Now, Paul Bunyan was a big man.
How big?
Well, he combed his big red beard with a pine tree.
Not a full grown one, of course.
Why, he weighed 86 pounds when he was born up around Maine.
Paul's blue ox, Babe, weighed 14 tons, 3 ounces, and measured 27 ax handles from eye to eye.
Paul kept Babe in line without any trouble.
Now, that gives you an idea of the size of Paul Bunyan.
When Paul was a boy, he was 8 feet tall.
He wanted to start logging.
Lookie here, son.
You're too young for logging.
Tell you what, big little feller.
We'll make you our chief daybreaker.
Paul was serious, though the loggers weren't.
He got up before the sun, broke the day with his ax, then hollered so loud it blew the
blankets right out of the windows.
Paul grew and grew, learned a lot about logging, and set up his own camp.
Now, Howells, you'll be my foreman, since you're nearly as big as me.
Thank you.
You'll have the biggest and best logging camp ever was.
Name's Johnny Inkslinger, best bookkeeper in these parts.
We'll grow pencil trees and have men special to carry ink, so you can keep careful track
of everything.
And you, Sourdough Sam and Hot Biscuit Slim, are my head cooks.
Now, I eat a lot, and those loggers get pretty hungry, too.
We'll figure the best way to feed the mob.
Why are you digging, Paul?
We need water for the camp.
Oh, wee.
With those holes full of water, that's plenty.
How'll you get it to the camp?
Gonna have Babe, the blue ox, haul it to camp in a big tank.
Quick, Paul Punyon.
The tank is leaking fast.
It'll flood the whole United States.
Now, water runs best down, so I'll dig a ditch from north to south.
Well, Paul Punyon dug a long ditch to drain off the water.
Later, the ditch was named the Mississippi River.
And the dirt Paul tossed to one side became the Appalachian Mountains.
And the water holes he dug for the camp water supply became known as the Great Lakes.
What did you do to the biscuits, Slim?
Left them in the oven too long.
Hard as rocks and just as heavy.
You throwing out the whole batch?
Yup.
Well, the biscuits landed in a big pile, and that's what made the Rocky Mountains.
Well, I figured this way, we'll get the kitchen eventually.
I'm always getting lost.
Paul employed hundreds of loggers.
When they changed shifts, there was a real to-do.
So Paul Punyon invented the first traffic signal.
Paul, this cookhouse covers four square miles.
Sometimes a logger faints before he can hike to his table.
We'll put lunch counters along the way so as they can have a bite to eat before getting
their meal.
Since hotcakes are a logger's favorite food, Paul Punyon drained a lake near the kitchen.
He filled it with hotcake batter and kept an old steamboat going round and round.
The paddle wheel stirred the batter better than anything else.
And the griddle was so huge, a dozen cooks had to skate on it with bacon tied to their
feet just to grease it for cooking hotcakes.
And when the hotcakes were done, they were loaded on a train and loggers grabbed as many
as they wanted when the train passed their table.
That pipeline of maple syrup from New England is working perfectly.
Yep, you shove a plate of hotcakes under the tap, get as much as you want.
Wonder what Paul will think of next.
Well, Paul planted a corn stalk.
Hal's his foreman climbed up to get a nice juicy ear of corn.
Hey, I can't get down.
I keep climbing down, but it keeps growing up.
Don't worry, Hal's, I'll think of a way.
Paul grabbed a steel rail from the railroad and made a good tight knot around the stalk.
As it kept growing, it choked it in two.
It fell for three days, raising a fierce wind, and just before it hit the ground, Hal's jumped
off.
Paul ordered his men to pick the ears for a roast when suddenly something happened.
What's going on?
The weather turned so hot, it's popping the corn.
It's flying through the air like a snowstorm.
Why, it's even hanging on the trees.
Seems like winter.
Mules acting just like frostbite.
Look, babe, the blue ox is even bluer.
Start eating the popcorn, everybody, before we freeze to death.
That's it, men, shovel that popcorn into his mouth.
What an idea, and he's the one can eat it all.
Babe's not shivering anymore.
How do you feel, Paul?
Kind of stuffed.
Popcorn sure spoils a man's appetite.
Why, you just ate a couple of bowls of pea soup, six steaks, two roast chickens, squash,
potatoes, beans, three stacks of hotcakes, a dozen donuts and bread and butter.
What are you doing now, Paul?
Weaving an axe handle.
The hickory ones keep breaking.
You shouldn't wonder.
It's 17 feet across.
And cuts only one tree at a time.
When I swing this, I'll cut 20 at a time.
All right, are you gonna log that upside down mountain?
Loggers are gonna have to stand on their heads.
Use hoedads.
They're built like buffaloes.
They'll stampede them, and they'll knock down all the trees.
Hoedads don't scare.
By yumpin' yimminy, we do it my way just once.
We won't.
The next minute, Paul and Hal's were in a fight.
It went on for three days.
The two rolled over and over, ground that mountain down to dust.
With no mountain, the trees fell down.
Hoedaders hauled them away, and that was the last time Paul and Hal's ever fought.
They moved to North Dakota, figuring it for farming.
No trouble cuttin' trees.
Leaves lots of stumps.
So?
We just knock them into the ground with a fist, right?
Right.
When they finished, North Dakota was a nice place to farm.
One winter, it was so cold, whenever a logger talked, his words froze as they hit the air.
Paul's frozen words were kept in a bucket and had to be thawed out on the bunkhouse
stove before the men could hear their orders.
In the spring, a funny thing happened.
Paul floated logs down the river and passed a camp just like his several times.
You know what?
We've been going around on a round river.
Now how are we going to get 27 million feet of lumber to a sawmill from a round river?
Paul ordered the cooks to make sourdough, and then he made a dam.
The circle was broken as water poured over and even splashed Paul.
Steam rose, and Paul gave it a blow, and it drifted over to England.
They call it fog.
