Provenance and disclaimer: As told by "Lone Wolf" McGinty in 1903. McGinty,whose life and times have been well-chronicled, panhandled for gold after the big rush, homesteaded, and worked for a period at the Egan Canyon Ranch near Cherry Creek where he claimed to have known a some-time cowpuncher, gambler and gunfighter of German-Mexican ancestry named Klaus Santana. Historians now suspect that "Big Nick", as the stocky, happy-go-lucky gunslinger was sometimes called, was not German, but may have had a speech impediment. They agree with anthropologists from Reno, Nevada that this person was probably the cattle rustler, Joshua St. Nicholas, who was not Mexican either, but merely came from a border village, Santa Anna, now a ghost town. There remains much controversy over whether this legend is in fact the basis for modern-day Christmas celebrations world-wide, or whether, like the story of Johnny Appleseed, it is simply Americana folklore.
When Santa was a cowboy and
rode the chaparral,
Gunning desperados; for
doggies on the prowl,
He was never lonesome, out
on the open plain,
Cause Farley was his pony
and Squanto was his pal.
He liked to ride the
broncos, and had a gal named Jane.
He could rope and cut and
ride all day out in the pouring rain,
Eat beans, hard tack, and
coffee black; and swallow a whole pie,
Drink 'n gamble 'n fight all
night, then do it all again.
Bad luck always comes in
threes though nobody knows why:
Squanto got himself fired,
for drinking rotgut rye.
So Big Nick cussed the
ramrod, and there ensued a fight,
And Nick he vamoosed pronto
without kissing' Jane good-bye.
They dug spurs 'cross the
prairie, left the posse out of sight,
Splashed through Pinto Creek
in glimmering twilight.
By the time they got to Carson,
they were tired, it was late.
But the town was full for
rodeo, no place to spend the night.
Sometime in late December,
though I don't recall the date,
A stranger playing five-card
stud; they anteed up their fate.
The game went back and forth
that night and Big Nick bet in haste.
And so when Nick showed
seven, the stranger drew an eight.
Big Nick went to pull his
tile but the stranger was too fast,
So Nick just reached for
heaven and thought he'd breathed his last.
The stranger, he just
smiled, and put away his gun:
He made Nick vow to start
afresh and leave behind his past.
Was the stranger Ringo, or
maybe Bat Masterson?
He may have started
Christmas, which brings joy to everyone.
To avoid the hoosegow, Nick
grew whiskers ear to ear,
And now brings gifts for
children: His work is never done!
Jane is now called Mrs.
Claus; Nick took to herding deer;
Squanto heads a team of
elves who make toys the livelong year.
But if you ever rode a
horse, or slept beneath the stars,
You know Santa's still a
cowboy, and so, be of good cheer.