JUNIOR KING’S BUSINESS edited, by Martha S. Hooker
Another Western Adventure with Leonard Eilers
THE FRONTIER FARR AFFAIR
O ur western story this month is built around a young fellow by the name of Casey Wilknott. Our trails crossed years ago up at Fron tier Park near Cheyenne. Casey turned out to be about the most u n g r a t e f u l hoy I’ve ever known. Sorta reminds me of some men we read about in the Bible. You’ll see what I mean as we read Luke 17, starting with verse 11. “ And it came to pass, as he went to J e r u s a l em , , t ha t he passed through the midst of Samaria and Galilee. And as he entered into a ;ertain village, there met him ten men that were lepers, which stood afar off: And they lifted up their voices,, and said, Jesus, Master, have mercy on us. And when he saw them, he said unto them, Go shew yourselves unto the priests. And it came to pass, that as they went, they were cleansed. And one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, and with a loud voice glorified God, and fell down on his face at his feet, giving him thanks: and he was a Samari tan. And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed? but where are the nine? There are not
found that returned to give to God, save this stranger. And he said unto him, Arise, go thy way: thy faith hath made thee whole” (Luke 17: 11-19). Imagine Jesus healing 10 men at one time of that terrible disease leprosy! And imagine only one of them thanked Jesus. It’s sure hard to understand how anyone who had been healed could go away without showing some sign of gratitude. But I reckon there’ll always be a few folks around who aren’t grate ful for what’s been done for them. Like I said, Casey Wilknott was that kind of a boy. It was the middle of summer when I met Casey. W indy Brown and I had just finished supper. It was his turn to do the dishes, so I had gone outside. Our little kitchen was a room built right onto the end of the long, low bam. At the time there were just the two of us on the job looking after the show stock, and we were baching. M y chair was leaning against the side of the buildings and I was enjoying the coolness of the evening. Looking around at the scenery my eyes stopped at the big Frontier Park
gate. A man was slowly coming my way. When he got nearer, I began to wonder who he was and where he came from. His clothes were dirty and greasy and his face was as black as though he had arrived by way of a coal chute. He was young, hardly more than a boy. “ Howdy stranger,” I called try ing to make him feel welcome, “ looking for someone?” “ No,” he said, “ just for some place where I can get something to eat, and may be --- well, a place to sleep.” “Well, I reckon we can take care of that.” I told him to get washed, pointing to a bucket of water, wash basin and soap which was on a bench outside the kitchen door. I went inside to get him some supper. While he ate I found out his name and that he had arrived in Cheyenne late that afternoon, hav ing bummed his way on a freight train. He told me he had no home, that his father was dead and that his mother had left him in an or phanage. He didn’t know where she was. They were mean to him at the orphanage so he ran away. Sure made a sad story and natu-
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