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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Wolfville, by Alfred Henry Lewis
+#2 in our series by Alfred Henry Lewis
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+Jan 2003 Wolfville Days, by Alfred Henry Lewis[wlfdzxxx.xxx]3667
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+Title: Wolfville
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+Author: Alfred Henry Lewis
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+
+
+
+WOLFVILLE
+
+BY
+
+ALFRED HENRY LEWIS
+(Dan Quin)
+
+
+
+
+TO
+WILLIAM RANDOLPH HEARST
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+    CHAPTER I.   WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL
+   CHAPTER II.   THE STINGING LIZARD
+  CHAPTER III.   THE STORY OF WILKINS
+   CHAPTER IV.   THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR
+    CHAPTER V.   ENRIGHT'S PARD, JIM WILLIS
+   CHAPTER VI.   TUCSON JENNIE'S HEART
+  CHAPTER VII.   TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY
+ CHAPTER VIII.   THE MAN FROM RED DOG
+   CHAPTER IX.   CHEROKEE HALL
+    CHAPTER X.   TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION"
+   CHAPTER XI.   A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING
+  CHAPTER XII.   THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE
+ CHAPTER XIII.   JACKS UP ON EIGHTS
+  CHAPTER XIV.   THE RIVAL DANCE-HALLS
+   CHAPTER XV.   SLIM JIM'S SISTER
+  CHAPTER XVI.   JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE
+ CHAPTER XVII.   BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE
+CHAPTER XVIII.   DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS
+  CHAPTER XIX.   MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF
+   CHAPTER XX.   A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING
+  CHAPTER XXI.   BILL HOSKINS'S COON
+ CHAPTER XXII.   OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE,"
+CHAPTER XXIII.   PINON BILL'S BLUFF
+ CHAPTER XXIV.   CRAWFISH JIM
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+These tales by the Old Cattleman have been submitted to perhaps a
+dozen people. They have read, criticised, and advised. The advice
+was good; the criticism just. Some suggested a sketch which might in
+detail set forth Toffville; there were those who wanted something
+like a picture of the Old Cattleman; while others urged an
+elaboration of the personal characteristics of Old Man Enright, Doc
+Peets, Cherokee Hall, Moore, Tutt, Boggs, Faro Nell, Old Monte, and
+Texas Thompson. I have, how-ever, concluded to leave all these
+matters to the illustrations of Mr. Remington and the imaginations
+of those who read. I think it the better way-certainly it is the
+easier one for me. I shall therefore permit the Old Cattleman to
+tell his stories in his own fashion. The style will be crude,
+abrupt, and meagre, but I trust it will prove as satisfactory to the
+reader as it has to me.
+
+     A. H. L.
+     New York, May 15,1897.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL.
+
+
+"These yere obsequies which I'm about mentionin'," observed the Old
+Cattleman, "is the first real funeral Wolfville has."
+
+The old fellow had lighted a cob pipe and tilted his chair back in a
+fashion which proclaimed a plan to be comfortable. He had begun to
+tolerate--even encourage--my society, although it was clear that as
+a tenderfoot he regarded me with a species of gentle disdain.
+
+I had provoked the subject of funeral ceremonies by a recurrence to
+the affair of the Yellowhouse Man, and a query as to what would have
+been the programme of the public-spirited hamlet of Wolfville if
+that invalid had died instead of yielding to the nursing of Jack
+Moore and that tariff on draw-poker which the genius of Old Man
+Enright decreed.
+
+It came in easy illustration, as answer to my question, for the Old
+Cattleman to recall the funeral of a former leading spirit of
+Southwestern society. The name of this worthy was Jack King; and
+with a brief exposition of his more salient traits, my grizzled
+raconteur led down to his burial with the remark before quoted.
+
+"Of course," continued the Old Cattleman, "of course while thar's
+some like this Yallerhouse gent who survives; thar's others of the
+boys who is downed one time an' another, an' goes shoutin' home to
+heaven by various trails. But ontil the event I now recalls, the
+remainders has been freighted east or west every time, an' the camp
+gets left. It's hard luck, but at last it comes toward us; an' thar
+we be one day with a corpse all our'n, an' no partnership with
+nobody nor nothin'.
+
+"'It's the chance of our life,' says Doc Peets, 'an' we plays it.
+Thar's nothin' too rich for our blood, an' these obsequies is goin'
+to be spread-eagle, you bet! We'll show Red Dog an' sim'lar villages
+they ain't sign-camps compared with Wolfville.'
+
+"So we begins to draw in our belts an' get a big ready. Jack King,
+as I says before, is corpse, eemergin' outen a game of poker as
+sech. Which prior tharto, Jack's been peevish, an' pesterin' an'
+pervadin' 'round for several days. The camp stands a heap o' trouble
+with him an' tries to smooth it along by givin' him his whiskey an'
+his way about as he wants 'em, hopin' for a change. But man is only
+human, an' when Jack starts in one night to make a flush beat a tray
+full for seven hundred dollars, he asks too much.
+
+"Thar ain't no ondertakers, so we rounds up the outfit, an' knowin'
+he'd take a pride in it, an' do the slam-up thing, we puts in Doc
+Peets to deal the game unanimous.
+
+"'Gents,' he says, as we-alls turns into the Red Light to be
+refreshed, 'in assoomin' the present pressure I feels the
+compliments paid me in the seelection. I shall act for the credit of
+the camp, an' I needs your help. I desires that these rites be a
+howlin' vict'ry. I don't want people comin' 'round next week
+allowin' thar ain't been no funeral, an' I don't reckon much that
+they will. We've got the corpse, an' if we gets bucked off now it's
+our fault.'
+
+"So he app'ints Old Monte an' Dan Boggs to go for a box for Jack,
+an' details a couple of niggers from the corral to dig a tomb.
+
+"'An' mind you-alls,' says Peets, `I wants that hole at least a mile
+from camp. In order to make a funeral a success, you needs distance.
+That's where deceased gets action. It gives the procession a chance
+to spread an' show up. You can't make no funeral imposin' except
+you're plumb liberal on distances.'
+
+"It all goes smooth right off the reel. We gets a box an' grave
+ready, an' Peets sticks up a notice on the stage-station door,
+settin' the excitement for third-drink time next day. Prompt at the
+drop of the hat the camp lets go all holds an' turns loose in a body
+to put Jack through right. He's laid out in splendid shape in the
+New York Store, with nothin' to complain of if he's asked to make
+the kick himse'f. He has a new silk necktie, blue shirt an' pearl
+buttons, trousers, an' boots. Some one--Benson Annie, I reckons--has
+pasted some co't plaster over the hole on his cheek-bone where the
+bullet gets in, an' all 'round Jack looks better than I ever sees
+him.
+
+"'Let the congregation remove its hats,' says Peets, a-settin' down
+on a box up at Jack's head, 'an' as many as can will please get
+somethin' to camp on. Now, my friends," he continues, "thar ain't no
+need of my puttin' on any frills or gettin' in any scroll work. The
+objects of this convention is plain an' straight. Mister King, here
+present, is dead. Deceased is a very headstrong person, an' persists
+yesterday in entertainin' views touchin' a club flush, queen at the
+head, which results in life everlastin'. Now, gents, this is a
+racket full of solemnity. We wants nothin' but good words. Don't
+mind about the trooth; which the same ain't in play at a funeral,
+nohow. We all knows Jack; we knows his record. Our information is
+ample that a-way; how he steals a hoss at Tucson; how be robs a gent
+last fall at Tombstone; how he downs a party at Cruces; how that
+scar on his neck he gets from Wells-Fargo's people when he stands up
+the stage over on the Lordsburg trail. But we lays it all aside to-
+day. We don't copper nary bet. Yesterday mornin', accompanied by the
+report of a Colt's forty-five, Mister King, who lies yere so cool
+an' easy, leaves us to enter in behind the great white shinin' gates
+of pearl an' gold, which swings inward to glory eternal. It's a
+great set back at this time thar ain't no sky-pilot in the camp.
+This deeficiency in sky-pilots is a hoss onto us, but we does our
+best. At a time like this I hears that singin' is a good, safe
+break, an' I tharfore calls on that little girl from Flagstaff to
+give us "The Dyin' Ranger."
+
+"So the little Flagstaff girl cl'ars her valves with a drink, an'
+gives us the song; an' when the entire congregation draws kyards on
+the last verse it does everybody good.
+
+   "'Far away from his dear old Texas,
+     We laid him down to rest;
+     With his saddle for a pillow,
+     And his gun across his breast.'
+
+"Then Peets gets out the Scriptures. 'I'm goin' to read a chapter
+outen these yere Testaments,' he says. 'I ain't makin' no claim for
+it, except it's part of the game an' accordin' to Hoyle. If thar's a
+preacher yere he'd do it, but bein' thar's no sech brand on this
+range I makes it as a forced play myse'f.'
+
+"So he reads us, a chapter about the sepulcher, an' Mary Magdalene,
+an' the resurrection; an' everybody takes it in profound as prairie-
+dogs, for that's the lead to make, an' we knows it.
+
+"Then Peets allows he'd like to hear from any gent onder the head of
+'good of the order.'
+
+"'Mister Ondertaker an' Chairman,' says Jim Hamilton, 'I yields to
+an inward impulse to say that this yere play weighs on me plumb
+heavy. As keeper of the dance-hall I sees a heap of the corpse an'
+knows him well. Mister King is my friend, an' while his moods is
+variable an' oncertain; an' it's cl'arly worth while to wear your
+gun while he's hoverin' near, I loves him. He has his weaknesses, as
+do we all. A disp'sition to make new rooles as he plays along for
+sech games of chance as enjoys his notice is perhaps his greatest
+failin'. His givin' way to this habit is primar'ly the cause of his
+bein' garnered in. I hopes he'll get along thar, an' offers a side
+bet, even money, up to five hundred dollars, he will. He may alter
+his system an' stand way up with the angels an' seraphs, an' if
+words from me could fix it, I'd shorely stack 'em in. I would say
+further that after consultin' with Billy Burns, who keeps the Red
+Light, we has, in honor of the dead an' to mark the occasion of his
+cashin' in, agreed upon a business departure of interest to all.
+This departure Mister Burns will state. I mournfully gives way to
+him for said purpose.'
+
+"'Mister Peets, an' ladies an' gents,' says Burns, 'like Mister
+Hamilton, who I'm proud to meet yere as gent, citizen, an' friend, I
+knows deceased. He's a good man, an' a dead-game sport from 'way
+back. A protracted wrastle with the remorseless drinks of the
+frontier had begun to tell on him, an' for a year or so he's been
+liable to have spells. Referrin' to the remarks of Mister Hamilton,
+I states that by agreement between us an' in honor to departed, the
+quotations on whiskey in this yere camp, from now on, will be two
+drinks for two bits, instead of one as previous. We don't want to
+onsettle trade, an' we don't believe this will. We makes it as a ray
+of light in the darkness an' gloom of the hour.
+
+"After this yere utterance, which is well received, we forms the
+procession. Doc Peets, with two buglers from the Fort, takes the
+lead, with Jack an' his box in one of the stage coaches comin' next.
+Enright, Tutt, Boggs, Short Creek Dave, Texas Thompson, an' me,
+bein' the six pallbearers, is on hosses next in line; an' Jack Moore
+commandin' of the rest of the outfit, lines out permiscus.
+
+"'This is a great day for Wolfville," says Peets, as he rides up an'
+down the line. 'Thar ain't no camp this side of St. Looey could turn
+this trick. Which I only wishes Jack could see it himse'f. It's more
+calculated to bring this outfit into fav'rable notice than a
+lynchin'.'
+
+"At the grave we turns in an' gives three cheers for King, an' three
+for Doc Peets; an' last we gives three more an' a tiger for the
+camp. The buglers cuts loose everythin' they knows, from the 'water-
+call' to the 'retreat,' an' while the niggers is a-shovelin' in the
+sand we bangs away with our six-shooters for general results
+delightful. You can gamble thar ain't been no funeral like it before
+or since.
+
+"At the last Peets hauls outen the stage we uses for Jack, a
+headboard. When it's set up it looks like if Jack ain't satisfied,
+he's shorely hard to suit. On it in big letters is:
+
+     JaCK KinG
+     LIfE AiN'T
+     IN
+     HOLDiNG A GOOD HAND
+     BUT
+     In PLAYiNG A PORE HANd
+     WeLL.
+
+"'You sees, we has to work in a little sentiment,' says Doc Peets.
+
+"Then we details the niggers to stand watch-an'-watch every night
+till further orders. No; we ain't afraid Jack'll get out none, but
+the coyotes is shore due to come an' dig for him, so the niggers has
+to stand gyard. We don't allow to find spec'mens of Jack spread
+'round loose after all the trouble we takes."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+THE STINGING LIZARD.
+
+
+"Thar's no sorter doubt to it," said the Old Cattleman after a long
+pause devoted to meditation, and finally to the refilling of his cob
+pipe, "thar ain't the slightest room for cavil but them ceremonies
+over Jack King, deceased, is the most satisfactory pageant Wolfville
+ever promotes."
+
+It was at this point I proved my cunning by saying nothing. I was
+pleased to hear the old man talk, and rightly theorized that the
+better method of invoking his reminiscences just at this time was to
+say never a word.
+
+"However," he continued, "I don't reckon it's many weeks after we
+follows Jack to the tomb, when we comes a heap near schedoolin'
+another funeral, with the general public a-contributin' of the
+corpse. To be speecific, I refers to a occasion when we-alls comes
+powerful close to lynchin' Cherokee Hall.
+
+"I don't mind on bosomin' myself about it. It's all a
+misonderstandin'; the same bein' Cherokee's fault complete. We don't
+know him more'n to merely drink with at that eepock, an' he's that
+sly an' furtive in his plays, an' covers his trails so speshul, he
+nacherally breeds sech suspicions that when the stage begins to be
+stood up reg'lar once a week, an' all onaccountable, Cherokee comes
+mighty close to culminatin' in a rope. Which goes to show that you
+can't be too open an' free in your game, an' Cherokee would tell you
+so himse'f.
+
+"This yere tangle I'm thinkin' of ain't more'n a month after
+Cherokee takes to residin' in Wolfville. He comes trailin' in one
+evenin' from Tucson, an' onfolds a layout an' goes to turnin' faro-
+bank in the Red Light. No one remarks this partic'lar, which said
+spectacles is frequent. The general idee is that Cherokee's on the
+squar' an' his game is straight, an' of course public interest don't
+delve no further into his affairs.
