household

In order to protect the tiger from the hunters' arrows and spears, the magistrate ordered a large copper pendent made to hang around the beast's neck. The words "Fu Chee" were engraved on the pendent meaning Tiger Son. To show her deep gratitude, Chen Ma knelt down in front of the magistrate and knocked her forehead three times. Then she led Fu Chee back to their home in the forest.


By next winter, Fu Chee had grown into his maximum size. Chen Ma's hut was in danger of collapsin


g whenever the tiger became playful. Reluctantly, she allowed Fu Chee to make his home inside a cave nearby.






However, the affectionate tiger came back to visit his adopted mother often, always bearing a gift in his mouth -- a dead deer or a large piece of tree branch. Also, he still liked to lick her shoes and to have his ears rubbed. Chen Ma's needs were being cared for just as if her natural son was still alive!




After Chen Ma died at the ripe old age past one hundred, the hunters noticed Fu Chee guarded her tomb nightly. They left him unmolested as he had never attacked any humans or domestic animals. This went on for a number of years and then one day the tiger was seen no more.





Out of deep respect and admiration for the filial tiger son, the hunters erected a small stone monument at Chen Ma's tomb with Fu Chee's story engraved on it. Henceforth, Fu Chee became a household legend in that part of Shanxi Province.

tears in her eyes

Chen Ma armed herself with her son's hunting spear and threatened to gut anyone who dared to harm her beloved pet.




"I've lost both husband and son. This tiger is the only companion I have now. I shall go to the magistrate and request to adopt him as my son."




The hunters thought the old woman had become mad and jeered at her. But since she was so determined, they dared not kill her tiger without the magistrate's permission. So they followed Chen Ma and her tiger all the way to the official's judgment hall.




"Venerable Mother," said the magistrate. "Your request is most unusual. Are you not afraid that some day the tiger might revert to his wild nature and devour you?"





"Honorable sir," replied the old widow with tears in her eyes. "What is there to fear? I have lived too long. The only worry I have now is being left utterly alone. Please let me adopt this young tiger, for he has become like a son in my affections."




The kindly magistrate did not have the heart to refuse such an ancient woman's pleading. So he had his assistant draw up a document for the tiger's adoption.

Tiger Son

Once there was an elderly widow, Chen Ma, who lived with her only son inside a forest in the Shanxi Province. Her son was one of the tiger hunters licensed by the local magistrate, following the same profession of his father and grandfather before him. His share of the profits from the sale of tiger skins, meat and bones was sufficient to keep the small mud hut well provisioned for himself and his old mother.



All was well until a particularly bitter winter. During a snowstorm, Chen Ma's son was separated from his fellow hunters and became food for a hungry tiGREss.




After her initial shock and grief subsided, Chen Ma took stock of her own utterly desperate situation -- an old woman left all alone. She went and implored the magistrate to provide her with compensation for the loss of her son, who was her only source of support. The magistrate decreed that henceforth, she would have a small share of profits from the kill of each tiger by the hunters. Needless to say, his decision was not taken well by the hunters, who had plenty of mouths of their own to feed -- both old and young.





So, when the hunters succeeded in killing the tiGREss that ate Chen Ma's son, they decided not to give her a share of the profits. Instead, they brought her the tigress' newborn cub. He was a small quivery ball of golden fur with wobbly legs and toothless gums. The rope they tied around his neck was so tight that it was practically choking him. Instantly, Chen Ma's heart went out to this helpless creature, whose jade-green eyes were glistening with tears.




After the hunters left, the tiger cub wobbled to where Chen Ma sat and lay at her feet. She bent down to rub his ears and he licked her shoes with his soft tongue.

nearby villages

The elderly widow looked at the tiger baby and sighed. "They told me to butcher you, to salt and smoke your flesh for my meat supply. Your skin would make warm boots for my feet; your bones are good for making Tiger Bone Wine to ease the pain in my joints. But oh, how can I bear to kill you? You are so young and vital, while I am so old and frail."