The river turned and twisted and was making such a howling noise.
That river is making noise because it has too many kinks and turns in it.
Better get Babe the Blue Ox.
So Babe the Blue Ox and Paul straightened out the river.
With the kinks gone, the river didn't need the howls anymore, so Paul cut off slices
and gave them to steamship companies for fog horns.
No matter how I figure it, Paul, we always have a stack or two of hotcakes left over.
Give them to Babe.
He can't throw them away.
Hotcakes aren't natural food for an ox.
Babe will learn to like them.
Paul, do something about Babe.
That Blue Ox just hangs around the cookhouse begging.
I can't make enough hotcakes for the loggers, let alone for Babe.
Yes, I'll have to chain Babe to a mountain.
Keep them away.
Babe pulled and struggled and yanked.
Man was he anxious for hotcakes and he could smell them cooking.
He pulled and he pulled.
Sure enough, the chain wouldn't give, but the top of the mountain came right off and
he lit out for Sam's cookhouse.
Babe got to the cookhouse, swallowed the hotcakes, red hot stove and all.
Oak and flame shot out of Babe's mouth, lighting up the whole countryside.
He figured the only thing that could cool him off was drinking the Arctic Ocean.
So Babe lit out for the North Pole with Paul right after him.
Winters aren't as cold as they used to be nowadays.
Sure proof Babe and Paul are still up there.
Someday though, that stove will cool off and Paul and Babe will go back to logging.
And the Northwoods will be just like old times again.
Johnny Appleseed grew up in Massachusetts.
His real name was Johnny Chapman and his greatest love was apples.
It wasn't only the taste of apples, but he loved apple trees.
He loved the twisty branches of the trees, especially at blossom time, why even the names
of apples spun around in his head and started a song.
There's plenty of apples like russet and pippin'.
There's sweet apple pie and apple sauce drippin'.
He learned to plant trees, prune and care for them in every way.
Working in his Pa's orchard, he produced perfect apples.
How's the crop, Johnny?
Pa makes a soul feel proper to do something well and have it turn out so good.
Now the road west passed right by Johnny's orchard.
He often wondered about that road.
Folks traveling by usually stop for a drink of well water.
But whether on foot, wagon or on horseback, Johnny always gave them apples.
One particular day, a wagon load of folks stopped by, Johnny offered some of his apples.
These are the best crop yet.
Thank you, Johnny.
Why do so many folks go west?
We're traveling west to make a new home in the wilderness.
See this apple?
Well, the earth is round like it.
Plenty of room for a big farm out west.
I'd like to go west or really would.
I reckon it's time.
Johnny bid his folks goodbye.
They hated to see him go because he was the apple of their eye.
He was growing up and there was no stopping him.
Away he went in the old man's wagon until he reached Pittsburgh.
We've come a long way.
Is this west?
Well, it's west of where you were.
We're going on, Johnny, to the wilderness.
What's in the wilderness?
Indians, wild critters, rivers, and lots of trees.
Any apple trees?
Not a one, as I hear tell.
Well, I'll stay here in Pittsburgh.
So Johnny bid goodbye and settled in Pittsburgh.
Build a house and grew apple trees.
He had everything he could want, but his mind was troubled.
He couldn't help but notice all the folks traveling further west.
So you're headed west.
As far as I can go, gonna build me a new home, new territory.
Take these apple seeds and plant some apple trees.
I hear there aren't any out there.
Why, thank you.
Thank you very much.
So Johnny gave away apple seeds to folks headed west so they could raise orchards of their
own.
But he was still worried.
What if they didn't plant the trees right?
One day he sold his orchard and decided to go into the wilderness and plant apple seeds
himself.
He planned to go down the Ohio River, then the Muskingum.
Soon he was ready to go.
I'm gonna make sure they're planted just right.
Yep, going west to plant apple trees.
We ought to call you Johnny Appleseed.
That's good.
Johnny Appleseed, going off to the wilderness to do a good deed.
That's how Johnny got his name.
He went as far as he could by water and planted apple trees.
When Johnny Appleseed had used all his seeds, he paddled back to Pittsburgh to pick up more.
Well, that's sort of crazy, you just go along planting apple seeds, huh?
That's right.
You sure they'll grow?
Oh, they will.
I know how to plant them.
Well, here's the rest of your supplies you ordered.
Johnny Appleseed.
Johnny Appleseed made the long river trip again and was landing his canoe when an excited
settler's wife called to him.
Johnny Appleseed, come see, come see, all the apple trees all along the river bank.
Looks like a good crop of apples coming.
Oh, they're beautiful.
Were last year too.
The apples are for everybody, but save me the seeds so I can plant more.
Plant more?
Where?
Well, I'm going farther into the wilderness this time.
Johnny Appleseed carried no gun or hunting knife.
He had his seeds and shovel for planting.
When his clothes became ragged, he wore a coffee sack.
When he lost his cap, he wore his mush pot on his head.
Everywhere he wandered, he planted apple seeds.
One night, Johnny Appleseed crawled in a hollow log to sleep, but there was a mother bear
already in there with her cub.
Now hush, I don't mean no harm.
I didn't know this log was occupied.
I'll leave and sleep under a tree.
Another time, Johnny came across a wolf caught in a trap and exhausted from struggling to
get loose.
Johnny got him out and began fixing up the wolf's leg.
Easy now.
I'll have that leg of yours fixed in no time.
Steady.
That's it.
You've got to be more careful about those traps.
Yes, siree.
Johnny Appleseed wouldn't hurt any living thing.
In fact, one night, some mosquitoes came round his fire and burned themselves.
So you know what Johnny did?
He put out his fire.
He might have forgotten all about the wolf he saved, but Johnny got captured by the Shawnee
Indians.
He crowded around, looking at his funny clothes and mush pot hat.
What we do with him?
Your chief has a fever.
He doesn't look well.
White man say chief not well.