+
+"Cherokee, himse'f, is one of these yere slim, silent people who
+ain't talkin' much, an' his eye for color is one of them raw grays,
+like a new bowie.
+
+"It's perhaps the third day when Cherokee begins to struggle into
+public notice. Thar's a felon whose name is Boone, but who calls
+himse'f the 'Stingin' Lizard,' an' who's been pesterin' 'round
+Wolfville, mebby, it's a month. This yere Stingin' Lizard is thar
+when Cherokee comes into camp; an' it looks like the Stingin' Lizard
+takes a notion ag'in Cherokee from the jump.
+
+"Not that this yere Lizard is likely to control public feelin' in
+the matter; none whatever. He's some onpop'lar himself. He's too
+toomultuous for one thing, an' he has a habit of molestin' towerists
+an' folks he don't know at all, which palls on disinterested people
+who has dooties to perform. About once a week this Lizard man goes
+an' gets the treemers, an' then the camp has to set up with him till
+his visions subsides. Fact is, he's what you-alls East calls 'a
+disturbin' element,' an' we makes ready to hang him once or twice,
+but somethin' comes up an' puts it off, an' we sorter neglects it.
+
+"But as I says, he takes a notion ag'in Cherokee. It's the third
+night after Cherokee gets in, an' he's ca'mly behind his box at the
+Red Light, when in peramb'lates this Lizard. Seems like Cherokee,
+bein' one of them quiet wolves, fools up the Lizard a lot. This
+Lizard's been hostile an' blood-hungry all day, an' I reckons he all
+at once recalls Cherokee; an', deemin' of him easy, he allows he'll
+go an' chew his mane some for relaxation.
+
+"If I was low an' ornery like this Lizard, I ain't none shore but
+I'd be fooled them days on Cherokee myse'f. He's been fretful about
+his whiskey, Cherokee has,--puttin' it up she don't taste right,
+which not onlikely it don't; but beyond pickin' flaws in his nose-
+paint thar ain't much to take hold on about him. He's so slim an'
+noiseless besides, thar ain't none of us but figgers this yere
+Stingin' Lizard's due to stampede him if he tries; which makes what
+follows all the more impressive.
+
+"So the Lizard projects along into the Red Light, whoopin' an'
+carryin' on by himse'f. Straightway he goes up ag'inst Cherokee's
+layout.
+
+"I don't buy no chips," says the Lizard to Cherokee, as he gets in
+opposite. "I puts money in play; an' when I wins I wants money
+sim'lar. Thar's fifty dollars on the king coppered; an' fifty
+dollars on the eight open. Turn your kyards, an' turn 'em squar'. If
+you don't, I'll peel the ha'r an' hide plumb off the top of your
+head."
+
+"Cherokee looks at the Lizard sorter soopercillus an' indifferent;
+but he don't say nothin'. He goes on with the deal, an', the kyards
+comin' that a-way, he takes in the Lizard's two bets.
+
+"Durin' the next deal the Lizard ain't sayin' much direct, but keeps
+cussin' an' wranglin' to himse'f. But he's gettin' his money up all
+the time; an' with the fifty dollars he lose on the turn, he's shy
+mebby four hundred an' fifty at the close.
+
+"'Bein' in the hole about five hundred dollars,' says the Lizard, in
+a manner which is a heap onrespectful, ' an' so that a wayfarin'
+gent may not be misled to rooin utter, I now rises to ask what for a
+limit do you put on this deadfall anyhow?'
+
+"'The bridle's plumb off to you, amigo,' says Cherokee, an' his
+tones is some hard. I notices it all right enough, 'cause I'm doin'
+business at the table myse'f at the time, an' keepin' likewise case
+on the game. `The bridle's plumb off for you,' says Cherokee, 'so
+any notion you entertains in favor of bankruptin' of yourse'f quick
+may riot right along.'
+
+"'You're dead shore of that?' says the Lizard with a sneer. `Now I
+reckons a thousand-dollar bet would scare this puerile game you
+deals a-screechin' up a tree or into a hole, too easy.'
+
+"`I never likes to see no gent strugglin' in the coils of error,'
+says Cherokee, with a sneer a size larger than the Lizard's; `I
+don't know what wads of wealth them pore old clothes of yours
+conceals, but jest the same I tells you what I'll do. Climb right
+onto the layout, body, soul, an' roll, an' put a figger on your
+worthless se'f, an' I'll turn you for the whole shootin'-match.
+You're in yere to make things interestin', I sees that, an' I'll
+voylate my business principles an' take a night off to entertain
+you.' An' yere Cherokee lugs out a roll of bills big enough to choke
+a cow.
+
+"'I goes you if I lose,' says the Stingin' Lizard. Then assoomin' a
+sooperior air, he remarks: 'Mebby it's a drink back on the trail
+when I has misgivin's as to the rectitood of this yere brace you're
+dealin'. Bein' public-sperited that a-way, in my first frenzy I
+allows I'll take my gun an' abate it a whole lot. But a ca'mer mood
+comes on, an' I decides, as not bein' so likely to disturb a peace-
+lovin' camp, I removes this trap for the onwary by merely bustin'
+the bank. Thar,' goes on the Stingin' Lizard, at the same time
+dumpin' a large wad on the layout, 'thar's even four thousand
+dollars. Roll your game for that jest as it lays.'
+
+"'Straighten up your dust,' says Cherokee, his eyes gettin' a kind
+of gleam into 'em, 'straighten up your stuff an' get it some'ers.
+Don't leave it all spraddled over the scene. I turns for it ready
+enough, but we ain't goin' to argue none as to where it lays after
+the kyard falls.'
+
+"The rest of us who's been buckin' the game moderate an' right
+cashes in at this, an' leaves an onobstructed cloth to the Stingin'
+Lizard. This yere's more caution than good nacher. As long as folks
+is bettin' along in limits, say onder fifty dollars, thar ain't no
+shootin' likely to ensoo. But whenever a game gets immoderate that
+a-way, an' the limit's off, an' things is goin' that locoed they
+begins to play a thousand an' over on a kyard an' scream for action,
+gents of experience stands ready to go to duckin' lead an' dodgin'
+bullets instanter.
+
+"But to resoome: The Stingin' Lizard lines up his stuff, an' the
+deal begins. It ain't thirty seconds till the bank wins, an' the
+Stingin' Lizard is the wrong side of the layout from his money. He
+takes it onusual ugly, only he ain't sayin' much. He sa'nters over
+to the bar, an' gets a big drink. Cherokee is rifflin' the deck, but
+I notes he's got his gray eye on the Stingin' Lizard, an' my respect
+for him increases rapid. I sees he ain't goin' to get the worst of
+no deal, an' is organized to protect his game plumb through if this
+Lizard makes a break. "'Do you--all know where I hails from?' asks
+the Stingin' Lizard, comin' back to Cherokee after he's done hid his
+drink.
+
+"'Which I shorely don't;' says Cherokee. 'I has from time to time
+much worthless information thrust upon me, but so far I escapes all
+news of you complete.'
+
+"'Where I comes from, which is Texas,' says the Lizard, ignorin' of
+Cherokee's manner, the same bein' some insultin', `they teaches the
+babies two things,-never eat your own beef, an' never let no kyard-
+thief down you:
+
+"'Which is highly thrillin',' says Cherokee, 'as reminiscences of
+your yooth, but where does you-all get action on 'em in Arizona?'
+
+"'Where I gets action won't be no question long,' says the Lizard,
+mighty truculent. 'I now announces that this yere game is a skin an'
+a brace. Tharfore I returns for my money; an', to be frank, I
+returns a-shootin':
+
+"It's at this p'int we-alls who represents the public kicks back our
+chairs an' stampedes outen range. As the Lizard makes his bluff his
+hand goes to his artillery like a flash.
+
+"The Lizard's some quick, but Cherokee's too soon for him. With the
+first move of the Lizard's hand, he searches out a bowie from
+som'ers back of his neck. I'm some employed placin' myse'f at the
+time, an' don't decern it none till Cherokee brings it over his
+shoulder like a stream of white light.
+
+"It's shore great knife-work. Cherokee gives the Lizard aige an
+p'int, an' all in one motion. Before the Lizard more'n lifts his
+weepon, Cherokee half slashes his gun-hand off at the wrist; an'
+then, jest as the Lizard begins to wonder at it, he gets the nine-
+inch blade plumb through his neck. He's let out right thar.
+
+"'It looks like I has more of this thing to do,' says Cherokee, an'
+his tone shows he's half-way mournin' over it, ` than any sport in
+the Territory. I tries to keep outen this, but that Lizard gent
+would have it.'
+
+"After the killin', Enright an' Doc Peets, with Boggs, Tutt, an'
+Jack Moore, sorter talks it over quiet, an' allows it's all right.
+
+"'This Stingin' Lizard gent,' says Enright, has been projectin'
+'round lustin' for trouble now, mebby it's six weeks. It's amazin'
+to me he lasts as long as he does, an' it speaks volumes for the
+forbearin', law-abiding temper of the Wolfville public. This
+Lizard's a mighty oppressive person, an' a heap obnoxious; an' while
+I don't like a knife none myse'f as a trail out, an' inclines to
+distrust a gent who does, I s'pose it's after all a heap a matter of
+taste an' the way your folks brings you up. I leans to the view,
+gents, that this yere corpse is constructed on the squar'. What do
+you-all think, Peets?'
+
+"'I entertains ideas sim'lar,' says Doc Peets. 'Of course I takes it
+this kyard-sharp, Cherokee, aims to bury his dead. He nacherally
+ain't look. in' for the camp to go 'round cleanin' up after him
+none.' "That's about how it stands. Nobody finds fault with
+Cherokee, an' as he ups an' plants the Stingin' Lizard's remainder
+the next day, makin' the deal with a stained box, crape, an' the
+full regalia, it all leaves the camp with a mighty decent
+impression. By first-drink time in the evenin' of the second day, we
+ain't thinkin' no more about it.
+
+"Now you-all begins to marvel where do we get to the hangin' of
+Cherokee Hall? We're workin' in towards it now.
+
+"You sees, followin' the Stingin' Lizard's jump into the misty
+beyond--which it's that sudden I offers two to one them angels notes
+a look of s'prise on the Stingin' Lizard's face as to how he comes
+to make the trip-Cherokee goes on dealin' faro same as usual. As I
+says before, he ain't no talker, nohow; now he says less than ever.
+
+"But what strikes us as onusual is, he saddles up a pinto pony he's
+got over to the corral, an' jumps off every now an' then for two an'
+three days at a clatter. No one knows where he p'ints to, more'n he
+says he's due over in Tucson. These yere vacations of Cherokee's is
+all in the month after the Stingin' Lizard gets downed. "It's about
+this time, too, the stage gets held up sech a scand'lous number of
+times it gives people a tired feelin'. All by one party, too. He
+merely prances out in onexpected places with a Winchester; stands up
+the stage in an onconcerned way, an' then goes through everythin'
+an' everybody, from mail-bags to passengers, like the grace of
+heaven through a camp-meetin'. Nacheral, it all creates a heap of
+disgust. "'If this yere industrious hold-up keeps up his lick,' says
+Texas Thompson about the third time the stage gets rustled, `an'
+heads off a few more letters of mine, all I has to say is my wife
+back in Laredo ain't goin' to onderstand it none. She ain't lottin'
+much on me nohow, an' if the correspondence between us gets much
+more fitful, she's goin' p'intin' out for a divorce. This deal's
+liable to turn a split for me in my domestic affairs.' An' that's
+the way we-alls feels. This stage agent is shorely in disrepoot some
+in Wolfville. If he'd been shakin' up Red Dog's letter-bags, we
+wouldn't have minded so much.
+
+"I never does know who's the first to think of Cherokee Hall, but
+all at once it's all over camp Talkin' it over, it's noticed mighty
+soon that, come right to cases, no one knows his record, where he's
+been or why he's yere. Then his stampedin' out of camp like he's
+been doin' for a month is too many for us.
+
+"'I puts no trust in them Tucson lies he tells, neither,' says Doc
+Peets. 'Whatever would he be shakin' up over in Tucson? His game's
+yere, an' this theery that he's got to go scatterin' over thar once
+a week is some gauzy.'
+
+"'That's whatever,' says Dan Boggs, who allers trails in after Doc
+Peets, an' plays the same system emphatic. An' I says myse'f, not
+findin' no fault with Boggs tharfor, that this yere Peets is the
+finest-eddicated an' levelest-headed sharp in Arizona.
+
+"'Well,' says Jack Moore, who as I says before does the rope work
+for the Stranglers, 'if you-alls gets it settled that this faro
+gent's turnin' them tricks with the stage an' mail-bags, the sooner
+he's swingin' to the windmill, the sooner we hears from our loved
+ones at home. What do you say, Enright?'
+
+"'Why,' says Enright, all thoughtful, 'I reckons it's a case. S'pose
+you caper over where he feeds at the O.K. House an' bring him to us.
+The signs an' signal-smokes shorely p'ints to this yere Cherokee as
+our meat; but these things has to be done in order. Bring him in,
+Jack, an', to save another trip, s'pose you bring a lariat from the
+corral at the same time.'
+
+"It don't take Moore no time to throw a gun on Cherokee where he's
+consoomin' flapjacks at the O. K. House, an' tell him the committee
+needs him at the New York Store. Cherokee don't buck none, but comes
+along, passive as a tabby cat.
+
+"'Whatever's the hock kyard to all this?' he says to Jack Moore. 'Is
+it this Stingin' Lizard play a month ago?'
+
+"'No,' says Moore, "t'ain't quite sech ancient hist'ry. It's stage
+coaches. Thar's a passel of people down yere as allows you've been
+rustlin' the mails.'
+
+"Old Man Rucker, who keeps the O. K. House, is away when Moore
+rounds up his party. But Missis Rucker's thar, an' the way that old
+lady talks to Enright an' the committee is a shame. She comes over
+to the store, too, along of Moore an' Cherokee, an' prances in an'
+comes mighty near stampedin' the whole outfit.
+
+"'See yere, Sam Enright,' she shouts, wipin' her hands on her bib,
+'what be you-alls aimin' for to do? Linin' up, I s'pose to hang the
+only decent man in town?'
+
+"'Ma'am,' says Enright, 'this yere sharp is 'cused of standin' up
+the stage them times recent over by Tucson. Do you know anythin'
+about it?'
+
+"'No; I don't,' says Missis Rucker. 'You don't reckon, now, I did it
+none, do you? I says this, though; it's a heap sight more likely
+some drunkard a-settin' right yere on this committee stops them
+stages than Cherokee Hall.'