And so, Chen Ma untied the rope from the little tiger's neck and fed him a paste of cooked roots with her fingers. Her son had a good supply of grains and roots in the attached shed and she planned to stretch the food out to last the winter.




When the store o


f the firewood was running low, Chen Ma was unable to keep her bedroll on top of the kang warm (a kang is a bed base built of bricks with space for a small fire). So she slept curling against the baby tiger, whose soft fur was cozy and warm.




Once ever so often, women from nearby villages would bring sewing for Chen Ma to do. She was very handy with a needle. They paid her for her labor with dried venison and small sacks of grain. At first they did not find the little tiger's presence alarming; he was no bigger than a piglet. However, when spring came, he had grown into the size of a calf, showing a full set of teeth and claws. The women told their hunter husbands and the men came to kill the young tiger.

this time

But Sliver Pete was unconcerned and made it a point to look bored. He had holstered his gun and started his walk back to the saloon when he noticed the body of the Preacher begin to move. Now Sliver Pete had never failed to kill with his first shot and he watched, fascinated, as the Preacher stood up and again pointed his borrowed gun. So Sliver Pete had to shoot him again, actually two shots just to be sure. The Preacher fell like a cut tree, straight down with his face in the dirt.

Sliver wiped his forehead with his gun hand still holding the gun and his eyes steady on the body of the Preacher. But what he hadn't expected to happen happened yet again. The crowd gasped as they saw the Preacher struggle once more to his feet.

This time Sliver Pete didn't even give the Preacher a chance to aim. For the first time in his life there was fear in his expression. Two gun shots rang out and the Preacher pitched over.

The crowd edged back from the street. There was something decidedly unnerving and otherworldly about


this gunfight when a man wouldn't stay dead. It occurred to them maybe the Preacher had spoke the truth about his conversation with God. The same thing had occurred to Sliver Pete, because with a pale face he very slowly approached the body. He was 20 feet away when the Preacher again struggled to his knees and then his feet, this time holding out his hand palm up as if to say, "You owe me that money". The Preacher's black eyes bored into and through Sliver Pete and understandably Sliver responded with panic, this time aiming at the Preacher's head. It was his last bullet.

As the shot rang out Preacher Dan's hand slapped his forehead and his body swung a complete circle before falling face down into the dirt. Nobody and nothing moved except a corner of the Preacher's black jacket caught by a gust of wind. Sliver Pete was shaking so bad he simply couldn't tear his gaze off that body and the crowd looked from him to it and didn't know which was more incredible. They'd never seen Sliver Pete so afraid nor witnessed a dead man come back to life before.

turned down

"Is that so? Let the Lord decide. That is, if you care to take your fight to the street where it's right and proper and you're not afraid to meet your maker," said the Preacher.

"Why, you don't even own a gun," sneered Sliver, "And you wouldn't know to shoot one anyhow." He literally spit out the words.

"I'm no match, that fact's assured. But God said I'd have that money tonight and you won't make him a liar." The Preacher's eyes narrowed with serious intent. "So long as someone here sees fit to loan me his gun, whomever remains standing will have spoke the truth."

Because Sliver Pete had never turned down a gunfight in his life and the Preacher was handed a gunbelt with two guns by the bartender, they ended up outside at opposite ends of the street. A small crowd gathered, not so much to witness Sliver Pete kill another man, but in sympathetic support of a foolish preacher who was about to die for the sake of his church.

The two men stood there a seeming eternity, each with their gun hand poised and ready. Then gun fire rang out and the look and smell of gun smoke filled the air. Sliver Pete blew away the smoke at end of his gun barrel as he saw the tall figure of Preacher Dan hit the dirt. Cries of anguish came from womenfolk in the crowd.

The voice

Sliver Pete jumped to his feet, sliding his chair back with a squeal. But just as quick the Preacher leaned over and retrieved the gun, wiping it with his jacket hem and sleeve. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, handing it back.