Johnny had done nothing to anger the Shawnee, but the chief did have a fever and was in
a terrible temper.
Suddenly, there was a growl.
Stop.
Don't be afraid.
The wolf is my friend.
See?
This time, fella, you saved my life.
It's good to see you looking so healthy.
Wolf, your friend.
Come, fella.
The Indians were amazed to see Johnny pet the wild wolf.
How you do that?
I made him well.
I could make your chief well, too.
Chief don't feel good.
Go to tepee.
So Johnny made a special herb brew for the chief.
You'll feel better soon.
I'll do exactly as I say.
Feel better now?
How you do that?
I know all the forest plants that are food for any sickness.
You stay.
Become medicine man.
Oh, I might stay a while.
Well Johnny cured the chief and stayed with the Shawnees for a time.
Then one day he wandered off.
As time went by, folks stopped laughing at Johnny Appleseed, and he was welcome in cabins
all over the wilderness.
He carried news from one settler to another.
Johnny, oh Johnny Appleseed, can you come to our cabin?
My brother's powerful sick and, and, and.
Now, now, calm yourself.
Just lead the way.
He's had an awful fever.
Ma tried everything.
Johnny Appleseed followed the girl to the cabin and found a very sick little boy, and
a very worried mother.
I'm glad you came Johnny Appleseed.
These herbs will fix him good as new in no time.
Just grateful to you, so grateful.
In a short time, the lad was feeling better and Johnny knew everything was going to be
all right.
Eat plenty of ripe apples and you won't get sick.
Green apples, yellow and some that are red, fritters and butter of apples instead.
Thank you, Johnny Appleseed.
Oh, how you go on like this is a blessing, carrying news, helping sick folks, and planting
apple trees.
It's my calling, I guess.
I, I'd like to read a little news from the Good Book, too.
I'd love to hear you read the Good Book.
Johnny Appleseed always made it a point to read from the Good Book.
For 40 years, he walked in the wilderness.
The seeds he planted grew into rich apple trees, and the other seeds he planted, kindness
for fellow men and animals, also flowered in the wilderness.
One day, out Indiana way, he rested under a tree he'd planted so long ago he couldn't
remember when, a soft breeze made the blossoms fall around Johnny Appleseed, the sun shone
warm on his tired bones, and he closed his eyes to rest.
He thought of all kinds of folks, all races and colors, Indians having a good time together,
mingling and laughing, all of them enjoying apples, apple sauce, fritters, and thirst-quenching
apple cider.
The thoughts made him very happy, indeed, for folks would always remember Johnny, Johnny
Appleseed.
It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville Nine that day.
The score stood two to four, with but one inning left to play.
So when Cooney died at second, and Burroughs did the same, a pallor wreathed the features
of the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest with that hope which springs eternal
within the human breast.
For they thought, if only Casey could get a whack at that.
We'd put even money now with Casey in the back.
Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake.
The former is a pudding, and the latter is a fake.
So on that stricken multitude, a death-like silence sat.
There seems but little chance of getting Casey to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single for the wonderment of all.
And the much despised Blakely, look, he tore the cover off the ball.
And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had occurred, look, there's Blakely safe
at second, and Flynn must have been burned.
Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell.
It rumbled in the mountaintops, it rattled in the dell.
It struck up on the hillside, and rebounded on the flat.
It's Casey, mighty Casey.
He's advancing to the bat.
There is an ease in Casey's manner as he steps into his place.
There's a pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on Casey's face.
And when responding to the cheers, he lightly docks his hat.
No stranger in the crowd could doubt, there's Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
And then when the writhing pitcher drowned the ball into his hip, defiance gleamed from
Casey's eye, a spear curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered spear came hurtling through the air, and Casey stood a-watching
it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman, the ball unheeded spent.
That ain't my style, said Casey.
The umpire said.
On the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar like the beating of the
storm waves on the stern and distant shore.
Kill the umpire, shouted someone in the stand.
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity, great Casey's visage shone.
He stilled the rising tumult.
He made the game go on.
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more, the spheroid flew.
But Casey still ignored it.
And the umpire said, D-R-A-C-E.
Fraud, cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered, Fraud's mournful look from
Casey.
And the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold.
They saw his muscles strain, and they knew that Casey wouldn't let the ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lips.
His teeth are clenched in hate.
He pounds with cruel vengeance his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball.
And now he lets it go.
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land, the sun is shining bright.
The band is playing somewhere.
And somewhere, hearts are light.
Somewhere, men are laughing.
And somewhere, children shout.
There is no joy in Mudville.
Mighty Casey has struck out.
John Henry was born down south in the cotton country where the Mississippi steamboats chug
along the great river.
He grew to be the biggest and strongest man in all the south.
He knew right from the start what he was meant to be.
Yep, he knew.
I'm going to drive steel, whop it with a big hammer.
Why, John Henry, you're still a baby.
How can you know?
I know, Mama.
I know.
John Henry's maw had a strange feeling whenever steel driving was mentioned.
As I look at you, John Henry, with skin deep as night and eyes that shine like bright
stars, I won't allow you to drive steel with a hammer.
John Henry's mother was afraid, so she tied John right to her apron strings to keep her
eyes on him every minute.
I'd rather do washing of folks, watching my John Henry while it soaks.
One day, John Henry picked up a banjo and started playing it right off.
His mother was surprised.
Why, that's good.
That's what my boy's going to do, be a music man.
Then he'll never hold a hammer in his hand.
So John Henry's folks took him to New Orleans in the music, Professor.
What do you think, Professor?
Could he be a music man?
Has musical talent, no doubt about that.
Where did you learn to play the piano, John Henry?
Just now?
Come natural to me.
Because I'm a natural man.
Then John Henry tried the drums and the professor was amazed.
So were his folks.
Such rhythm.
He can play any style.
I knew it, just knew it.
He's musical.
Our boy's going to be a musical man.