+
+"'Woman's nacher's that emotional,' says Enright to the rest of us,
+'she's oncapable of doin' right. While she's the loveliest of
+created things, still sech is the infirmities of her intellects,
+that gov'ment would bog down in its most important functions, if
+left to woman.'
+
+"'Bog down or not,' says Missis Rucker, gettin' red an' heated, 'you
+fools settin' up thar like a band of prairie-dogs don't hang this
+yere Cherokee Hall. 'Nother thing, you ain't goin' to hang nobody to
+the windmill ag'in nohow. I has my work to do, an' thar's enough on
+my hands, feedin' sech swine as you-alls three times a day, without
+havin' to cut down dead folks outen my way every time I goes for a
+bucket of water. You-alls takes notice now; you don't hang nothin'
+to the windmill no more. As for this yere Cherokee, he ain't stopped
+no more stages than I be.'
+
+"'But you sees yourse'f, ma'am, you hasn't the slightest evidence
+tharof,' says Enright, tryin' to soothe her down.
+
+"'I has, however, what's a mighty sight better than evidence,' says
+Missis Rucker, 'an' that's my firm convictions.'
+
+"'Well, see yere,' says Cherokee, who's been listenin' all peaceful,
+'let me in on this. What be you-alls doin' this on? I reckons I'm
+entitled to a look at your hand for my money.'
+
+"Enright goes on an' lays it off for Cherokee; how he's outen camp
+every time the stage is robbed, an' the idee is abroad he does it.
+
+"'As the kyards lay in the box,' says Cherokee, 'I don't reckon
+thar's much doubt but you-alls will wind up the deal by hangin' me?'
+
+"'It's shorely five to one that a-way,' says Enright. 'Although I'm
+bound to say it ain't none decisive as yet.'
+
+"'The trooth is,' says Cherokee, sorter thoughtful, 'I wasn't aimin'
+to be hung none this autumn. I ain't got time, gents, for one thing,
+an' has arranged a heap diff'rent. In the next place, I never stands
+up no stage.'
+
+"'That's what they all says,' puts in Boggs, who's a mighty
+impatient man. 'I shorely notes no reason why we-alls can't proceed
+with this yere lynchin' at once. S'pose this Cherokee ain't stood up
+no stage; he's done plenty of other things as merits death. It
+strikes me thar's a sight of onnecessary talk yere."
+
+"'If you ain't out working the road,' says Doc Peets to Cherokee,
+not heedin' of Bogg's petulance, 'them stage-robbin' times, s'pose
+you onfolds where you was at?"
+
+"Well, son, not to string this yere story out longer'n three drinks,
+yere is how it is: This Cherokee it looks like is soft-hearted that
+a-way,--what you calls romantic. An' it seems likewise that shovin'
+the Stingin' Lizard from shore that time sorter takes advantage an'
+feeds on him. So he goes browsin' 'round the postmaster all casooal,
+an' puts questions. Cherokee gets a p'inter about some yearlin' or
+other in Tucson this Stingin' Lizard sends money to an' makes good
+for, which he finds the same to be fact on caperin' over. It's a
+nephy or some sech play. An' the Stingin' Lizard has the young one
+staked out over thar, an' is puttin' up for his raiment an' grub all
+reg'lar enough.
+
+"'Which I yereafter backs this infant's play myse'f,' says Cherokee
+to the barkeep of the Oriental Saloon over in Tucson, which is the
+party the Stingin' Lizard pastures the young one on. 'You're all
+right, Bill,' goes on this Cherokee to the barkeep,' but now I goes
+back of the box for this infant boy, I reckons I'll saw him off onto
+a preacher, or some sharp sim'lar, where he gets a Christian
+example. Whatever do you think?'
+
+"The barkeep says himse'f he allows it's the play to make. So he an'
+Cherokee goes surgin' 'round, an' at last they camps the boy--who's
+seven years comin' grass--on the only pulpit-sharp in Tucson. This
+gospel-spreader says he'll feed an' bed down the boy for some sum;
+which was shore a giant one, but the figgers I now forgets.
+
+"Cherokee gives him a stack of blues to start his game, an' is now
+pesterin' 'round in a co't tryin' to get the young one counter-
+branded from the Stingin' Lizard's outfit into his, an' given the
+name of Cherokee Hall. That's what takes him over to Tucson them
+times, an' not stage-robbin'.
+
+"Two days later, in fact, to make shore all doubts is over, Cherokee
+even rings in said divine on us; which the divine tells the same
+story. I don't reckon now he's much of a preacher neither; for he
+gives Wolfville one whirl for luck over in the warehouse back of the
+New York Store, an' I shore hears 'em as makes a mighty sight more
+noise, an' bangs the Bible twice as hard, back in the States. I says
+so to Cherokee; but he puts it up he don't bank none on his
+preachin'.
+
+"'What I aims at,' says Cherokee, 'is someone who rides herd on the
+boy all right, an' don't let him stampede off none into vicious
+ways.'
+
+"'Why don't you keep the camp informed of this yere orphan an' the
+play you makes?' says Enright, at the time it's explained to the
+committee,--the time they trees Cherokee about them stages.
+
+"'It's that benev'lent an' mushy,' says Cherokee, 'I'm plumb ashamed
+of the deal, an' don't allow to go postin' no notices tharof. But
+along comes this yere hold-up business, an', all inadvertent, tips
+my hand; which the same I stands, however, jest the same.'
+
+"'It's all right,' says Enright, some disgusted though; 'but the
+next time you makes them foundlin' asylum trips, don't walk in the
+water so much. Leave your trail so Wolfville sees it, an' then folks
+ain't so likely to jump your camp in the dark an' take to shootin'
+you up for Injuns an' sim'lar hostiles.'
+
+"'But one thing more,' continues Enright, an' then we orders the
+drinks. Jack Moore is yereby instructed to present the compliments
+of the committee to Rucker, when he trails in from Tucson; which he
+also notifies him to hobble his wife yereafter durin' sessions of
+this body. She's not to go draggin' her lariat 'round loose no more,
+settin' law an' order at defiance durin' sech hours as is given to
+business by the Stranglers."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE STORY OF WILKINS
+
+
+"No; I don't reckon I ever cuts the trail of this yere Wilson you
+mentions, once. If I does, the fact's done pulled its picket-pin an'
+strayed from my recollections."
+
+I had recalled the name of a former friend, one Wilson, who, sore
+given to liquor, had drifted to Arizona many years before and
+disappeared. Suggesting "Wilson" to the Old Cattleman, I asked if he
+had met with such a name and character in his Wolfville rambles.
+
+As often chanced, however, the question bore fruit in a story. It
+frequently needed but a slight blow from the rod of casual inquiry,
+and the fountains of my old friend's reminiscences gushed forth.
+
+"No, I never crosses up with him," observed the old Cattleman; "but
+speakin' of Wilson puts in my mind a gent by the name of Wilkins,
+who it's some likely is as disrepootable as your old pard Wilson."
+
+"What about Wilkins?" I asked.
+
+"Nothin' thrillin', "answered the old gentleman; "nothin' you'd stay
+up nights to hear, I don't reckon. It's Wilkins's daughter who is
+the only redeemin' thing about the old Cimmaron; an' it's a heap
+likely right now it's her I remembers about instead of him.
+
+"Not at all," he continued, "I don't mind onfoldin' as to Wilkins,
+nor yet of an' concernin' his daughter. You see this Wilkins is
+herdin' 'round Wolfville when I first trails in. I never does know
+where he hails from. I don't reckon' though, he ever grades no ways
+high, an' at the crisis I'm mentionin' his speshul play is gettin'
+drunk mostly; an' not allowin' to hurt himse'f none with work.
+
+"'Workin' with your fins,' says this Wilkins, 'is low an'
+onendoorin' to a gent with pride to wound. It ain't no use neither.
+I knows folks as works, an' folks as don't, an' you can't tell one
+from which. They gets along entirely sim'lar.
+
+"'But how you goin' to live?' says Dave Tutt, when he makes this
+remark, an' who is fussin' with Wilkins for bein' so reedic'lous an'
+shiftless.
+
+"'That's all right about my livin',' says Wilkins; 'don't you-all
+pass no restless nights on my account. Go read your Scriptures; read
+that bluff about feedin' the young ravens an' sparrers. Well, that's
+me this trip. I'm goin' to rap for a show-down on them promises an'
+see what's in 'em.'
+
+"'This camp ain't strong on Holy Writ, nohow,' says Dave Tutt, 'an'
+I'm partic'lar puny that a-way. It's your game though, an' your
+American jedgement goes soopreme as to how you plays it.'
+
+"This Wilkins lives in a wickeyup out on the aige of the town, an' a
+girl, which she's his daughter, about 19 years old, keeps camp for
+him. No one knows her well. She stays on her reservation mighty
+close, an' never seems visible much. I notices her in the New York
+Store once, buyin' some salt hoss, an'she ain't no dream of
+loveliness neither as to looks.
+
+"Her face makes you feel she's good people though, with her big soft
+eyes. They has a tired, broke-down look, like somehow she's been
+packed more'n she can carry, an' has two or three notions about
+layin' down with the load.
+
+"It's mebby two weeks after Dave Tutt's talk with Wilkins, when
+we're all in the Red Light takin' our forty drops, an' Sam Enright
+brings up this yere Wilkins.
+
+"'It has been a question with me,' he says, 'how this old shorthorn
+and his girl manages for to make out; an' while I care none whatever
+for Wilkins, it ain't no credit to a live camp like this to permit a
+young female to suffer, an' I pauses yere to add, it ain't goin' to
+occur no more. Yesterday, allowin' to bushwhack some trooth about
+'em, I waits till old Wilkins drifts over to the corral, an' then I
+goes projectin' 'round for facts. I works it plenty cunnin', an'
+sorter happens up to the old man's tepee. I calls the girl out an'
+puts it up I wants to see her paw a heap on some business.
+
+"'"I wants to see him speshul,"' I says.
+
+"'"Well, he ain't here now,"' says the girl, "so whatever'll you
+do?"'
+
+"'"I don't reckon you could prance 'round some an' find him for me,
+could you, Miss?"' I says.
+
+"'So the girl,' continues Enright, 'which her name is Susan, puts on
+her shaker an' goes stampedin' off; an' while she's gone I injuns
+an' spies 'round a whole lot; an', comin' down to the turn, Wilkins
+an' that girl ain't got nothin' to eat. The question now is, what
+action does Wolfville 'naugerate at a juncture sech as this?'
+"'What's the matter with takin' up a donation like they does for a
+preacher, an' saw it onto the girl?' says Dan Boggs.
+
+"'You couldn't open your game that a-way, nohow,' says Doc Peets.
+'That's accordin' to Hoyle for sky-pilots an' missionary people; but
+a young female a-hoidin' of herse'f high spurns your money. Thar's
+nothin' ketches me like a female of my species in distress, an' I
+recalls offerin' to stake a lady, who's lost her money somehow, back
+in St. Looey once. This yere female was strange to me entire, but if
+she'd knowed me from 'way back she couldn't a-blazed up more
+frightful. The minute I pulls my bankroll on her, she goes cavortin'
+off too hostile to talk. It takes ten minutes to get her back to the
+agency to hear me 'pologize, an' even then she glares an' snorts
+like she's liable to stampede ag'in. No; you don't want to try an'
+give this girl no money. What we-alls needs is to hunt up somethin'
+for her to work at an' pay her.'
+
+"'The Doc's right,' says Enright, 'an' the thing is to find
+somethin' for this yere lady to do. Any gent with a notion on the
+subject can't speak too quick.'
+
+"'No party need take my remarks as personal,' says Burns, who runs
+the Red Light, 'as nothin' invidjous is intended; but I rises to say
+that a heap of my business is on credit. A gent comes in free an'
+sociable, names his sozodont, an' gets it. If he pays cash, all
+right; if he wants credit, all right. "You names your day to drink,
+an' you names your day to pay," is my motto, as you-alls knows. This
+bein' troo, onder present exigences what for a scheme would it be
+for me to get an outfit of books,--day-books, week-books, ledgers,
+an' the rest of the layout,--an' let this yere maiden keep 'em a
+whole lot? I throws this out as a su'gestion.'
+
+"'I ain't meanin' nothin' ag'inst Burns's su'gestion,' says Texas
+Thompson, 'but in my opinion this camp ain't ripe for keepin' books
+as yet. Things like that has to be come to by degrees. I've knowed a
+heap of trouble arise from keepin' books, an' as long as this yere's
+a peaceful camp let's keep it that a-way.'
+
+"'That settles it,' says Burns, 'thar's enough said, an' I don't
+keep no books.'
+
+"'You-alls present knows me,' says Cherokee Hall, who, as I says
+previous, is turnin' faro in the Red Light, 'an' most of you has met
+me frequent in a business way. Thar's my game goin' every night
+reg'lar. Thar's nothin' tin-horn about it. It ain't no skin game
+neither. Any gent with doubts can step over an' test my box, which
+he'll find all comfortable on the layout awaitin' his convenience.
+It ain't been usual for me to blow my own bazoo to any extent, an' I
+only does it now as bein' preliminary to the statement that my game
+ain't no deadfall, an' is one as a respectable an' virchus female
+person could set in on with perfect safetytood to her reputation.
+This yere lady in question needs light, reg'lar employment, an' I
+lets it fly that if she wants in on any sech deal I'll go her a blue
+stack a week to hold down the chair as look-out for my game.'
+
+"'Cherokee's offer is all right,' says Enright; 'it's good talk from
+a squar' man. Women, however, is partic'lar, an' like hosses they
+shies at things thar ain't no danger in. You sees how that is; a
+woman don't reason nothin', she feels an' mighty likely this young
+person is loaded to the gyards with sech notions ag'in gamblin' as
+would send her flyin' at the bare mention. The fact is, I thinks of
+somethin' sim'lar, but has to give it up. I figgers, first dash out
+o' the box, that a safe, easy trail to high ground is to give her a
+table an' let her deal a little stud for the boys. This yere
+wouldn't be no resk, an' the rake is a shore thing for nine or ten
+dollars a night. Bein' a benev'lence, I knows the boys would set in
+mighty free, an' the trouble would be corraled right thar. With this
+yere in my mind I taps her gently about our various games when I
+calls for her paw; an' to put it straight, she takes it reluctant
+an' disgusted at the mere hint. Of course we-alls has to stand these
+things from woman, an' we might as well p'int up some other way an'
+no time lost.'
+
+"'Don't you-alls reckon for to make a speshul rake on all poker
+goin', same as about that Yallerhouse gent, might be an ondefeasible
+way to get at the neck of this business?' says Dave Tutt. 'I merely
+asks it as a question.'
