', 'nd the cheeks wuz soft 'nd creamy;It seemed like she wuz lookin' off into the west out yonder,And seemed like, while she looked, we saw her eyes grow softer,fonder--Like, lookin' off into the west where mountain mists wuz fallin',She saw the face she longed to see and heerd his voice a-callin';"Hooray!" we cried; "a woman in the camp uv Blue Horizon--Step right up, Colonel Pettibone, 'nd nominate your pizen!"

A curious situation--one deservin' uv your pity--No human, livin' female thing this side of Denver City!But jest a lot uv husky men that lived on sand 'nd bitters--Do you wonder that that woman's face consoled the lonesome critters?And not a one but what it served in some way to remind himOf a mother or a sister or a sweetheart left behind him--And some looked back on happier days and saw the old-time facesAnd heerd the dear familiar sounds in old familiar places--A gracious touch of home--"Look here," sez Hoover, "ever'bodyQuit thinkin' 'nd perceed at oncet to name his favorite toddy!"

It wuzn't long afore the news had spread the country over,And miners come a-flockin' in like honey bees to clover;It kind uv did 'em good they said, to feast their hungry eyes onThat picture uv Our Lady in the camp uv Blue Horizon.But one mean cuss from Nigger Crick passed criticisms on 'er--Leastwise we overheerd him call her Pettibone's madonner,The which we did not take to be respectful to a lady--So we hung him in a quiet spot that wuz cool 'nd dry 'nd shady;Which same might not have been good law, but it wuz the rightmaneuverTo give the critics due respect for Pettibone's shef doover.

Gone is the camp--yes, years ago, the Blue Horizon busted,And every mother's son uv us got up one day 'nd dusted,While Pettibone perceeded east with wealth in his possessionAnd went to Yurrup, as I heerd, to study his perfession;So, like as not, you'll find him now a-paintin' heads 'nd facesAt Venus, Billy Florence and the like I-talyun places--But no such face he'll paint again as at old Blue Horizon,For I'll allow no sweeter face no human soul sot eyes on;And when the critics talk so grand uv Paris 'nd the loover,I say: "Oh, but you orter seen the Pettibone shef doover!"