"Better sorry than dead," growled Sliver Pete. But there was a noticeable sigh of relief from the room as he holstered the 45 and sat back down.

After that things seemed to pick up speed as the bets got bigger. Mike McGREw pushed away from the table. "Too rich for my blood," he said. Now there were three left at the table, including Sliver and the Preacher, and Sliver Pete was winning big time. He had a small mountain of bills and coins and, recklessly, was playing for bigger and bigger stakes.

If Preacher Dan felt pressure he didn't show it although all his Church money was fast going to Sliver Pete. At last, just before dusk, the last call of cards came and Sliver had won it all. He wrapped his burly arms about the pot and began drawing it to him.

"Just a moment


." The voice was soft and deadly and a startled Sliver didn't at first realize it came from the Preacher who added, "You been cheating all night and if you take that money now you can add thievery to the deed."

Sliver's hand went to his gun, but knowing the Preacher didn't carry a gun he held it there like a threat. "I don't cheat and I don't let no one call me one neither. Not even a preacher."

examined it

The man called himself Preacher Dan. He said he hadn't come to stay but he was in our town on the Lord's business to get money to build a church. He'd already acquired most of it, but people were surprised when he said he planned on making the remainder by playing cards and that God had told him he would win the rest that he needed in just one night. Although such behavior was improper for a preacher nobody questioned it. He had a quiet manner and quick smile and, anyway, strangers never stayed too long.



That afternoon the card game started early. Among the four players around the table was Sliver Pete. Sliver Pete was his mean self, slouched in his chair with a whisky at his elbow. I was told Preacher Dan didn't say a word the first hour although he smiled readily enough if anyone caught his eye.

The first two games were won by Mike McGREw and Tom Eider, town regulars. The purse was small. There was static in the air like just before an electric storm. The third game the purse grew bigger and Sliver Pete won this round. He smiled for the first time and Preacher Dan smiled back.

"Nice going." the Preacher said. "I see the Lord's in need of help tonight."

Sliver Pete smirked.

But Preacher Dan wasn't finished. "I been eyeing that gun of yours. May I see it?"

The room GREw suddenly quiet as Sliver Pete's smile vanished as quick as a Bluetail fly beneath a horse's tail swat. "No man touches my gun but me."

"Oh. I didn't mean anything by it," the Preacher grinned. "You know I'm not a man. Just a messenger of God. Don't usually cotton to guns either, but I hear you're right handy with one and I sure wanted to see the smoker that's done the damage."

Perhaps it was the hint of admiration in his voice, or maybe God intervened to soften Sliver's mood, but to everyone's surprise, Sliver Pete unholstered his Colt 45 and put it on the table. His eyes glowered about the room as if daring anybody to disapprove.

Preacher Dan calmly retrieved the gun and examined it thoroughly, looking up the barrel and bouncing it gently in his hand to weigh it. Suddenly, unaccountably it slipped from his fingers onto the floor. Kerplunk...

Sliver Pete

I've never told this story before, but just the same I'm telling you now.

I was a boy of 8 in 1885 and I lived in a small town out west with my baby sister and my folks who ran the local delivery stable. It might not have been such a bad place except for one man.

His name was Sliver Pete and we thought him the meanest, ugliest, most cussed hombre that ever packed a gun and it was well known he carried a Colt 45. He didn't much like to work, was a cowpoke a few months out of the year and the rest of the time he played and cheated at cards and killed anybody who called him on it. Then for recreation or just pure spite he killed every sheriff that ever tried to arrest him. There wasn't a soul that didn't fear Sliver Pete, even my Father.

The townspeople ended up offering a reward of $20,000 to anyone who could either run Sliver Pete out of town or put him in his grave. Mind you, that was a fortune in those days but when Sliver Pete heard there was a price on his head he just laughed and shot up the saloon and then the bakery. He said he was worth much more money than that. And when stranger after stranger came to collect the reward they came to stay because Sliver Pete put them in the town cemetery.