+
+"'That wouldn't do,' says Doc Peets, 'but anyhow yere comes Wilkins
+how, an' if, as Enright says, the're out of chuck up his way, I
+reckons I'll lose a small bet to the old shorthorn ontil sech times
+as we devises some scheme all reg'lar.'
+
+"'Howdy, Wilkins?' says Doc, mighty gay an' genial, 'how's things
+stackin' up?'
+
+"'Mighty ornery,' says Wilkins.
+
+"'Feel like makin' a little wager this A. M.?' says Doc.
+
+"'What do you-all want to gamble at?' says Wilkins.
+
+"'Oh,' says Doc, 'I'm feelin' a heap careless about what I do gamble
+at. S'pose I goes you ten dollars's worth of grub the Lordsburg
+buckboard don't show up none to-day?'
+
+"'If I had ten dollars I'd about call you a lot on that,' says
+Wilkins, 'but I'm a pore cuss an' ain't got no ten dollars, an'
+what's the use? None of you-alls ain't got no Red Light whiskey-
+chips you ain't usin', be you? S'pose you-alls gropes about in your
+war-bags an' sees. I'm needin' of a drink mighty bad.'
+
+"Old Wilkins looks some queer about the eyes, an' more'n usual
+shaky, so we gives him a big drink an' he sorter braces up.
+
+"'I'll back Wilkins's end of that bet you offers, Doc,' says Tutt,
+'so consider it made, will you?'
+
+"'You was offerin' to bet grub,' says the old man, powerful peevish
+an' fretful. 'What for do you want to bet grub? Why don't you bet
+money, so I gets what I wants with it? It's my money when I wins.
+Mebby I don't want no grub. Mebby I wants clothes or whiskey. You
+ain't no sport, Doc, to tie up a play with a string like that. Gimme
+another drink some one, I'm most dyin' for some.'
+
+"The old man 'pears like he's mighty sick that a-way, so thar's
+nothin' for it but to give him another hooker, which we does
+accordin'.
+
+"'I'm feelin' like I was shot hard by somethin',' he says, 'an' I
+don't like for to go home till I'm better, an' scare Sue. I reckon
+I'll camp down on this yere monte table for an hour till I comes
+'round.'
+
+"So Wilkins curls up on the table, an' no one notices him for about
+twenty minutes, when along comes rattlin' up the Lordsburg mail.
+
+"'You win, Wilkins,' says Peets; 'come over to the New York Store
+an' cut out your stuff.' "The old man acts like he don't hear, so
+Doc shakes him up some. No use, thar ain't no get up in him.
+
+"'Looks like he's gone to sleep for good,' says Doc.
+
+"Then he walks 'round him, shakes him, an' takes a look at his eye,
+a-openin' of it with his finger. Finally he stands back, sticks his
+thumb in his belt, an' whistles.
+
+"'What's up?' says Cherokee Hall. 'He ain't tryin' to work us for
+another drink I hopes.'
+
+"Well, this is a deal,' says Doc, 'an' no humbug neither. Gents, I'm
+blessed if this yere old prairie-dog ain't shorely up an' died.'
+
+"We-alls comes up an' takes a look at him, an' Doc has called the
+turn. Shore enough the old man has cashed in.
+
+"`This is a hoss on us, an' no doubt about it,' says Enright. 'I
+ain't worryin' for Wilkins, as he most likely is ahead on the deal;
+but what gets me is how to break the news to this yere maiden. It's
+goin' to be a hair-line play. I reckons, Doc, it's you an' me.'
+
+"So they goes over to Wilkins's wickeyup an' calls the young Sue
+girl out, an' Enright begins tellin' her mighty soft as how her paw
+is took bad down to the Red Light. But the girl seems to get it as
+right as if she's scouted for it a month.
+
+"'He's dead!' she says; an' then cripples down alongside of the door
+an' begins to sob.
+
+"'Thar ain't no use denyin' it, Miss,' says Enright, 'your paw
+struck in on the big trail where the hoof-prints all p'ints one way.
+But don't take it hard, Miss, thar ain't a gent don't give you
+sympathy. What you do now is stay right yere, an' the camp'll tend
+to the funeral, an' put it up right an' jest as you says, you bein'
+mourner-in-chief. You can trust us for the proper play; since we
+buries Jack King, obsequies is our long suit.'
+
+"The little Sue girl struggles through somehow, an' has her nerve
+with her. The funeral, you bet, is right. This time we ropes in a
+preacher belongin' to some deep-water outfit over in Tucson. He
+somehow is strayed, an' happens along our way, an' we gets him
+squar' in the door. He jumps in an' gives them ceremonies a
+scientific whirl as ain't possible nohow to amatures. All 'round we
+wouldn't have put on more dog if we'd been plantin' Enright; all of
+course on the little Sue girl's account. Next day the outfit goes
+over to find out whatever she allows to do.
+
+"'You sees, Miss; says Enright, 'anythin' you says, goes. Not
+waitin' to learn its name, even, I'm directed to state as how the
+camp backs your play an' makes good.'
+
+"'I'm allowin' to go to the States,' says the girl, 'an' I'm
+obleeged to you.'
+
+"'We was hopin',' says Enright, 'as you'd stay yere. We-alls sorter
+figgers you'd teach us a school. Of course thar ain't no papooses
+yet, but as a forced play we arranges to borrow a small herd from
+Tombstone, an' can do it too easy. Then, ag'in, a night-school would
+hit our needs right; say one night a week. Thar's a heap of
+ignorance in this yere camp, an' we needs a night-school bad. It
+would win for fifty dollars a week, Miss; an' you thinks of it.'
+
+"No, the pore girl couldn't think of it nohow.
+
+"'Of course, Miss, says Enright, 'we alls ain't expectin' you to
+open this yere academy the first kyards off the deck. You needs time
+to line up your affairs, an' am likewise wrung with grief. You takes
+your leesure as to that; meanwhile of course your stipend goes on
+from now.'
+
+"But the little Sue girl couldn't listen. Her paw is dead, an' now
+she's due in the States. She says things is all right thar. She has
+friends as her paw never likes; but who's friends of hers, an'
+she'll go to them.
+
+"'Well, Miss,' says Enright, mighty regretful, 'if that's how it
+lays, I reckons you'll go, so thar's nothin' for us to do but settle
+up an' fork over some dust we owes your paw. He bein' now deceased,
+of course you represents.'
+
+"The girl couldn't see how any one owes her paw, ''cause he's been
+too sick to work,' she says.
+
+"'We owes him all the same,' says Enright, mighty ferocious. 'We
+onderstands well enough how we comes to owe him, don't we, Doc?'
+
+"'You can stack in your life we do,' says Doc, plenty prompt an'
+cheerful. 'We-alls owes for his nailin' them hoss-thiefs when they
+tries to clean out the corral.'
+
+"'That's it,' says Enright, 'for ketchin' of some rustlers who lays
+for our stock. It's all right, Miss; you needn't look so doubtful.
+You wouldn't if you knowed this camp. It's the last outfit on earth
+as would go an' give money to people. It's a good straight camp,
+Wolfville is; but business is business, an' we ain't pirootin'
+'round none, givin' nothin' away, be we, Doc?'
+
+"'Not much,' says Doc. 'It's enough for a gent to pay debts, without
+stampedin' 'round makin' presents of things.'
+
+"'That's whatever,' says Enright; 'so Miss, me an Doc'll vamos over
+to the Red Light an' get the dust, an' I reckons we'll be back in an
+hour. I s'pose we owes Mister Wilkins about 'five hundred dollars,
+don't we, Doc?'
+
+"'Tain't so much,' says Doc, who's guileful that a-way. As he sees
+the little Sue girl archin' for another buck, he pulls out a paper
+an' makes a bluff. 'Yere it is,--four hundred an' ninety-three
+dollars an' seventy-four cents. I puts it down all accurate, 'cause
+I don't allow no sharp to come 'round an' beat me none.'
+
+"We-alls throws 'round an' makes up the pot to come to Doc's figger-
+-which I wants to say right yere, Doc Peets is the ablest gent I
+ever sees--an' the little Sue girl has to take it.
+
+"Which this money lets her out right, an' she cries an' thanks us,
+an' the next day she takes the stage for Tucson. We're thar to say
+'good-by' an' wish the little Sue girl luck.
+
+"'Adios,' says Peets, takin' off his hat to her; 'it ain't down on
+the bills none, but if you-all could manage to kiss this yere outfit
+once apiece, Miss, it would be regarded. You needn't be afraid. Some
+of 'em looks a little off, but they're all right, an' b'ar huggin'
+is barred.'
+
+"So the little Sue girl begins with Enright an' kisses us all, a-
+sobbin' meantime some free. As the affection proceeds, Cherokee
+sorter shoves back an' allows he'll pass.
+
+"'Not any pass!' says Enright. 'Any gent who throws off on that thar
+little Sue girl, she willin', needn't look for any luck but
+lynchin'.'
+
+"'That settles it,' says Cherokee, 'I saloots this yere lady.'
+
+"So he ups an' kisses the little Sue girl like she's a hot flat-
+iron, an' backs into the crowd.
+
+"'Cherokee makes me tired,' says Peets, who's ridin' herd on the
+play. When it comes his turn he kisses her slow an' rapturous, an'
+is contemptuous of Cherokee.
+
+"When she's in the stage a-startin', Cherokee walks up, all
+respectful.
+
+"'You've been away from the States some time, Miss,' he says, 'an'
+it's an even break you won't find things the way you expects. Now,
+you remember, shore; whatever game's bein' turned back thar, if it
+goes ag'in you, raise the long yell for a sharp called Cherokee
+Hall; an' his bank's yours to go behind your play.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR.
+
+
+It was evening. The first dark foreshadowing of the coming night
+clothed all in half obscurity. But I knew the way; I could have
+travelled the little path at midnight. There he was, the Old
+Cattleman, under a favorite tree, the better to avoid the heavy dew.
+He sat motionless and seemed to be soaking himself, as one might
+say, in the balmy weather of that hour.
+
+My wisdom had ordered Jim, my black man, to attend my steps. The
+laconic, half-sad salutation of my old friend at once gave Black Jim
+a mission. He was dispatched in quest of stimulants. After certain
+exact and almost elaborate commands to Black Jim, and that useful
+African's departure, I gently probed my companion with a question.
+
+"No, thar's nothin' the matter of me; sorter pensive, that's all,"
+was my return.
+
+The Old Cattleman appeared silent and out of sorts. Following the
+coming of Black Jim, however, who brought a lusty toddy, he yielded
+to a better mood.
+
+"It simply means I'm gettin' old; my settin' 'round balky this a-
+way. Thar's some seventy wrinkles on my horns; nothin' young or
+recent about that. Which now it often happens to me, like it does to
+old folks general, that jest when it begins to grow night, I gets
+moody an' bad. Looks like my thoughts has been out on some mental
+feed-ground all day, an' they comes stringin' in like cattle to get
+bedded down for the night. Nacheral, I s'pose they sorter mills an'
+stands 'round oneasy like for a while before they lies down all
+comfortable. Old people partic'lar gets dissatisfied. If they's
+single-footers like me an' ain't wedded none; campin' 'round at
+taverns an' findin' of 'em mockeries; they wishes they has a wife a
+whole lot. If they be, they wish she'd go visit her folks. Gettin'
+old that a-way an' lonely makes folks frequent mighty contrary.
+
+"No, as I imparts to you yeretofore,--mebby it's a month,--I never
+marries nothin'. I reckons too, I'm in love one round-up an' another
+mighty near a dozen times. But somehow I allers lose the trail an'
+never does run up with none of 'em once.
+
+"Down in the Brazos country thar was a little blue-eyed girl,--back
+forty years it is,--an' the way I adores her plumb tires people. I
+reckons I ropes at her more'n fifty times, but I never could fasten.
+Thar comes a time when it looks powerful like I'm goin' to run my
+brand onto her; but she learns that Bill Jenks marks 150 calves the
+last spring round-up, an' me only forty, an' that settles it; she
+takes Jenks.
+
+"It's astonishin' how little I deems of this yere maiden after Bill
+gets her. Two months before, I'd rode my pony to death to look once
+in her eyes. She's like sunshine in the woods to me, an' I dotes on
+every word she utters like it's a roast apple. But after she gets to
+be Bill's wife I cools complete.
+
+"Not that lovin' Bill's wife, with his genius for shootin' a pistol,
+is goin' to prove a picnic,--an' him sorter peevish an' hostile
+nacheral. But lettin' that go in the discard, I shore don't care
+nothin' about her nohow when she's Bill's.
+
+"I recalls that prior to them nuptials with Bill I gets that locoed
+lovin' this girl I goes bulgin' out to make some poetry over her. I
+compiles one stanza; an' I'm yere to remark it's harder work than a
+June day in a brandin' pen. Ropin' an' flankin' calves an' standin'
+off an old cow with one hand while you irons up her offspring with
+t'other, from sun-up till dark, is sedentary compared to makin'
+stanzas. What was the on I makes? Well, you can bet a hoss I ain't
+forgot it none.
+
+"'A beautiful woman is shorely a moon, The nights of your life to
+illoomine; She's all that is graceful, guileful an' soon, Is woman,
+lovely woman.'
+
+"I'm plumb tangled up in my rope when I gets this far, an' I takes a
+lay-off. Before I gathers strength to tackle it ag'in, Jenks gets
+her; so bein' thar's no longer nothin' tharin I never makes a
+finish. I allers allowed it would have been a powerful good poem if
+I'd stampeded along cl'ar through.
+
+"Yes, son; women that a-way is shorely rangy cattle an' allers on
+the move. Thar's a time once when two of 'em comes mighty near
+splittin' Wolfville wide open an' leavin' it on both sides of the
+trail. All that ever saves the day is the ca'm jedgement an'
+promptitood of Old Man Enright.
+
+"This is how Wolfville walks into this petticoat ambush. The camp is
+gettin' along all peaceful an' serene an' man-fashion. Thar's the
+post-office for our letters; thar's the Red Light for our bug-juice;
+thar's the O. K. Restauraw for our grub; an' thar's the stage an'
+our ponies to pull our freight with when Wolfville life begins to
+pull on us as too pastoral, an' we thirsts for the meetropolitan
+gayety of Tucson.
+
+"As I says we alls has all that heart can hunger for; that is hunger
+on the squar'.
+
+"Among other things, thar's a Chink runnin' a laundry an' a-doin' of
+our washin'. This yere tub-trundler's name is Lung, which, however.