Here are some other musical instruments, boy.
Try them.
John Henry played.
He played everything, when he picked up the trumpeted echo down the streets and soon somebody
got the drums, the professor got the trombone, somebody joined in with a bass horn.
Folks came running from everywhere, singing and clapping their hands.
Well John Henry was growing and growing and growing fast.
He was eight feet tall and still growing.
I can't be a music man.
There isn't a musical instrument that fits me.
They're all too small.
John Henry was right.
He was too big and too strong.
Why if he touched a piano it fell apart or tried the drums they squashed to bits.
His mother finally decided.
Maybe you could be a singing man instead.
Well his voice was so big and strong too it blew the roof right off the house.
So John Henry decided he was big enough to pick cotton, though his folks didn't want
him to be in the fields.
I couldn't stop him, Pa.
Nobody can stop a natural man.
He can pick morn a bale a day.
I'm afraid it won't stop at just picking cotton.
I'm worried, Pa.
John Henry worked till the crop was picked and when it was time he helped take the bales
to town.
He watched the roustabouts dig their big hooks into the bales and carry them up the gang
plank.
John Henry wanted to load cotton and asked the boss man.
The boss man looked up at big John Henry.
So you think you could handle one of them hooks and roust cotton?
Think I could, boss man, cause I'm natural strong.
John Henry rousted that cotton.
At first he used one hook, then two, then carried bales on his head as well.
He rousted more cotton than any ten men.
Folks came from miles around just to see the sight.
One of the constant admirers was a pretty little girl by the name of Paulie Ann.
You're wonderful, John Henry, so strong.
And you're mighty pretty, Miss Paulie Ann.
Paulie Ann liked John Henry and he liked her.
Soon they were married and set up housekeeping in New Orleans.
One day John Henry passed where a railroad was being built.
He watched the crew put down the wooden ties, then the heavy rails.
He saw the gandy dancers packing down the crushed stone and the steel drivers.
Drive the spikes with big hammers.
Captain, could I have the hammer, just to see how it feels?
Can you lift one big man?
No, but I picked cotton and rousted it better than the best.
Why, sure, lift it and bring it square down on a spike.
Square on several times and you'll drive it in.
John Henry brought that hammer down so that there was an awful rumbling sound.
He hit the spike and in one blow whopped that steel down.
Yes, sir, one blow.
Where'd you learn to drive steel like that?
It just came natural, because I'm a natural man.
Can I work for you?
You're working for me right now.
John Henry's mother and father found out and were very upset.
I tried to hold you back, John Henry.
I tried.
But I couldn't keep the hammer from your hand.
Why, Ma?
I'm afraid, son, afraid.
Well, John Henry drove steel every day, a hammer in each hand.
He even worked with a train coming right behind him.
He'd have the spikes in his mouth, spit them out and drive them in just ahead of the train.
John Henry traveled around, worked in Eastern Virginia, Western Virginia, Georgia, Alabama,
and Mississippi, too.
Wherever track was to be laid, John Henry did it.
He laid new track and mended old.
Pollyann and John Henry had a little son now, and they followed John Henry wherever he went.
Look, Pollyann, look at him hold my finger.
He's powerful, strong, going to be a natural man, a steel driving man like his pappy.
One day, the railroad crew was working hard when a stranger came to the boss.
I say there, het man, got the marvel of the age.
What's that, stranger?
Glad you asked.
You never seen the like.
Just what you need.
This is a steam drill.
Does the work of three men in half the time.
Don't need it, then.
Don't want it, because I got a boy here that does the work of six men in no time at all.
Huh?
Why, no man can beat a machine.
I can, because I'm a natural man.
How about a race?
Buy steam drill against John Henry.
Steam drill free if he wins.
If he doesn't?
Then you have to buy the drill.
Well, they set the day for the race, and when John Henry's ma heard, she was afraid.
Oh, don't do it, John Henry.
You got no call to beat a steam drill.
I'm going to beat that steam drill or die with a ham on my hand.
Oh, John Henry, don't say that.
Don't do it.
I can't back out now.
Folks are coming from miles around to see the race.
The captain wouldn't like it if I backed out.
Drivers and shakers would laugh.
Little old steam drill can't do me any harm.
Folks kept coming from everywhere the day of the race, man against machine.
John Henry didn't talk about it, just laughed and joked, ate well.
To the mayor, the stranger, a drill man, he climbed the mountain.
When he reached the top, he waved to the crowd.
The sun was coming up blazing hot, not a breeze of air stirred.
John Henry lifted his hammer to limber his muscle.
The crowd cheered, and then the mayor asked.
Ready John Henry?
Yes, sir.
Ready with the steam drill machine?
Oh, yes, more than ready.
Then go.
While John Henry drove steel, the steam drill hissed and drove steel.
The race was on, machine against man, and John Henry was the man.
He was a natural man.
John Henry brought his hammer down faster and faster, then it wasn't so fast anymore,
but he kept driving steel, and near him the steam drill kept turning.
The sun went high, then went low, then it went down.
The mayor shot his gun and held up his hand.
Stop.
I declare this race over.
Now I want to count and measure what John Henry has done, and what the steam drill has
done.
Everyone watched and waited.
The mayor took his time, then cleared his throat.
John Henry has driven more steel.
I declare John Henry the winner.
He's beat the steam drill.
Well the crowd went wild.
They stomped and carried on.
The railroad boss was pleased, sure was proud.
The stranger hung his head in defeat.
John Henry had beat the machine.
John Henry smiled, then laid on the ground with a hammer in his hand.
The greatest steel driving man that ever lived, because he was a natural man.
Peckish Bill was probably the greatest cowboy ever lived.
He was a human being, though for a time he did believe he was a coyote.
He invented the lariat, bronc busting, cowboy yells, and cowboy songs.
Bill's paw one day packed the entire family in a wagon and headed west.
Right after they crossed the Peckish River, the wagon hit a rock, and Bill, the baby, bounced
right out.