One very windy day the stagecoach arrived in town with an unusual passenger. I was there to witness it because it was my duty to water the stagecoach horses. The stagecoach door swung open and a single man, tall and gaunt and dressed in a brown/black coat and hat, with a white collar, stepped out. I had seen pictures of Abraham Lincoln and that is who this man reminded me of, although I knew Abraham Lincoln would not have been wearing a preacher's clothes. He waved the coachman away as he reached for his own trunk off the roof of the coach. The trunk was wrapped in a blue cloth that flapped in the wind although partially tied with a rope. Just as he got it to the ground a gust tore at the material and I clearly saw the writing on its side. He grabbed the cloth and stuffed it back into place, glancing straight at me. Then he smiled a slow smile, winked, and put his index finger to his mouth as if to say we shared a secret. That's the only incident I saw myself and all the rest I heard secondhand through either my folks or my friends.

masterpiece

Another three, four months passed and finally half a year went by. Senior Bartoli, the patron, marched in demanding of Monsieur l'Abbaye, the master artist, to see his portrait, "You must be finished by now and today I will see it!" he shouted, shaking with frustration.




Stepping from behind the cloth as though surprised by such anger, Monsieur l'Abbaye said calmly. "That's fine. You needed only to request it." And he pulled aside the 20-foot curtain.




Guiliano Bartoli stood for a minute and then his mouth fell open, his eyes turned red and he grabbed what few hairs he had left on his head. He did a little hop, and then a twitch, and his eyebrows contorted as though bewitched. Guiliano Bartoli obviously did not like his portrait, not a bit. Guiliano Bartoli threw a fit.




"How absurd, how obscene. What does this mean? You'll not receive one Florine, do you hear? You're not an artist, maybe a thief or a madman. Get out of my sight! You'll leave my house tonight or I'll throw you out!"




So what had Monsieur l'Abbaye drawn that was wrong? He couldn't see it, he'd fussed and fixed for so long. It was his masterpiece. He wasn't sorry, no, not at all, that he had drawn to his heart's content for 20 feet tall. No matter what


anybody could say, Monsieur Signy l'Abbaye had drawn it his way. Perhaps his patron couldn't tolerate his obsession with cubist expression, but Picasso would have been proud.




If truth be told Monsieur l'Abbaye wasn't crazy, surely. He'd simply been born 500 years too early!

coming well

Signing the contract, they sealed the aGREement.




Immediately the master artist threw a high curtain in front of the wall, a curtain through which Senior Bartoli couldn't see at all. He tried to peek, but Monsieur l'Abbaye insisted on total privacy for his artistic techniques.




A week passed. "How is it coming?" asked the hopeful Senior Bartoli.




Answering him from behin


d the curtain, Monsieur l'Abbaye said, "It's coming quite well. You know, at the age of eight I was apprentice to the GREat Ambrogio Lorenzetti. I could never dishonor his name. He taught me the art of grinding pigment, laying plaster, sometimes slowly, sometimes faster. He taught me how to draw and, most important, not to hurry. My training was rigorous and after certification even more vigorous. Senior Bartoli, a masterpiece... takes a while at least."




Reluctantly, Senior Bartoli withdrew.




A month passed. "How is it coming?" Senior Bartoli asked.




"It's coming well," said Monsieur l'Abbaye, again from behind the curtain. Along with his words came the strange sounds of swooshing, clanking and slapping. "You know you're fortunate it's I painting your portrait. Only buon fresco will do. It's four coats of lime plaster. First layer the trullisatio, followed by the arriccio, then the anenato and finally the intonaco not to mention the part where I draw. But it's the best plaster process I ever saw. Senior Bartoli, it will last forever, but alas, it's a time-consuming endeavor."




Sighing deeply, the patron again withdrew. Just how long would this take? Who knew?