+brands no cattle yere.
+
+"It's one afternoon when Doc Peets gets a letter from a barkeep over
+
+in Tucson sayin': Dear Doc:
+
+Thar's an esteemable lady due in Wolfville on to-morrer's stage.
+She's p'intin' out to run a laundry. Please back her play. If thar's
+a Chinaman in town, run him out.
+
+And obleege, yours,
+
+Dick.
+
+"'Whatever do you think, Enright?' says Doc Peets after readin' us
+the letter.
+
+"'That's all right,' says Enright, 'the Chink goes. It's onbecomin'
+as a spectacle for a Caucasian woman of full blood to be contendin'
+for foul shirts with a slothful Mongol. Wolfville permits no sech
+debasin' exhibitions, an' Lung must vamos. Jack,' he says, turnin'
+to Jack Moore, 'take your gun an' sa'nter over an' stampede this
+yere opium-slave. Tell him if he's visible to the naked eye in the
+scenery yere-abouts to-morrow when this lady jumps into camp, he's
+shore asked the price of soap the last time he ever will in this
+vale of tears.'
+
+"'What's the matter of lynchin' this yere Chink?' says Dan Boggs.
+'The camp's deadly dull, an' it would cheer up things a whole lot,
+besides bein' compliments to this young female Old Monte's bringin'
+in on the stage.'
+
+"'Oh no,' says Enright, 'no need of stringin him none. On second
+thought, Jack, I don't reckon I'd run him out neither. It dignifies
+him too much. S'pose you canter up to his tub-camp an' bring him
+over, an' we'll reveal this upheaval in his shirt-burnin' destinies
+by word of mouth. If he grows reluctant jest rope him 'round the
+neck with his queue, an' yank him. It impresses 'em an' shows 'em
+they're up ag'in the law. I s'pose, Peets, I voices your sentiments
+in this?'
+
+"'Shore,'" says Doc Peets--which this Peets is the finest-eddicated
+man I ever meets. 'This Chinaman must pull his freight. We-alls owes
+it not only to this Tucson lady, but to the lovely sex she
+represents. Woman, woman, what has she not done for man! As Johanna
+of Arc she frees the sensuous vine-clad hills of far-off
+Switzerland. As Grace Darling she smooths the fever-heated pillow of
+the Crimea. In reecompense she asks one little, puny boon--to fire
+from our midst a heathen from the Orient. Gents, thar's but one
+answer: We plays the return game with woman. This Chinaman must go.'
+
+"When Jack comes back with Lung, which he does prompt, Enright
+starts in to deal the game.
+
+"'It ain't no use, Lung,' says Enright, 'tryin' to explain to you-
+all what's up. Your weak Asiatic intellect couldn't get the drop
+onto it no-how. You've been brought to a show-down ag'in a woman,
+an' you're out-held. You've got to quit; savey? Don't let us find
+you yere to-morrow. By third-drink time we'll be a-scoutin' for you
+with somethin' besides an op'ry glass, an' if you're noticed as part
+of the landscape you're goin' to have a heap of bad luck. I'd advise
+you to p'int for Red Dog, but as to that you plays your hand
+yourse'f."
+
+"Next day that old drunkard Monte comes swingin' in with the stage;
+the six hosses on the jump, same as he allers does with a woman
+along. Over at the post-office, where he stops, a lady gets out, an'
+of course we-alls bows p'lite an' hopes she's well an' frisky. She
+allows she is, an' heads for the O. K. House.
+
+"It floats over pretty soon that her name's Annie, an' as none of us
+wants to call her jest 'Annie'--the same bein' too free a play--an'
+hearin' she lives a year or two at Benson, we concloods to call her
+Benson Annie, an' let it go at that.
+
+"'The same bein' musical an' expressive,' says Doc Peets, as we all
+lines up ag'in the Red Light bar, 'I su'gests we baptize this lady
+"Benson Annie," an' yere's to her success.'
+
+"So we-alls turns up our glasses, an' Benson Annie it is.
+
+"The next day the fetid Lung is a thing of the past, an' Benson
+Annie has the game to herse'f. Two days later she raises the tariff
+to fifty cents on shirts, instead of twenty-five, as previous with
+the Chink. But no one renigs.
+
+"'A gent,' says Doc Peets, 'as holds that a Caucasian woman is goin'
+to wash a shirt for the miserable stipend of a slave of the Orient
+must be plumb locoed. Wolfville pays fifty cents for shirts an' is
+proud tharof.'
+
+"Things goes along for mighty like a month, an' then this yere
+Benson Annie allows she'll have a visitor.
+
+"'I'm plumb, clean sick,' she says, 'of seein' nothin' but a lot of
+drunken, good-for-nothin' sots a-pesterin' 'round, an' I done
+reckons I'll have my friend Sal come over from Tombstone an' see me
+a whole lot. It'll be some relaxation.'
+
+"Mebby it's four days after when this yere Sal hops outen the stage,
+an' for the next week thar ain't no washin' done whatever, while
+Benson Annie an' Sal works the wire aige offen their visit.
+
+"`A gent as would begretch two pore, hard-workin' girls a lay-off of
+a week,' says Enright, 'ain't clean strain, an' I don't want to know
+sech a hoss-thief nohow'; an' we-alls feels likewise.
+
+"But slap on the heels of all this yere gregar'ousness on the part
+of Benson Annie an' Sal, the deal begins to come queer. At the end
+of the week the two girls has a row, an' in the turn Sal goes to
+t'other end of camp an' opens a laundry. That does settle it. Benson
+Annie gives Sal fits, an' Sal shorely sends 'em back. Then they
+quits speakin', an when they meets on the street they concocts
+snoots at each other. This scares Enright, but he does his level
+best an' tries to keep the boys from takin' sides.
+
+"'In a play like this yere,' he says, 'this camp don't take no
+kyards. For the first time Wolfville passes out, an' offers to make
+it a jack'
+
+"But as one day an' the next trails by, the boys sorter gets lined
+up one way an' t'other; some for Benson Annie an' some for Sal, an'
+things is shorely gettin' hot. Hamilton, over at the dance-hall, ups
+an' names his place the 'Sal Saloon,' an' Burns takes down the sign
+on the Red Light an' calls it the 'Benson Annie House.' Finally
+things sorter culminates.
+
+"Dan Boggs, who's a open, voylent Annie man, comes a-prancin' into
+the Red Light one night, an' after stampin' an' rappin' his horns
+'round a whole lot, allows his shirt is cleaner than Dave Tutt's.
+
+"Tutt says he don't care nothin' for himse'f, an' none whatever for
+the shirt; an' while he an' Dan's allers been friends an' crossed
+the plains together, still he don't allow he'll stand 'round much
+an' see a pore ondefended female, like Sal, maligned. So Tutt outs
+with his gun an' gets Boggs in the laig.
+
+"This yere brings things down to cases. Enright is worried sick at
+it. But he's been thinkin' mighty arduous for quite a spell, an'
+when Boggs gets creased, he sees somethin' must be done, an' begins
+to line himse'f for a play for out.
+
+"It's the next day after Boggs gets ag'in Tutt, an' Doc Peets has
+plugged up the hole, when Enright rounds up the whole passel of us
+in the Red Light. He looks that dignified an' what you-alls calls
+impressive, that the barkeep, yieldin' to the gravity of the
+situation, allows the drinks is on the house. We-alls gets our forty
+drops, an' sorter stands pat tharon in silence, waitin' for Enright
+to onfold his game. We shore knows if thar's a trail he'll find it.
+
+"'I Gents,' he says at last,--an' it seems like he's sorry an' hurt
+that a-way,--'I'll not drift into them harrowin' differences which
+has rent asunder what was aforetimes the peacefullest camp in
+Arizona. I wants you-alls, however, to take note of my remarks, for
+what I says is shorely goin' to go.'
+
+"Yere Enright pauses to take a small drink by himse'f, while we-alls
+tarries about, some oneasy an' anxious as to what kyards falls next.
+At last Enright p'ints out on the trail of his remarks ag'in.
+
+"'It is with pain an' mortification,' he says--an' yere he fixes his
+eye some hard an' delib'rate on a young tenderfoot named French,
+who's been lost from the States somethin' like six months--'it is
+with pain an' mortification, I says, that I notes for a week past
+our young friend an' townsman, Willyum French, payin' marked an'
+ondiscreet attentions to Benson Annie, a female person whom we all
+respects. At all times, day an' night, when he could escape his
+dooties as book-keep for the stage company, he has pitched camp in
+her s'ciety. Wolfville has been shocked, an' a pure lady
+compromised. Standin' as we-alls does in the light of a parent to
+this pore young female, we have determined the wrong must be made
+right, an' Mister French must marry the girl. I have submitted these
+yere views to Benson Annie, an' she concurs. I've took the trouble
+to bring a gospel-sharp over from Tucson to do the marryin', an'
+I've set the happy event for to-night, to conclood with a blow-out
+in the dance-hall at my expense. We will, of course, yereby lose
+Benson Annie in them industrial walks she now adorns, for I pauses
+to give Mister French a p'inter; the sentiments of this camp is
+ag'in a married female takin' in washin'. Not to play it too low
+down on Mister French, who, while performin' a private dooty, is
+also workin' for a public good, I heads a subscription with fifty
+dollars for a present for the bride. I'd say in closin' that if I
+was Mister French I wouldn't care to object to this union. The lady
+is good-lookin', the subscription is cash, an' in the present heated
+condition of the public mind, an' with the heart of the camp set on
+this weddin', I wouldn't be responsible if he does. Now, gents,
+who'll follow my fifty dollars with fifty more? Barkeep, do your
+dooty while the subscription-paper goes 'round.'
+
+"The biddin' is mighty lively, an' in ten minutes seven hundred
+dollars is raised for a dowry. Then French, who has been settin' in
+a sort of daze, gets up:
+
+"'Mister Enright an' gents,' he says, `this yere is a s'prise-party
+to me, but it goes. It's a hoss on me, but I stands it. I sees how
+it is, an' as a forced play I marries Benson Annie in the interests
+of peace. Which the same bein' settled, if Benson Annie is yere,
+whirl her up an' I'll come flutterin' from my perch like a pan of
+milk from a top shelf, an' put an end to this onhealthful
+excitement.
+
+"We-alls applauds French an' is proud to note he's game.
+
+"`An' to be free an' open with you, French,' says Texas Thompson, so
+as to make him feel he's ahead on the deal; which he shore is, for
+this yere Benson Annie is corn-fed, 'if it ain't for a high-sperited
+lady back in Laredo who relies on me, I'd be playin' your hand
+myse'f.'
+
+"Well, no one delays the game. Enright brings over Benson Annie,
+who's blushin' some, but ain't holdin' back; an' she an' French
+fronts up for business. This yere preacher-sharp Enright's roped up
+is jest shufflin' for the deal, when, whatever do you reckon takes
+place? I'm a Mexican if this yere Sal don't come wanderin' in, a-
+cryin' an' a-mournin' powerful. She allows with sobs if her dear
+friend Annie's goin' to get married she wants in on the game as
+bridesmaid.
+
+"'Which you-all shorely gets a hand as sech,' says Doc Peets, who's
+actin' lookout for the deal; an' so he stakes out Sal over by the
+nigh side of Benson Annie, who kisses her quite frantic, an' unites
+her wails to Sal's. Both of 'em weepin' that a-way shorely makes the
+occasion mighty sympathetic an' damp. But Peets says it's the
+reg'lar caper, an' you can gamble Peets knows. "'Thar,' says
+Enright, when the last kyard's out an' the French fam'ly is
+receivin' congratulations, 'I reckons that now, with only one
+laundry, Wolfville sees a season of peace. It's all right, but I'm
+yere to remark that the next lady as dazzles this camp with her
+deebut, an' onfurls a purpose to plunge into work, ain't goin' to
+keep a laundry none. Gents, the bridle's plumb off the hoss. We'll
+now repair to the dance-hall, if so be meets your tastes, an' take
+the first steps in a debauch from which, when it's over, this yere
+camp of Wolfville dates time.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+ENRIGHT'S PARD, JIM WILLIS.
+
+
+"If my mem'ry's dealin' a squar' game," remarked the Old Cattleman,
+as he moved his chair a bit more into the shade, "it's some'ers over
+in the foot-hills of, the Floridas when Enright vouchsafes why he
+hates Mexicans."
+
+The morning was drowsy. Conversation between us had in a sleepy way
+ranged a wide field. As had grown to be our habit we at last settled
+on Wolfville and its volatile inhabitants. I asked to be enlightened
+as to the sage Enright, and was informed that, aside from his
+courage and love of strict justice, the prominent characteristic of
+our Wolfville Lycurgus was his wrath against Mexicans.
+
+"Not that Enright loathes so much as he deplores 'em, "continued the
+old gentleman. "However, I don't aim to be held as sayin' he
+indorses their existence a little bit; none whatever.
+
+"Enright's tellin' of this tale arises outen a trivial incident
+which a Mexican is the marrow of. We're out on the spring round-up,
+an' combin' the draws an' dry ARROYAS over between the cow springs
+an' the Floridas, when one night a Mexican runs off a passel of our
+ponies. The hoss-hustler is asleep, I reckons, at the time this
+Mexican stacks in. He says himse'f he's lyin' along the back of his
+bronco gazin' at the stars when this robber jumps at the ponies an'
+flaps a blanket or somethin', an' away patters every hoof in the
+band.
+
+"This yere Mexican don't run off with only about a handful; I takes
+it he can't round up no more in the dark. When you-all stampedes a
+bunch of ponies that a-way they don't hold together like cattle, but
+plunges off diffusive. It's every bronco for himse'f, disdainful of
+all else, an' when it's sun-up you finds 'em spattered all over the
+scene an' not regardin' of each other much.
+
+"But this yere Mexican, after he stampedes 'em, huddles what he can
+together--as I says mebby it's a dozen--an' p'ints off into the
+hills.
+
+"Of course it ain't no time after the sun shows the tracks when
+Enright, Jack Moore, an' myse'f is on the trail. Tutt an' Dan Boggs
+wants in on the play, but we can't spar' so many from the round-up.
+
+"It's one of the stolen ponies tips this Greaser's hand. It's the
+second day, an' we-alls loses the trail for mebby it's fifteen
+minutes. We're smellin' along a canyon to find it ag'in, when from
+over a p'int of rocks we hears a bronco nicker. He gets the scent of
+an acquaintance which Moore's ridin' on, an' says 'How!' pony-
+fashion.