With 17 other children, his folks didn't miss him for several days.
They looked for him but never did find him.
Bill met a pack of coyotes and grew up with them.
He hunted by day and howled at the moon by night.
Well naturally he thought he was a coyote too.
One day a cowboy happened by while Bill was a chomping on a cactus.
Coyote boy, why are you running with them coyotes?
Can't you see I'm a coyote of myself?
No, you're a human and it takes and I can tell by your size.
I'm ornery like a coyote.
Lots of Texans are ornery.
I howl at the moon.
Lots of Texans howl, boy.
You were born human, in Texas, I can see that.
But I got the sense of a coyote.
How'd you get mixed up with them critters?
Hard to remember, just sort of grew up by the Peckish River.
I remember the name Bill.
Peckish Bill, that's what I'll call you.
You've got the makings of a good cowboy.
Come along with me.
So Peckish Bill became a good cowboy and was heading for the IXL ranch, heard they needed
a hand there.
Now his horse gave up on him and Peckish had to walk.
A hundred miles from nowhere and no horse.
There's more to being a cowboy than I thought.
Just then a big rattlesnake, ten feet long or more, coiled in front of Bill.
Now looky here, you ornery sidewinder, I'm a cowboy but I was raised a coyote.
Poison or no poison, you don't stand a chance.
Bill gave the snake three chances to strike, then grabbed it and shook it so hard its rattle
dropped off and he gave up the fight.
Bill hurled that wrackler over his head.
It was fun for the snake and fun for Bill and away he went on his way.
Crouching on the wall of a canyon just ahead was a big wowser, the most terrible critter
in the west.
Part mountain lion and part grizzly bear, worse than either and meaner than both.
He waited for Bill to walk by.
Looks like I got another fight on my hands.
Might not be so bad a day after all.
Wowser, you're going to say uncle or my name's not Pecos Bill.
It was quite a freakus, there was so much fur flying it darkened the sky over Texas.
There was a roaring, screeching, howling, might have been the wowser or it might have
been Bill.
When the air cleared, there was the wowser looking up at Bill.
That's better, wowser.
Now seeing I have no horse, might as well saddle you and ride to the IXL ranch.
Pecos Bill cinched his saddle to the wowser, threw a few loops with a rattle and rode off
to the ranch.
Yippee, I feel fine again.
The cowboys around the chuck wagon and the ranch dropped their plates and just stared
as Bill rode in on a wowser.
My name's Pecos Bill.
Mine's never mind.
Who's boss?
Anybody rides a wowser like you can be boss.
That's fair, I need a real horse.
A wowser's uncomfortable at times.
Sure, I'll buy the best horse I can find.
Buy?
Store bought horses won't do.
Now we'll go out and get some wild mustangs.
It's never been done.
It's gonna be from now on.
Now out on the range was a beautiful white mustang, the wildest pony in the west.
For years cowboys have been trying to catch that white stallion.
When Bill saw him, he knew that he had to have that horse.
Well, Bill showed him how to tame a wild mustang and that started bronc busting.
Well, don't just stand there, yell.
We don't know any yells, Pecos.
Yell like me, all of you.
Ride them.
That's when cowboys began yelling and they've been at it ever since.
Well, that white mustang was a smart one.
It took Bill weeks to tame that stallion.
The cowhands were so impressed by the mustang's bucking, they called him Widowmaker.
At last the white stallion gave up the struggle.
He knew that in Pecos Bill he'd met his match and decided that he would be proud to be the
partner of such a fearless cowboy.
Pecos Bill was so happy, he promised Widowmaker he would never let another human sit in his
seat.
One day the boys settled around a campfire and began singing songs they knew.
Stop that noise.
You're singing seed it is, or to sing cowboy songs.
Haven't been invented yet.
Then I'll invent some.
And that's exactly what he did.
Made up new words and cowboys have been singing them ever since.
Pecos Bill decided it was time to ride herd and round up some cattle.
Round up?
Pecos, it takes time to lay the rope in a loop and wait for a cow to come along.
Only way to catch them.
I got an idea.
That's when Bill invented the lariat.
Got the idea from twirling that old rattlesnake.
Made a lariat out of rawhide that was as long as the equator.
He could lasso the whole herd at once.
Well, soon all the cowboys were using lariats.
Once a cyclone came from nowhere.
Bill hopped on it riding like a bucking bronc, kicked a streak of lightning out of his way.
That cyclone bucked, weared, tried to throw Bill.
Of course it couldn't.
Bill tamed it soon.
So the cyclone rained out from under him and Bill hit that ground so hard he was a couple
hundred feet below sea level.
The spot is still there, a place called Death Valley.
So is the place where his hip pockets made a mark in the rock.
Well, one day Bill was by the Rio Grande, heard a whooping and a holler and he turned
to see a girl with long red hair riding a huge catfish up the river.
In Texas, a catfish is the size of a whale.
You sure look pretty riding that fish.
Thank you.
My name's Slewfoot Sue.
What's yours?
Howdy.
I'm Pecos Bill.
Oh, I heard a lot about you, Pecos.
Never saw a girl ride like you.
No other gals around like me.
Well, Slewfoot and Bill became real friendly and decided to get married.
Their wedding day was one to remember.
Slewfoot, you're pretty as a picture.
Bill, let me ride Widowmaker.
Nobody rides that horse but me.
He's too ornery.
But this is our wedding day.
No, no one can handle Widowmaker.
I can.
Please, Bill.
Oh, all right.
Can't refuse my bride.
Yippee!
Ah!
Sue didn't stay there long, a horse buck sending Slewfoot Sue flying way up into the air.
The trouble was, Sue's wedding dress had a steel spring bustle.
When she hit the ground, she bounced right up again.
Well, she was a bouncing bride, no doubt about it.
She bounced so high, nearly hit her head on the moon.
