The Santa Claus Rustlers

Now this is kind of a special story that I call the Santa Claus rustlers. It began short of a horse Christmas as California and I were heading back to the bar 20 after a trail drive to southern Arizona.

We're hoping to be home for the holidays, but one morning near Phoenix my horse topper threw a shoe, and this is what it led to. Well, of all the dern dlots, this takes the cake.

I know you've grumbled about it, California. Just hand me one of those fair shoes and some mail. That's what I mean. We ain't got no spare shoes. What? But I told you... You ain't got no nails, nigga.

California. But what was the last thing I told you to do before we left, didn't it? Get some shoes and nails and a shut up about the... Well, and a hoppy. Remember the Christmas spirit?

Sides I didn't have no room and my saddlebags were hot shoes. No room? Of course you got room. Ah, now let's walk to Copper, clear the Phoenix to get a new shoe. Wherever it weren't from a room and there's my bad feet, I'd let you ride my horse off of you.

Sorry, you know that. It's your first. Well, look, here comes a kid. Maybe there's a ranch near here where you can get a shoe. Well, for your sake, I hope so. Hi, son. How do you sell?

What kind of your horse? I'm running away. Honey's Billy still well. What's yours? He ain't a hock. Wanna be the fudge? I got some here in my pocket. Hey, take a breath. Regular little magpie, India.

I'm out of law and casually, Billy. This is my partner, California, Carlsa. You running away too? Uh, no. Where are you headed? I don't know. Maybe China. Maybe Phoenix. Anyplace where I can make some money quick.