+
+"Thar's no need goin' into wearyin' details. Followin' the nicker we
+comes surgin' in on our prey, an' it's over in a minute. Thar's two
+Mexicans,--our criminal trackin' up with a pard that mornin'. But of
+course we-alls knows he's thar long hours back by the tracks, so it
+ain't no s'prise.
+
+"This yere second Mexican is downed on the run-in. He shows a heap
+of interest in our comin', an' takes to shootin' us up mighty vivid
+with a Winchester at the time; an' so Enright, who's close in, jumps
+some lead into him an' stretches him. He don't manage to do no harm,
+nohow, more'n he creases my hoss a little. However, as this yere
+hoss is amazin' low-sperited, an' as bein' burnt that a-way with a
+bullet sorter livens him up a heap, I don't complain none. Still
+Enright's all-wise enough to copper the Greaser, for thar ain't no
+sayin' what luck the felon has with that little old gun of his if he
+keeps on shootin'. Which, as I observes, Enright downs him, an' his
+powder-burnin' an' hoss-rustlin' stops immediate.
+
+"As for the other Mexican, which he's the party who jumps our ponies
+in the first place, he throws up his hands an' allows he cashes in
+his chips for whatever the bank says.
+
+"We-alls ropes out our captive; sorter hog-ties him hand an' foot,
+wrist an' fetlock, an' then goes into camp all comfortable, where we
+runs up on our game.
+
+"Jack Moore drops the loop of his lariat over the off moccasin of
+the deceased Mexican, an' canters his pony down the draw with him,
+so's we ain't offended none by the vision of him spraddled out that
+a-way dead. This yere's thoughtful of Jack, an' shows he's
+nacherally refined an' objects to remainders lyin' 'round loose.
+
+"'No, it ain't so much I'm refined,' says Jack, when I compliments
+him that he exhibits his bringin' up, an' him bein' too modest that
+a-way to accept; 'it ain't that I'm refined none--which my nacher is
+shore coarse--I jest sorter protests in my bosom ag'in havin' a
+corpse idlin' 'round that a-way where I'm camped. Tharfore I takes
+my rope an' snatches deceased off where he ain't noticeable on the
+scenery.'
+
+"Jack does it that gentle an' considerate, too, that when we passes
+the Mexican next day on our way in, except he's some raveled an'
+frayed coastin' along where it's rocky, an' which can't be he'ped
+none, he's as excellent a corpse as when he comes off the shelf,
+warm as the rifle Enright throws him with.
+
+"'Whatever be we goin' to do with this yere hoss-thief pris'ner of
+ours?' says Jack Moore to Enright the next day, when we're saddlin'
+up an' organizin' to pull our freight. 'He's shore due to bother us
+a lot. We're plumb sixty miles from Tutt an' the boys, an' ridin'
+herd on this yere saddle-colored gent, a-keepin' of him from lopin'
+off, is mighty likely to be a heap exhaustin'. I knows men,' Jack
+remarks at the close, lookin' wistful at Enright, 'as would beef him
+right yere an' leave him as a companion piece to that compadre of
+his you downs.'
+
+"'Nachers as would execute a pris'ner in cold blood,' says Enright,
+'is roode an' oncivilized. Which I don't mean they is low neither;
+but it's onconsiderate that a-way to go an' ca'mly kill a pris'ner,
+an' no co't nor committee authorizin' the same. I never knows of it
+bein' done but once. It's Mexicans who does it then; which is why
+they ain't none pop'lar with me since.'
+
+"'It's shore what you calls a mighty indurated play,' says Jack,
+shakin' his head, 'to go shootin' some he'pless gent you've took;
+but, as I states, it's a cinch it'll be a heap fatiguin' keepin'
+cases on this yere Mexican till we meets up with a quorum of the
+committee. Still it's our dooty, an' of course we don't double-deal,
+nor put back kyards on what's our plain dooty.'
+
+"'What you-all states,' says Enright,'`is to your credit, but I'll
+tell you. Thar ain't no harm mountin' this marauder on a slow pony
+that a-way; an' bein' humane s'fficient to leave his hands an' feet
+ontied. Of course if he takes advantage of our leniency an' goes
+stampedin' off to make his escape some'ers along the trail, I
+reckons you'll shorely have to shoot. Thar's no pass-out then but
+down him, an' we sadly treads tharin. An',' goes on Enright, some
+thoughtful, if this yere Mexican, after we-alls is that patient an'
+liberal with him, abuses our confidences an' escapes, we leaves it a
+lone-hand play to you. My eyes is gettin' some old an' off, any way;
+an' besides, if we three takes to bangin' away simooltaneous, in the
+ardor of competition some of us might shoot the pony. So if this
+yere captive runs--which he looks tame, an' I don't expect none he
+will--we leaves the detainin' of him, Jack, to you entire."
+
+"In spite of Enright's faith it shore turns out this Mexican is
+ornery enough, where the trail skirts the river, to wheel sudden an'
+go plungin' across. But Jack gets him in midstream. As he goes over
+the bronco's shoulder, hat first, he swings on the bridle long
+enough with his dyin' hand to turn the pony so it comes out ag'in on
+our side.
+
+"Which I'm glad he lives s'fficient to head that hoss our way,' says
+jack. "It saves splashin' across after him an' wettin' your leggins
+a lot."
+
+"It's that night in camp when jack brings up what Enright says about
+the time the Mexicans downs a pris'ner, an' tharby fixes his views
+of 'em.
+
+"'It's a long trail back,' says Enright,' an' I don't like this yarn
+enough to find myse'f relatin' it to any excessive degrees. It draws
+the cinch some tight an' painful, an' I don't teach my mind to dwell
+on it no more'n is necessary.
+
+"'This is all when I'm a boy; mebby I ain't twenty years yet. It's
+durin' the Mexican war. I gets a stack of white chips an' stands in
+on the deal in a boyish way. All I saveys of the war is it's ag'in
+the Mexicans, which, while I ain't got no feud with 'em personal at
+the time, makes it plenty satisfactory to me.
+
+"'It's down off two days to the west of Chihuahua, an' seven of us
+is projectin' 'round seein' whatever can we tie down an' brand, when
+some Mexicans gets us out on a limb. It ain't a squar' deal; still I
+reckons it's squar' enough, too; only bein' what you-alls calls
+strategic, it's offensive an' sneakin' as a play.
+
+"'This yere lieutenant who's leadin' us 'round permiscus, looks like
+he's some romantic about a young Mexican female, who's called the
+Princess of Casa Grande. Which the repoote of this yere Princess
+woman is bad, an' I strikes a story several times of how she's that
+incensed ag'in Americans she once saws off a thimbleful of loco on a
+captain in some whiskey he's allowin' to drink, an' he goes plumb
+crazy an' dies.
+
+"'But loco or no loco, this yere Princess person is shore that good
+lookin' a pinto pony don't compare tharwith; an' when she gets her
+black eyes on our lieutenant,
+
+that settles it; we rounds up at her hacienda an' goes into camp.
+"'Besides
+
+the lieutenant thar's six of us. One of 'em's a shorthorn who
+matches me for age; which his name's Willis--Jim Willis. "'Now I
+ain't out
+
+to make no descriptions of the friendship which goes on between this
+yere Willis an' me. I sees a show one time when I'm pesterin' 'round
+back in St. Looey--an' I'm yere to remark I don't go that far east
+
+no more--which takes on about a couple of sports who's named Damon
+an' Pythias. Them two people's all right, an' game. An' they shore
+deems high of one another. But at the time I sees this yere Damon
+an'
+
+Pythias, I says to myse'f, an' ever since I makes onhesitatin'
+assertion
+
+tharof, that the brotherly views them two gents entertains ain't a
+
+marker to Jim Willis an' me. "'This yere Jim I knows since we're
+yearlin's. We-alls jumps outen the corral together back in
+Tennessee, an' goes off into this Mexican war like twins. An' bein'
+two boys that a-way
+
+among a band of men, I allows thar ain't nothin' before, nor then,
+nor after. which I loves like Jim. "'As I observes, Jim an' me's in
+
+the outfit when this yere lieutenant comes trackin' 'round that
+Princess of Casa Grande; which her love for him is a bluff an' a
+deadfall; an' the same gets all of us before we're through. An' it
+gets my Jim Willis speshul. "Mebby it's the third mornin' after we-
+alls meanders into this nest of Mexicans, an' the lieutenant gets
+lined out for that Princess of Casa Grande. We ain't been turnin'
+out early nohow, thar bein' nothin'
+
+to turn out about; but this third mornin' somebody arouses us a heap
+vigorous, like they aims to transact some business with us. Which
+they shorely does; it's an outfit of Greaser guerillas, an' we-alls
+ain't nothin' more or less than captives. "'The ornery an'
+ongrateful part is that the Princess sends one of her own peonies
+scoutin' 'round in the hills to bring in this band of cattle-eaters
+onto us. "'When the lieutenant hears of the perfidy of the Princess
+female, he's that mortified he gets a pistol the first jump he makes
+an' blows off the top of his head; which if he only blows off the
+top of hers it would have gone a heap further with the rest of us.
+If he'd consulted any of us, it would have shorely been advised. But
+he makes an impulsive play that
+
+a-way; an' is that sore an' chagrined he jest grabs a gun in a
+frenzied way an' cashes his chips abrupt. "'No, as I states,' says
+Enright, musin' to himse'f, 'if the lieutenant had only downed that
+Princess who plays us in as pris'ners so smooth an' easy, it would
+have been
+
+regarded. He could have gone caperin' over the brink after her with
+the bridle off the next second, an' we-alls would still talk well of
+him. "'As it is, however, this riotous female don't last two months.
+Which it's also a fact that takin' us that time must have been a
+heap
+
+on. lucky for them Greasers. Thar's nine of 'em, an' every last man
+dies in the next five months; an' never a one, nor yet the Princess,
+knows what they're ag'inst when they quits; or what breeze blows
+their light out. I knows, because me an' a party whose name is Tate-
+-Bill Tate--never leaves them hills till the last of that outfit's
+got his heap of rocks piled up, with its little pine cross stickin'
+outen the peak tharof, showin' he's done jumped this earthly game
+for good. "'This Bill Tate an' me breaks camp on them Greasers
+together while they're tankin' up on mescal, mebby it's two days
+later; an' they never gets their lariats on us no more. "'"You ain't
+got no dates, nor speshul engagements with nobody in the States,
+have you?" says Tate to me when
+
+we're safe outen them Mexican's hands. "'"No,"says I,"whatever makes
+you ask? "'"Oh, nothin',"says Tate lookin' at the sky sorter black
+an' ugly, "only since you-all has the leesure, what for a play would
+it be to make a long camp back in these hills by some water-hole
+some'ers,
+
+an' stand pat ontil we downs these yere Greasers--squaws an' all--
+who's had us treed? It oughter be did; an' if we-ails don't do it
+none, it's a heap likely it's goin' to be neglected complete. It's
+easy as a play; every hoss-thief of 'em lives right in these yere
+valleys, for I hears 'em talk. All we has to do is sa'nter back in
+the hills, make a camp; an' by bein' slow an' shore, an' takin' time
+an' pains, we bushwhacks an' kills the last one." "'The way I feels
+about Willis makes the prospect
+
+mighty allurin,' an' tharupon Tate an' me opens a game with them
+Mexicans it takes five months to deal. "'But it's plumb dealt out,
+an' we win. When Tate crosses the Rio Grande with the army goin'
+back, he shorely has the skelp of every Mexican incloosive of said
+Princess. "'But I wanders from Willis. Where was I at when I bogs
+down? As I says, this
+
+lieutenant nabs a pistol an' goes flutterin' from his limb. But this
+don't do them Greasers. They puts up a claim that some Americans
+tracks up on one of their outfit an' kills him off, they says, five
+days before.
+
+They allows that, breakin' even on the deal, one of us is due to
+die. Tate offers to let 'em count the lieutenant, but they shakes
+their heads till the little bells on their sombreros tinkles, an'
+declines the lieutenant emphatic. "'They p'ints out this yere
+lieutenant dies in his own game, on his own deal. It's no racket of
+theirs, an' it don't go to match the man they're shy. "`One of us
+six who's left has to die to count even for this Greaser who's been
+called in them five days ago. Tate can't move 'em; all he says is no
+use; so he quits,
+
+an' as he's been talkin' Spanish--which the same is too muddy a
+language for the rest of us--Tate turns in an' tells us how the
+thing sizes up. "`"One of us is shorely elected to trail out after
+the lieutenant,"says Tate. "The rest they holds as pris'ners. Either
+way it's a hard, deep crossin', an' one's about as rough a toss as
+the other." "'This last
+
+Tate stacks in to mebby win out a little comfort for the one the
+Mexicans cuts outen our bunch to kill. "`After a brief pow-wow the
+Greaser who's actin' range-boss for the outfit puts six beans in a
+buckskin bag. Five is white an' one's black. Them Greasers is on the
+gamble bigger'n wolves, an' they crowds up plenty gleeful to see us
+take a gambler's chance for our lives. The one of us who draws a
+black bean is to p'int out after the lieutenant. "`Sayin' somethin'
+in Spanish which most
+
+likely means" Age before beauty,"the Mexicans makes Willis an' me
+stand back while the four others searches one after the other into
+the bag for his bean. "`Tate goes first an' wins a white bean.
+"`Then a shiftless, no-account party whom we-alls calls "Chicken
+Bill" reaches in. I shorely hopes, seein' it's bound to be somebody,
+that this Chicken Bill acquires the black bean. But luck's ag'in us;
+Chicken Bill backs off with a white bean. "`When the third gent
+turns out a white bean the shadow begins to fall across Jim Willis
+an' me. I looks at Jim; an' I gives it to you straight when I says
+that I ain't at that time thinkin' of myse'f so much as about Jim.
+To see this yere deal, black as midnight, closin' in on Jim, is
+what's hurtin'; it don't somehow occur to me I'm likewise up ag'in
+the iron my se'f. "`"Looks like this yere amiable deevice is out to
+run its brand onto one of us,"says Jim to me; an' I looks at him.
+"`An' then, as the fourth finds a white bean in the bag, an' draws a
+deep sigh an' stands back, Jim says: "Well, Sam, it's up to us."
+Then Jim looks at me keen an' steady a whole lot, an' the Mexicans,
+bein' rather pleased with the situation, ain't goadin' of us to
+hurry up none.
+
+"`When it's to Jim an' me they selects me out as the one to pull for
+the next bean. Jim's still lookin' at me hard, an' I sees the water
+in his eye.'
+
+"`"Let me have your draw, Sam," he says.
+
+"`"Shore,"I replies, standin' a step off from the bag." It's yours
+too quick."