She bounced all day until Bill last sued her and pulled her down.
The idea, shaming me in front of my wedding guests.
But I last sued you, got you down.
Letting me get on a horse I couldn't ride.
I tried to tell you.
But you didn't stop me.
I never want to see you again.
Bill thought Slewfoot Sue would come back, but she never did.
He searched for her in Wyoming, Montana, Arizona, New Mexico, even up in Colorado.
Broken hearted, he gave up cow punching and went prospecting for gold.
After staking out a claim, Bill started digging.
He dug deeper and deeper without finding gold.
By the time he'd stopped digging, he'd dug out the Grand Canyon.
It had been filled to this day.
Being very thirsty, he headed for the nearest saloon.
Bawtender, give me a glass of lemon pop, straight.
Lemon pop, where are you from, Tenderfoot?
Making fun of me.
Look out, he's racing for his gun.
Bill was out of practice.
The outlaws beat him to the draw.
Bill lowered his head and the bullets bounced right off, hit the six bad men.
When the smoke cleared, there they all were, stretched out on the floor.
Folks came running, shook his hand and elected him sheriff right then and there.
In a week, Bill cleaned up the town.
Every town wanted Pecos Bill for sheriff so he could give them law and order.
Bad men saw they didn't have a chance, gave up.
Police went from town to town, cleaning them up in a day or two.
Soon there wasn't a bad man left.
Sheriffs had no trouble keeping law and order and the West really began to grow.
Bill traveled around and thought up the idea of a rodeo show.
One day in California, he invented cowboy movies.
He made up a few whoppers and the moviemen used them for stories.
There were cowboy movies in all the theaters.
Fancy dude ranches began to spring up and Bill happened to stop at one.
What are you dressed for?
I'm a cowboy.
In those fancy clothes, are you human?
Naturally.
All those others?
Dudes and human?
Then I quit.
It never used to be like this.
I'm going back to being a coyote.
And that's just what he did.
Every moonlit night, Pecos Bill sets on the hill with his coyote friends howling at the
moon.
And sometimes, between howls, he laughs, laughs fit to bust.
Long ago in the rolling hills high above the Hudson River, there was a beautiful little
valley known as Sleepy Hollow.
The farmers who lived there believed the valley was bewitched and they talked much of ghosts
and other strange visions.
The one they feared most of all was the Headless Horseman.
It was believed his head had been carried away by a cannonball during the Revolutionary
War and that each night he rose from his grave to search for it.
The children of Sleepy Hollow went to school in this little schoolhouse which had just
one room and just one teacher whose name was Ichabod Crane.
Now the farmers of Sleepy Hollow couldn't pay Ichabod much money for teaching their
children so to be sure he got enough to eat, they took turns letting him stay in their
homes.
Each week Ichabod went to a different house carrying his clothes and other belongings
in a cotton handkerchief.
The school teacher helped the farmers with their chores and the mothers with their children
who loved to hear him tell stories.
Ichabod Crane was also a singing teacher and on Sundays he led his young students in singing
hymns for the townspeople.
The school teacher's voice was always heard above all the rest.
Sometimes in the evenings Ichabod liked to visit different homes in the neighborhood
and tell scary stories about ghosts and goblins and haunted houses and witchcraft.
Most of all people wanted to hear him tell about the Headless Horseman.
The trouble was Ichabod told such frightening stories that he even scared himself.
Then he was afraid to walk home alone.
Sometimes he imagined he saw the Headless Horseman and sometimes he thought he heard
hoofbeats coming up behind him.
More than anything else Ichabod enjoyed visiting this comfortable farmhouse.
Here he was always given the most delicious dinners but there was another even more important
reason why he came here.
Oh do come in Ichabod.
Thank you Katrina.
This is the beautiful Katrina, daughter of a rich farmer.
Ichabod dreamed of marrying Katrina and someday owning this fine farm.
But there was also someone else who wanted to marry Katrina.
A big strong tough young man named Brom Bones.
Brom was very jealous of Ichabod and wanted to fight him but our school teacher was much
too smart to get into a fight he knew he couldn't win.
Brom Bones did everything he could to make life miserable for Ichabod.
One night he broke into the schoolhouse and turned everything upside down.
He also made fun of Ichabod by teaching his dog to howl and whine.
I want you to meet the new singing teacher.
See doesn't he sound better than Ichabod Crane?
One day Ichabod received an invitation to a party at the home of the lovely Katrina.
He put on his black suit, the only one he owned, and he borrowed a broken down old plow
horse for the trip.
He wanted so much to look handsome but really he looked rather funny and also rather sad
compared with the dashing Brom Bones who also was invited to the party.
It was a very big party with all the important people of the countryside invited and the
food.
There were roasted chickens, ham, beef, fruit, pies and cakes of all kinds.
Ichabod was in heaven for he loved good food almost as much as he loved the beautiful Katrina.
Then it was time for dancing and everyone said Ichabod and his Katrina were the best
dancers on the floor.
There was only one musician, a gray headed old man who had played for all the dances
around Sleepy Hollow for the last fifty years.
You dance beautifully Katrina.
And so do you Ichabod.
As Ichabod and Katrina danced, Brom Bones who knew more about horses than dancing sat
in a corner sulking.
He was more jealous of Ichabod than ever.
When the dance ended, Ichabod joined in the storytelling which finally turned as always
to the headless horseman.
Brom Bones who wasn't afraid of anything, or at least pretended he wasn't, said he had
met the headless horseman one dark night and challenged him to a race.
I was beating him too, but just as we got to the old bridge by the church, he disappeared
in a flash of fire.
Good night everybody.
Good night.
Come on Soda, we'll see.
All right.
Night.
Finally the party broke up and the farmers gathered their families together for the
ride home.
Ichabod, however, stayed behind to have a private visit with his lovely Katrina.
What happened between them I don't know, but they must have quarreled, or else perhaps
Katrina had never really loved the school teacher, but was only using him to make Brom
Bones jealous.