The master artist

Monsieur Signy l'Abbaye was a master artist in his day, who in 1392 was ready to retire. It was the month of May. But Guiliano Bartoli, a rich Italian patron, sent for him saying, "I'd like a portrait of myself on my banquet room wall. Could you paint it? It's 20 feet tall."





Contemplating this request, Monsieur l'Abbaye shook his head. "I'm ready to retire, so I'm not available for hire. I'm sorry. I simply can't paint your portrait." But seeing the disappointment in Senior Bartoli's eyes, he continued, "Well, there's a possibility if you can find it in your heart to allow me to explore the limits of my abilities. Not for money mind you, but for food and a bed instead. Furthermore, you need not even pose because my memory's excellent. Already I can see your portrait and how to derive it. But I insist, Senior Bartoli, while I work your portrait stays private -- even from you!"




This is strange, thought the patron, but he also thought about how highly the artist had been recommended. "Of course," he said "Anything you wish, but I insist upon paying you at least something for your effort. Let's draw up a contract."





Now a glint came to Monsieur l'Abbaye's eyes as he gazed upon that 20-foot wall and thought of all that space, such a wonderful place for schemes and things to give imagination wings. Because, unknown to Senior Bartoli, or anyone else for that matter, for all of his career (which was 45 years) Monsieur L'Abbaye had yearned to paint in his own way. And what way was that? Certainly not the style of Byzantine or of Proto-Renaissance. No. Monsieur Signy l'Abbaye had hungered to break free of restraints. But the guild, his craft and livelihood, would never have allowed it so he followed their rules although never proud of it. Of course he didn't reveal this to Senior Bartoli.

jokes and laughter

Today Sti'Tumma would begin the trail ride by trailing the riders. She took her time, although Zoomer wanted to be in the lead of the pack. What a lovely day, open views for nice photos, and she noticed that the riders were taking some lovely shots. Zoomer was becoming impatient, so Sti'Tumma let him walk a bit faster to get to the head of the riders. She was almost to the beginning of the riders when a pair of riders, an elder cowboy and his wife, moved up to talk to her. The lady asked, "We were wondering if you are a medicine lady, you have all the scalps with beadwork on them displayed on your saddle. And we wanted to know how you got anyone to actually touch the scalps to put the beadwork on them."




Sti'Tumma started chuckling, and then broke out in laughter! Her younger brother, the lead


trail guide for today, stopped the group to check on his sister. Sti'Tumma decided this was a good spot to take a break and talk about the shooflies she was so proud of. By the time the riders started off again on the ride, the whole Country Trail Ride crew were amazed at how many of these city cowboys and cowgirls didn't understand the Native Americans at all, they still believed there was scalping and raiding going on within the reservation! Scalps, what a joke, now every trail guide would want to be decorated with the "scalps" displayed on their horse to show their "honor within the Tribe"!




Since that ride, and all the jokes and laughter about the medicine lady and her scalps, Gilly has been able to have a dozen "imitation scalps" beaded and ready for sale at each trail ride during the lunch break at the wonderful and remodeled old campsite.

Lovers

Lovers have more reason than ever to celebrate this Valentine's Day, as a new scientific theory has suggested a healthy and loving relationship is good for the heart.
Research suggests that being involved in any type of healthy and close relationship may have a lot of positive health benefits, Julie Damp, a cardiologist at the Vanderbilt Heart and Vascular Institute in the United States, said in a press release on Tuesday.
"There are a couple of different theories behind why that might be," she said.
Most of the theories seem to be related to the fact that people who are married or in close, healthy relationships tend to be less likely to smoke, are more physically active and more likely to have a well-developed social structure.
In addition, they are likely to have lower levels of stress and anxiety in their lives.
"There is a theory that people who are in loving relationships may experience neuro-hormonal changes that have positive effects on the body, including the cardiovascular system," Damp said, explaining there are certain hormone levels in the body that vary depending on individuals' levels of stress and anxiety.
Chocolates and red wine are popular gifts for lovers, and studies have suggested they are also good for the heart.

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