+
+"` But the Mexicans don't see it that a-way. It's my turn an' my
+draw, an' Jim has to take what's left. So the Mexicans tells Tate to
+send me after my bean ag'in.
+
+"`"Hold on a second, Sam," says Jim, an' by this time he's steady as
+a church. "Sam," he goes on, "thar's no use you--all gettin' the
+short end of this. Thar's reasons for you livin', which my case is
+void tharof. Now let me ask you: be you up on beans? Can you tell a
+black from a white bean by the feel? "
+
+"`"No," I says, "beans is all a heap the same to me."
+
+"'"That's what I allows," goes on this Jim. "Now yere's where my
+sooperior knowledge gets in. If these Mexicans had let me draw for
+you I'd fixed it, but it looks like they has scrooples. But listen,
+an' you beats the deal as it is. Thar's a difference in beans same
+as in ponies. Black beans is rough like a cactus compared to white
+beans, which said last vegetable is shorely as smooth as glass. Now
+yere's what you--all does; jest grp[e an' scout 'round in that bag
+until you picks out the smooth bean. That's your bean; that's the
+white bean. Cinch the smooth bean an' the black one comes to me."
+
+"When Jim says all this it seems like I'm in a daze an' sorter
+woozy. I never doubts him for a moment. Of course I don't take no
+advantage of what he says. I recalls the advice my old mother gives
+me; it's long enough ago now. The old lady says: "Samyool, never let
+me hear of you weakenin'. Be a man, or a mouse, or a long-tail rat."
+So when Jim lays it off about them two beans bein' smooth an' rough
+that a-way, an' the white bein' the smooth bean, I nacherally
+searches out the rough bean, allowin' she'll shore be black; which
+shows my intellects can't cope with Jim's none.
+
+"`The bean I brings to the surface is white. I'm pale as a ghost. My
+heart wilts like water inside of me, an' I feels white as the bean
+where it lays in my hand. Of course I'm some young them days, an' it
+don't need so much to stagger me. "`I recollects like it was in a
+vision hearin' Jim laugh. "Sam," he says, "I reads you like so much
+sunshine. An' I shorely fools you up a lot. Don't you reckon I
+allows you'll double on the trail, p'intin' south if I says 'north'
+at a show like this? The white bean is allers a rough, sandy bean;
+allers was an' allers will be; an' never let no one fool you that a-
+way ag'in. An' now, Sam, ADIOS."
+
+"'I'm standin' lookin' at the white bean. I feels Jim grip my other
+hand as lie says "ADIOS," an' the next is the" bang! "of the
+Mexicans's guns. Jim's dead then; he's out in a second; never bats
+an eye nor wags a y'ear.
+
+"'Which now,' says Enright at the end, as he yanks his saddle 'round
+so he makes a place for his head, 'which now that you-alls is fully
+informed why I appears averse to Greasers, I reckons I'll slumber
+some. I never does see one, I don't think of that boy, Jim Willis;
+an' I never thinks of Jim but I wants to murder a Mexican.'
+
+"Enright don't say no more; sorter rolls up in his blankets, drops
+his head on his saddle, an' lays a long time quiet, like he's
+asleep. Jack Moore an' me ain't sayin' nothin'; merely settin' thar
+peerin' into the fire an' listenin' to the coyotes. At last Enright
+lifts his head off the saddle.
+
+"'Mebby it's twenty years ago when a party over on the Rio Grande
+allows as how Jim's aimin' to cold-deck me when he onfolds about the
+habits of them beans. It takes seven months, a iron constitootion,
+an' three medicine-sharps--an' each as good as Doc Peets,--before
+that Rio Grande party is regarded as outen danger.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+TUCSON JENNIES HEART.
+
+
+"'Whyever ain't I married?' says you." The Old Cattleman repeated
+the question after me as he settled himself for one of our many
+"pow-wows," as he described them. "Looks like you've dealt me that
+conundrum before. Why ain't I wedded? The answer to that, son, is a
+long shot an' a limb in the way.
+
+"Now I reckons the reason why I'm allers wifeless a whole lot is
+mainly due to the wide pop'larity of them females I takes after.
+Some other gent sorter gets her first each time, an' nacherally that
+bars me. Bill Jenks's wife on that occasion is a spec'men case.
+That's one of the disapp'intments I onfolds to you. Now thar's a
+maiden I not only wants, but needs; jest the same, Bill gets her.
+An' it's allers sim'lar; I never yet holds better than ace-high when
+the stake's a lady.
+
+"It's troo," he continued, reflectively puffing his pipe. "I was
+disp'sitioned for a wife that a-way when I'm a colt. But that's a
+long time ago; I ain't in line for no sech gymnastics no more; my
+years is 'way ag'in it.
+
+"You've got to ketch folks young to marry 'em. After they gets to be
+thirty years they goes slowly to the altar. If you aims to marry a
+gent after he's thirty you has to blindfold him an' back him in.
+Females, of course, ain't so obdurate. No; I s'pose this yere bein'
+married is a heap habit, same as tobacco an' jig-juice. If a gent
+takes a hand early, it's a good game, I makes no sort of doubt. But
+let him get to millin' 'round in the thirties or later, an' him not
+begun none as yet; you bet he don't marry nothin'.
+
+"Bar an onexplainable difference with the girl's old man," he went
+on with an air of thought, "I s'pose I'd be all married right now. I
+was twenty, them times. It's 'way back in Tennessee. Her folks lives
+about 'leven miles from me out on the Pine Knot Pike, an' once in
+two weeks I saddles up an' sorter sidles over. Thar's jest her old
+pap an' her mother an' her in the fam'ly, an' it's that far I allers
+made to stay all night. Thar's only two beds, an' so I'm put to camp
+along of the old man the times I stays.
+
+"Them days I'm 'way bashful an' behind on all social plays, an' am
+plenty awe-struck about the old foiks. I never feels happy a minute
+where they be. The old lady does her best to make me easy an' free,
+too. Comes out when I rides up, an' lets down the bars for my hoss,
+an' asks me to rest my hat the second I'm in the door.
+
+"Which matters goes on good enough ontil mebby it's the eighth time
+I'm thar. I remembers the night all perfect. Me an' the girl sets up
+awhile, an' then I quits her an' turns in. I gets to sleep a-layin'
+along the aige of the bed, aimin' to keep 'way from the old man,
+who's snorln' an' thrashin' 'round an' takin' on over in the middle.
+
+"I don't recall much of nothin' ontil I comes to, a-holdin' to the
+old man's y'ear with one hand an' a-hammerin' of his features with
+t'other. I don't know yet, why. I s'pose I'm locoed an' dreamin', an
+allows he's a b'ar or somethin' in my sleep that a-way, an' tries to
+kill him. "Son, it's 'way back a long time, but I shudders yet when
+I reflects on that old man's language. I jumps up when I realizes
+things, grabs my raiment, an', gettin' my hoss outen the corral,
+goes p'intin' down the pike more'n a mile 'fore I even stops to
+dress. The last I sees of the old man lie's buckin' an' pitchin' an'
+tossin', an' the females a-holdin' of him, an' he reachin' to get a
+Hawkins's rifle as hangs over the door. I never goes back no more,
+'cause he's mighty tindictive about it. He tries to make it a
+grandjury matter next co't-time.
+
+"Speakin' of nuptials, however, you can't tell much about women.
+Thar's a girl who shorely s'prises us once in a way out in
+Wolfville. Missis Rucker, who runs the O. K. Restauraw, gets this
+female from Tucson to fry flap-jacks an' salt hoss, an' he'p her
+deal her little gastronomic game. This yere girl's name is Jennie-
+Tucson Jennie. She looks like she's a nice, good girl, too; one of
+them which it's easy to love, an' in less'n two weeks thar's half
+the camp gets smitten. "It affects business, it's that bad. Cherokee
+Hall tells me thar ain't half the money gets changed in at faro as
+usual, an' the New York Store reports gents goin' broke ag'in biled
+shirts, an' sim'lar deadfalls daily. Of course this yere first
+frenzy subsides a whole lot after a month. "All this time Jennie
+ain't sayin' a word. She jest shoves them foolish yooths their
+enchiladas an' ckile con carne, an' ignores all winks an' looks
+complete.
+
+"Thar's a party named Jim Baxter in camp, an' he sets in to win
+Jennie hard. Jim tries to crowd the game an' get action. It looks
+like he's due to make the trip too. Missis Rucker is backin' his
+play, an' Jennie herse'f sorter lets him set 'round in the kitchen
+an' watch her work; which this yore is license an' riot itse'f
+compared with how she treats others. Occasionally some of us sorter
+tries to stack up for Jim an' figger out where he stands with the
+the game.
+
+"'How's it goin', Baxter?' Enright asks one day.
+
+"'It's too many for me,' says Jim. 'Some-times I thinks I corrals
+her, an' then ag'in it looks like I ain't in it. Jest now I'm
+feelin' some dejected.'
+
+"'Somethin' oughter be schemed to settle this yere,' says Enright.
+'It keeps the camp in a fever, an' mebby gets serious an' spreads.'
+
+"'If somebody would only prance in,' says Doc Peets, 'an' shoot Jim
+up some, you'd have her easy. Females is like a rabbit in a bush-
+pile; you has to shake things up a lot to make 'em come out. Now, if
+Jim is dyin' an' she cares for him, she's shorely goin' to show her
+hand.'
+
+"I wants to pause right yere to observe that Doc Peets is the best-
+eddicated sharp I ever encounters in my life. An' what he don't know
+about squaws is valueless as information. But to go on with the
+deal.
+
+"'That's right,' says Cherokee Hall, 'but of course it ain't goin'
+to do to shoot Jim up none.'
+
+"'I don't know,' says Jim; 'I stands quite a racket if I'm shore it
+fetches her.'
+
+"'What for a game,' says Cherokee, 'would it be to play like Jim's
+shot? Wouldn't that make her come a-runnin' same as if it's shore
+'nough?'
+
+"'I don't see why not,' says Enright.
+
+"Well, the idee gains ground like an antelope, an' at last gets to
+be quite a conspir'cy. It's settled we plays it, with Dave Tutt to
+do the shootin'.
+
+"'An' we makes the game complete,' says Jack Moore, 'by grabbin'
+Dave immediate an' bringin' of him before the committee, which
+convenes all reg'lar an' deecorous in the Red Light for said
+purpose. We-alls must line out like we're goin' to hang Dave for the
+killin'; otherwise it don't look nacheral nohow, an' the lady
+detects it's a bluff.'
+
+"We gets things all ready, an' in the middle of the afternoon, when
+Jennie is draggin' her lariat 'round loose an' nothin' much to do--
+'cause we ain't aimin' to disturb her none in her dooties touchin'
+them flapjacks an' salt hoss--we-alls assembles over in the New York
+Store. As a preliminary step we lays Jim on some boxes, with a
+wagon-cover over him, like he's deceased.
+
+"'Cl'ar things out of the way along by Jim's head,' says Jack Moore,
+who is takin' a big interest. 'We wants to fix things so Jen can
+swarm in at him easy. You hear me! she's goin' to come stampedin' in
+yere like wild cattle when she gets the news.'
+
+"When everythin's ready, Tutt an' Jack, who concloods it's well to
+have a good deal of shootin', bangs away with their guns about four
+times apiece.
+
+"'Jest shootin' once or twice,' says Jack, 'might arouse her
+s'picions. It would be a heap too brief for the real thing.'
+
+"The minute the shootin' is ceased we-alls takes Tutt an' surges
+over to the Red Light to try him; a-pendin' of which Dan Boggs
+sa'nters across to the O. K. Restauraw an' remarks, all casooal an'
+careless like:
+
+"'Dave Tutt downs Jim Baxter a minute back; good clean gun-play as
+ever I sees, too. Mighty big credit to both boys this yere is. No
+shootin' up the scenery an' the bystanders; no sech slobberin' work;
+but everythin' carries straight to centers.'
+
+"'Where is he?' says Jennie, lookin' breathless an' sick.
+
+"'Jim's remainder is in the New York Store,' says Dan.
+
+"'Is he hurt?' she gasps.
+
+"'I don't reckon he hurts none now,' says Dan, ''cause he's done
+cashed in his stack. Why! girl, he's dead; eighteen bullets, caliber
+forty-five, plumb through him.'
+
+"'No, but Dave! Is Dave shot?' Tucson Jennie says, a-wringin' of her
+small paws.
+
+"'Now don't you go to feelin' discouraged none,' says Dan, beginnin'
+to feel sorry for her. 'We fixes the wretch so his murderin' sperit
+won't be an hour behind Jim's gettin' in. The Stranglers has him in
+the Red Light, makin' plans to stretch him right now.'
+
+"We-alls has consoomed drinks all 'round, an' Enright is in the
+chair, an' we're busy settin' up a big front about hearin' the case,
+when Tucson Jennie, with a scream as scares up surroundin' things to
+sech a limit that five ponies hops out of the corral an' flies,
+comes chargin' into the Red Light, an' the next instant she drifts
+'round Tutt's neck like so much snow.
+
+"'What for a game do you call this, anyhow?' says Jack Moore, who's
+a heap scand'lized. 'Is this yere maiden playin' anythin' on this
+camp?'
+
+"'She's plumb locoed with grief,' says Dan Boggs, who follers her
+in, 'an' she's done got 'em mixed in her mind. She thinks Dave is
+Baxter.'
+
+"'That's it,' says Cherokee. 'Her mind's stampeded with the shock.
+Me an' Jack takes her over to Jim's corpse, an' that's shore to
+revive her.' An' with that Cherokee an' Jack goes up to lead her
+away.
+
+"'Save him, Mister Enright; save him!' she pleads, still clingin' to
+Tutt's neck like the loop of a lariat. 'Don't let 'em hang him! Save
+him for my sake!'
+
+"'Hold on, Jack,' says Enright, who by now is lookin' some
+thoughtful. 'Jest everybody stand their hands yere till I counts the
+pot an' notes who's shy. It looks like we're cinchin' the hull onto
+the wrong bronco. Let me ask this female a question. Young woman,'
+he says to Tucson Jennie, 'be you fully informed as to whose neck
+you're hangin' to?'
+
+"'It's Dave's, ain't it?' she says, lookin' all tearful in his face
+to make shore.
+
+"Enright an' the rest of us don't say nothin', but gazes at each
+other. Tutt flushes up an' shows pleased both at once. But all the
+same he puts his arms 'round her like the dead-game gent he is.
+
+"'What'll you-alls have, gents?" Enright says at last, quiet an'
+thoughtful. 'The drinks is on me, barkeep.'