Ichabod appeared very unhappy as he began the long ride home.
It was midnight, the witching hour, and he began to think about all the stories he had
heard of ghosts and coblins.
His heart began to pound as he drew near a clump of dark trees.
He heard a moaning sound, and it was only the wind rubbing some branches together.
Then he saw it.
It was too late to run.
Besides, who can outrun a ghost?
Shivering with fright, Ichabod asked, who, who, who are you, who, who are you?
There was no reply, but instead, the black horseman suddenly appeared just on the other
side of the road.
When Ichabod started forward, the stranger went forward with him, and when Ichabod stopped,
so did the stranger.
Poor Ichabod, scared to death, dug in his heels and galloped his old plow horse as fast
as he could go, but that stranger stayed right with him.
As they went over a hill and out of the shadows, Ichabod could see him clearly for the first
time.
It was indeed a headless horseman, and the head which should have rested on his shoulders
was being carried on the horseman's saddle.
Too frightened to know what he was doing, Ichabod whipped his poor horse and begged
him to go even faster, but as his horse leaped forward, a saddle strap broke and the saddle
fell to the ground.
Just then, Ichabod saw the bridge where, according to Brahm Bones, the headless horseman had
once before disappeared in a flash of fire.
Oh, if I can just reach that bridge, I'll be safe.
Just before reaching the bridge, Ichabod looked around, and at this moment, the headless horseman
threw his head straight at Ichabod.
The school teacher tried to duck, but too late.
He was struck in the head and tumbled into the dust as the headless horseman galloped
on by.
Now the only trace that was ever found of Ichabod Crane was a broken saddle, a black
hat, and close to it, a shattered pumpkin.
Not long after this, Brahm Bones and Katrina were married, and from then on, whenever people
talked about poor Ichabod's disappearance, Brahm Bones always smiled as if he knew something
he wasn't telling.
No one really knows for sure what happened to Ichabod Crane or whether Brahm Bones had
anything to do with it.
Several years later, someone said Ichabod had been seen in another part of the country,
but most folks think he was killed by the headless horseman.
There are many who believe the ghost of Ichabod Crane is still wandering through these woods
and hills.
Every now and then, when it is quite still, if you walk across the little bridge by the
church, they say you may still chance to hear Ichabod Crane leading his young singing pupils
into him.
Just to me, I can hear it now, but perhaps it's only my imagination.
If you ever visit the Hudson River country, why not find this little bridge for yourself
and see what you can learn about the story which has come to be called The Legend of
the Sleepy Hollow.
The Legend of the Sleepy Hollow.
There was a fellow here once by the name of Jim Smiley in the winter of 49, or maybe it
was the spring of 50.
I don't recollect exactly, but anyway, he was the curiousest man about always betting
on anything that turned up you ever see, if he could get anybody to bet on the other side,
and if he couldn't, he'd change sides.
Any way that suited the other man would suit him, just so as he got a bet he was satisfied.
If there was a horse race, you'd find him flush, or you'd find him busted at the end
of it.
If there was a cat fight, he'd bet on it.
If there was a dog fight, he'd bet on it.
Why, if there was two birds sitting on a fence, he'd bet you which one would fly first.
If you even see a straddle bug start to go anywhere, he'd bet you how long it would take
him to get to wherever he was going to.
And if you took him up, he'd follow that straddle bug to Mexico.
He'd bet on anything, the dang dispeller.
Well this year, Smiley, he catched a frog one day.
He took him home, and he said he calculated to educate him.
And so he never done nothing for three months, but sat in his backyard and learned that frog
to jump.
And you bet you he did learn him too.
He'd give Daniel Webster a little punch behind.
Daniel Webster, that was the name of the frog.
And the next minute, you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a donut.
See him turn one somerset or maybe a couple if he got a good start, and come down flat
footed and all right like a cat.
Smiley kept that frog in a box.
One day, a fellow, a stranger in camp he was, he asked him what's he got in the box.
Smiley says sort of indifferent like, might be a parrot, or it might be a canary maybe,
but it ain't.
It's only just a frog.
The fellow took it and looked at it carefully and turned it around this way and that, and
he said, hmm, so it is.
Well what's he good for?
Well says Smiley easy and careless.
He's good enough for one thing, I should judge.
He can out jump any frog in Calaveras County.
Well the fellow took the box again, took another long and particular look, and he give it back
to Smiley and he says, very deliberate.
Well he says, I don't see no points but that frog that's any better than any other frog.
Maybe you don't, Smiley says.
Maybe you understand frogs, maybe you don't understand them.
Anyways, I got my opinion and I'll rest $40 that he can out jump any frog in Calaveras
County.
And the fellow studied a minute and then he says kind of sad like, well I'm only a stranger
here.
I ain't got no frog, but if I had a frog, I'd bet you.
And then Smiley says, that's all right, that's all right, if you hold my box a minute, I'll
go and get you a frog.
And so the fellow took the box and put up his $40 along with Smiley's, and he says,
he sat down to wait.
He sat there a good while, thinking and thinking to himself.
And then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and filled
him full of quail shot.
Filled him pretty up to his chin and set him on the ground.
Well Smiley, he went to the swamp and he slopped around in the mud for a long time and finally
he catched a frog and fetched him in and gave him to this fellow.
And then he says, now if you're ready, set him alongside of Dannel with his four paws
just even with Dannel's and I'll give you the word.
And then he says, one, two, three, get.
And the new frog hopped off lively, but Dannel, he give a heave and he iced it up his shoulders,
but it weren't no use.
He couldn't budge.
He was planted solid as a church and he couldn't no more stir than he moves anchored out.
Well Smiley, he was a good deal surprised and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have
no idea what the matter was, of course.
Well the fellow, he took the money and away he went.
And Smiley, he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dannel a long time.
And at last he says, I do wonder what in the nation that frog throwed off for.
There ain't something the matter with him.
He appears to look mighty baggy somehow.
And he catch Dannel and hefted him and he says, well I blame my cats if you don't weigh five
pound.
And he turned him upside down and out come a double handful of shot.
Well Smiley, he seen how it was and he was the maddest man.
He took out after that fellow, but he never catched him.
And from then on, he never made another bet because as he said, seen as how there was one
man who could outsmart me, I might find another and I just wouldn't be able to stand the embarrassment
of losing twice.
Hey today, you think you can get away with it.
It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville Nine that day.
The score stood four to six, with but an inning left to play, and so when Cooney died at first,
and Burroughs did the same, a pallor weaved the features of the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest with that hope which springs eternal
within the human breast.
For they thought if only Casey could get a whack at that, they'd put up even money with
Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake, and the farmer was a puddin', and
the latter was a fake.
So on that stricken multitude, a death-like silence sat, for there seemed but little chance
of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of all, and the much despised Blakey tore the
cover off the ball, and when the dust had lifted and they saw what had accorded, there
was Blakey safe on second, and Flynn a-huggin' third.
Then from the gladden multitude went up a joyous yell.
It bound it from the mountaintop and rattled in the dell.
It struck upon the hillside and rebounded on the flat, for Casey, mighty Casey, was
advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's man as he stepped into his place.
There was pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on Casey's face, and when responding
to the cheers, he lightly daft his hat.
No stranger in the crowd could doubt, it was Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt, five thousand tongues
applauded as he wiped them on his shirt, and while the writhing pitcher ground the ball
into his hip, defiance gleamed from Casey's eye, and a sneer curled Casey's lip, and now
the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, and Casey stood a-watching it in
a hearty grand jersey.
Close by, the sturdy batsman, the ball unheeded sped.
That ain't me style, said Casey, strike one, the umpire said, and from the bleachers, black
people, there rose a sullen roar, like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and
distant shore.
Kill him, kill the umpire, shouted someone from the stand, and it's likely they'd have
done it had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity, great Casey's visage shone.
He stilled the rising tumult, and he bade the game go on.
He signaled to the pitcher, and again the spheroid flew, but Casey still ignored it,
and the umpire said, strike two, fraud, yelled the maddened thousands, and the echo answered,
fraud, but one scornful look from Casey, and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold.
They saw his muscles strain, and they knew that Casey would not let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip.
His teeth are clenched in hate.
He pounds with cruel violence, his bat upon the plate, and now the pitcher holds the ball,
and now he lets it go, and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land, the sun is shining bright.
The brand is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, and somewhere men are laughing,
and somewhere children shout.
But there is no joy in Mudville, mighty Casey has struck out.
An aspiring genius was Darius Green, the son of a farmer, age 14.
His body was long and long and lean, just right for flying, as will be seen.
He had two eyes as bright as a bean and a freckled nose that grew between.
Now wise he must have been to do more than ever a genius did before, excepting Daedalus
of Yor and his son Icarus, who wore upon their backs those wings of wax he had read of in
the old almanacs.
Now here's how Darius reasoned the facts.
The birds can fly, and why can't I?
Must we give in, says he with a grin, that the bluebird and Phoebe are smarter and weepy?
Fold our hands and see the swallow and blackbird and catbird beat us hollow?
Does the little chattering sassy wren, no bigger than my thumb, no more than men?
Just show me that, or prove that the bat has got more brains than's in my hat, and I'll
back down, and not till then.
That Icarus was a silly cuss, him and his daddy Daedalus.
They might have known wings made of wax wouldn't stand sun heat and hard wax.
I'll make mine of leather, or something or other.
Darius kept his secret from all the rest, safely buttoned within his vest, and in the
loft above the shed himself he locks with thimble and thread, and wax and hammer and
buckles and screws, and all such things as geniuses use.
Two bats for patterns, curious fellows, a charcoal pot and pair of bellows, an old hoop
skirt or two, as well as some wire and several old umbrellas, a carriage cover for tail and
wings, a piece of harness and straps and strings, and a big strong box in which he locks these
and a hundred other things, and day after day he stitched and tinkered and hammered
away, till at last was done, the greatest invention under the sun.
And now says Darius, hooray for some fun.
Was the fourth of July and the weather was dry and not a cloud was on all the sky, save
a few light fleeces which here and there, half mist, half air, like foam on the ocean
went floating by.
Just as lovely a morning as ever was seen for a nice little trip in a flying machine.
But Darius, I'll fly a few times around the lot to see how it seems, then soon as I've
got the hang of the thing, as likely as not, I'll astonish the nation and all creation
by flying over the celebration.
And away he sped to open the wonderful box in the shed.
Quickly, Darius dressed for flight, put on his wings and strapped them tight, jointed
and jaunty, strong and light, buckled them fast to shoulder and hip, ten feet they measured
from tip to tip.
Now he stretches those wings like a monstrous bat, peeks over his shoulder this way and
that for to see if there's anyone passing by.
But there's only a calf and a guzzling knife.
They turn up at him a wondering eye to see, by golly, he's going to fly.
Away he goes.
Jiminy, what a jump, flop, flop and plump to the ground with a thump, fluttering and
floundering all in a lump.
Poor old Darius, upon his ground in the midst of the barnyard he came down in a wonderful
world of tangled strings, broken braces and broken springs, broken tail and broken wings,
shooting stars and various things.
Away with a bellow fled the calf, and what was that, did the guzzling laugh, tis a merry
roar from the old barn door.
And he hears the voices of people crying, say Darius, how do you like flying?
Slowly, ruefully, where he lay, Darius just turned and looked that way.
Well, I think flying is sure all right, he said, but there isn't such a thundering sight
of fun in it when you come to light.
I just have room for the moral here, and this is the moral, stick to your sphere.
Or if you insist, as you have the right, on spreading your wings for a loftier flight,
the moral is, take care how you like.