+
+"'Excuse me,' says Doc Peets, 'but as the author of this yere plot,
+I takes it the p'ison is on me. Barkeep, set out all your bottles.'
+
+"'Gents,' says Jack Moore, 'I'm as peaceful a person as ever jingled
+a spur or pulled a gun in Wolfville; but as I reflects on the active
+part I takes in these yere ceremonies, I won't be responsible for
+results if any citizen comes between me an' payin' for the drinks.
+Barkeep, I'm doin' this myse'f.'
+
+"Well, it's hard enoomeratin' how many drinks we do have. Jim Baxter
+throws away the wagon cover an' comes over from the New York Store
+an' stands in with us. It gets to be a orgy.
+
+"'Of course it's all right,' says Enright, 'the camp wins with Tutt
+instead of Baxter; that's all. It 'lustrates one of them beautiful
+characteristics of the gentler sex, too. Yere's Baxter, to say
+nothin' of twenty others, as besieges an' beleaguers this yere
+female for six weeks, an' she scorns 'em. Yere's Tutt, who ain't
+makin' a move, an' she grabs him. It is sech oncertainties, gents,
+as makes
+
+the love of woman valuable.' "'You-alls should have asked me,' says
+Faro Nell, who comes in right then an' rounds up close to Cherokee.
+'I could tell you two weeks ago Jennie's in love with Tutt. Anybody
+could see it. Why! she's been feedin' of him twice as good grub as
+she does anybody else.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY.
+
+
+"No; Dave an' his wife prospers along all right. That is, they
+prospers all but once; that's when Jennie gets jealous."
+
+The Old Cattleman was responding to my question. I was full of an
+idle interest and disposed to go further into the affairs of Tutt
+and Tucson Jennie.
+
+"Doc Peets," continued the old gentleman, "allers tells me on the
+side thar's nothin' in Dave's conduct onbecomin' a fam'ly man that
+a-way, an' that Jen's simply barkin' at a knot. But, however that
+is, Dave don't seem to gain no comfort of it at the time. I can see
+myse'f she gets Dave plumb treed an' out on a limb by them
+accusations when she makes 'em. He shorely looks guilty; an' yet,
+while I stands over the play from the first, I can't see where Dave
+does wrong.
+
+"However, I don't put myse'f for'ard as no good jedge in domestic
+affairs. Bein' single myse'f that a-way, females is ondoubted what
+Doc Peets calls a 'theery' with me. But nevertheless, in an
+onpresoomin', lowly way, I gives it as my meager jedgement, an' I
+gives it cold, as how a jealous woman is worse than t'rant'lers.
+She's plumb locoed for one thing; an' thar's no sech thing as
+organizin' to meet her game. For myse'f, I don't want no
+transactions with 'em; none whatever.
+
+"This yere domestic uprisin' of Dave's wife breaks on Wolfville as
+onexpected as a fifth ace in a poker deck; it leaves the camp all
+spraddled out. Tucson Jennie an' Dave's been wedded goin' on six
+months. The camp, as I relates, attends the nuptials in a body, an',
+followin' of the festivities, Tucson Jennie an' Dave tumbles into
+housekeepin' peaceful as two pups in a basket.
+
+"Wolfville's proud of 'em, an'every time some ign'rant bein' asks
+about Wolfville an' the social features of the camp, we allers
+mentions Tutt an' his wife, an' tells how they keeps house, sorter
+upholsterin' our bluff.
+
+"That's how the deal stands, when one day up jumps this Tucson
+Jennie, puts on her sunbunnit, an' goes stampedin' down to the U. K.
+House, an' allows to Missis Rucker that she's done lived with Dave
+all she aims to, an' has shore pulled her picket pin for good. She
+puts it up Dave is a base, deceitful sharp that a-way, an' informs
+Missis Rucker, all mixed up with tears, as how she now desires to go
+back in the kitchen an' cook, same as when Dave rounds her up for
+his wife.
+
+"Yere's the whole story, an' while I nurses certain views tharon, I
+leaves it to you entire to say how much Tucson Jennie is jestified.
+I knows all about it, for I'm obleeged to be in on the deal from
+soda to hock.
+
+"It's mighty likely a month before the time Tucson Jennie breaks
+through Dave's lines this a-way. Dave an' me's due to go over
+towards the Tres Hermanas about some cattle. Likewise thar's an
+English outfit allowin' they'll go along some, to see where they've
+been stackin' in heavy on some ranch lands. They was eager for Dave
+an' me to trail along with 'em, an' sorter ride herd on' em, an'
+keep 'em from gettin' mixed up with the scenery--which the same is
+shorely complicated in the foot-hills of the Tres Hermanas--an'
+losin' themse'fs a heap.
+
+"'Which you'd better do it, boys,' says Enright. 'S'pose them folks
+be some trouble. It's a mighty sight better than havin' 'em go
+p'intin' off alone that a-way. They would shore miss the way if they
+does; an' the first we-alls knows, these yere Britons would be
+runnin' cimmaron in the hills, scarin' up things a lot, an' a-
+stampedin' the cattle plumb off the range. It's easier to go along
+careful with 'em an' bring'em back.'
+
+"It comes, then, that one mornin' Dave an' me an' these yere aliens
+lines out for the hills. They've got ponies, an' wagons, an' camp-
+outfit to that extent a casooal onlooker might think they aims to be
+away for years.
+
+"As we p'ints out from the O.K. House, where them Britons has been
+wrastlin' their chuck pendin' the start, Tucson Jennie is thar
+sayin' 'goodby' to Dave. I notes then she ain't tickled to death
+none about somethin', but don't deem nothin' speshul of it.
+
+"The Britons is made up of two gents, mebby as old as Enright--
+brothers is what they be--an' a female who's the daughter of one of
+'em. Which thar's nothin' recent about this yere lady, though; an' I
+reckons she's mighty likely forty years old. I learns later,
+however, it's this female which Tucson Jennie resents when she says
+"adios" to Dave.
+
+"It shore strikes me now, when years is passed, as some marv'lous
+how a han'some, corn-fed female like Tucson Jennie manages to found
+a fight with Dave over this yere towerist woman. I'm nacherally slow
+to go decidin' bets ag'in a lady's looks, but whatever Tucson Jennie
+sees in the appearance of this person which is likely to inviggle
+Dave is too many for me. I softens the statement a heap when I says
+she's uglier than a Mexican sheep.
+
+"However, that don't seem to occur to Tucson Jennie; an' Doc Peets--
+who's the wisest sharp in Arizona--allows to me afterwards as how
+Tucson Jennie is cuttin' the kyards with herse'f desp'rate to see
+whether she declar's war at the very time we makes our start. If she
+does, she turns the low kyard, for she don't say nothin', an' we
+gets away, an' all is profound peace.
+
+"Four days later we're in camp by a water-hole in the frill of the
+foot-hills. The Britons has got up a wall tent an' is shorely havin'
+a high an' lavish time. Dave an' me ain't payin' no attention to 'em
+speshul, as we don't see how none is needed. Besides, we has some
+hard ridin' to do lookin' up places for a line of sign camps.
+
+"It's the second day when we notices an outfit of Injuns camped down
+the valley from us. They's all serene an' peaceful enough; with
+squaws, papooses, an' dogs; an' ain't thinkin' no more of bein'
+hostile than we be.
+
+"Of course, no sooner does these yere Britons of ours behold this
+band of savages than they has to go projectin' round 'em. That's the
+worst thing about a towerist; he's that loaded with cur'osity, an'
+that gregar'ous an' amiable, he has to go foolin' 'round every
+stranger lie tracks up with. In their ign'rance they even gets that
+roode an' insultin' at times, that I knows 'em who's that regardless
+an' imp'lite as to up an' ask a rank stranger that a-way to pass'em
+his gun to look at.
+
+"An' so, as I says, no sooner does them Injuns get near us, than
+them three blessed foreigners is over after 'em; ropin' at em' with
+questions an' invadin' of 'em, an' examinin' of 'em like the whole
+tribe's for sale an' they aims to acquire 'em if figgers is
+reasonable.
+
+"I never does know what the female towerist says or does to that
+partic'lar aborigine-nothin' most likely; but it ain't a day when
+one of them Injuns settles it with himse'f he wants to wed her. The
+towerists is in ign'rance of the views of this savage, who goes
+about dealin' his game Injun fashion.
+
+"It's this a-way: Dave an' me trails in one evenin' some weary an'
+played; it's been a hard ride that day. Which the first thing we
+lays eyes on at the camp shorely livens us up a lot. Thar, tied to
+the wagon-wheels, is nine ponies, which the same belongs to the
+Injuns.
+
+"'Whatever be these y ere broncos doin' yere?' says Dave, for we
+allows, the first dash outen the box, mebby the Britons makes a
+purchase.
+
+"One of the towerists tells a long an' delighted story about the
+gen'rosity of the Injuns.
+
+"'Actooally,' says this towerist,"them gen'rous savages leads up
+these yere nine ponies an' donates 'em.'
+
+"Dave an' me asks questions; and all thar is to the deal--which it's
+shore enough to bust Dave's fam'ly before it's over--them Injuns
+brings up the nine ponies all respectful, an' leaves 'em hobbled
+out, mebby it's a hundred yards from the Britons, an' rides away.
+The Britons, deemin' this bluff as in the line of gifts, capers over
+an' possesses themse'fs of the ponies an' leads 'em in. That's the
+outside of the store.
+
+"'Well, stranger,' says Dave in reply, takin' of the towerist one
+side, 'I ain't aimin' to discourage you none, but you-alls has gone
+an' got all tangled up in your lariat.'
+
+"'What for an ontanglement is it?' asks the towerist.
+
+"'Nothin',' says Dave, sorter breakin' it to him easy, 'nothin',
+only you've done married your daughter to one of them Injuns.'
+
+"When Dave announces this yere trooth it shore looks like the
+Briton's goin' to need whiskey to uphold himse'f. But he
+reorganizes, an' Dave explains that the Injuns, when they trails in
+with the ponies, is simply shufflin' for a weddin'; they's offerin'
+what they-alls calls a 'price' for the woman.
+
+"'An' when you-alls leads in the ponies,' says Dave,'that settles
+it. You agrees to deal right thar. To-morrow, now, this yere buck,
+whoever he is, will come surgin' in with his relations plumb down to
+third cousins; an' he expects you'll be dead ready to feed 'em, an'
+wind up the orgy by passin' over the bride.'
+
+"You can bet them reecitals of Dave's is plenty horrible to the
+towerist. He allows we must keep it from his daughter; an' then he
+puts hip whole outfit in Dave's hands, to get 'em safe onto high
+grounds.
+
+"'Can't we pull our freight in the night?'says the towerist, an'
+he's shorely anxious.
+
+"'Too much moon,' says Dave; 'an' then, ag'in, the whole Injun
+outfit's below us in the draw, an' we never gets by once in a
+thousand times. No,' goes on Dave, 'one shore thing we can't back
+out nor crawl off. We-alls has to play the hand plumb through:
+
+"Then Dave tells the towerist him an' me talks over this yere
+weddin' which he done goes into so inadvertent; an' if thar's a
+chance to save him from becomin' a father-in-law abrupt, we'll play
+it to win.
+
+"'This yere is the only wagon-track out; says Dave to me, after we
+pow-wows an hour. 'You go down to them Injuns, an' find the right
+buck that a-way, an' tell him the squaw's got a buck now. Tell him
+he's barred. Which at this p'int in your revelations he's due to
+offer a fight, an' of course you takes him. Tell him at first-drink
+time to-morrow mornin' he finds me ready to fight for the squaw.'
+
+"'This whole business makes metired, though,' says Dave, a heap
+disgustad. ' If these eediots had let them Injuns alone-, or even if
+they disdains the ponies when they was brought up, this yere could
+be fixed easy. But now it's fight or give up the woman, so you go
+down, as I says, an' arrange for the dance.'
+
+"Of course thar's no explainin' nothin' to Injuns. You might as well
+waste time expoundin' to coyotes an' jack-rabbits. All that's left
+for me to do is trail out after my savage, as Dave says, an' notify
+him that this weddin' he pro. poses is postponed an' all bets is
+off.
+
+"I finds him easy enough, an' saws it off on him in Spanish how the
+game stacks up. But he ain't cheerful about it, an' displays a
+mighty baleful sperit. Jest as Tutt allows he's out to shoot for the
+squaw in a minute, an' as thar's no gettin' away from it, I tells
+him to paint himse'f for war an' come a-runnin'.
+
+"I has to carry a hard face; for we're shorely in for it. Yere we be
+four days from Wolfville, an' the Injuns--an' I reckons thar's
+twenty bucks in the outfit-is camped in between us an' he'p.
+
+"This Injun who's after the woman is named Black Dog. The next
+mornin' Tutt saddles up an' rides off to one side of our camp, mebby
+it's a quarter of a mile, an' then gets offen his pony an' stands
+thar. We-alls don't onfold to the towerists the details of the deal,
+not even to the Injun's father-in-law. The towerist female is that
+ign'rant of what's going' on, she's pesterin' 'round all
+onconscious, makin' bakin'-powder biscuit at the time. I looks at
+her close, an' I wonders even yet what that Black Dog's thinkin' of.
+But I don't get much time to be disgusted over this Black Dog's
+taste before he comes p'intin' out from among his people.
+
+"The sun's jest gettin' over the hills to the east, an', as it
+strikes him, he's shore a fash'nable lookin' Injun. He ain't got
+nothin' on but a war-bunnit an' a coat of paint. The rest of his
+trousseau he confines to his Winchester an' belt. He's on his war-
+pony, an' the bronco's stripped as bare as this Black Dog is; not a
+strap from muzzle to tail. This bridegroom Injun's tied its mane
+full of ribbons, an' throws a red blanket across his pony's withers
+for general effects. Take it all over, he's a nifty-lookin' savage.
+
+"So far as the dooel goes, Dave ain't runnin' no resk. He stands
+thar on the ground an' keeps his hoss between him an' this yere
+Black Dog. It's a play which forces the bridegroom's hand, too. He's
+due, bein' Injun, to go cirelin' Dave an' do his shootin' on the
+canter.
+
+"An' that's what this weak-minded savage does. He breaks into a lope
+an' goes sailin' 'round Dave like a hawk. Durin' them exercises he
+lays over on the shoulder of his hoss an' bangs away from onder its
+neck with one hand, permiscus.
+
+"This is mere frivolity. Thar ain't no white gent who could shoot
+none onder sech conditions; an' Injuns can't shoot nohow. They don't
+savey a hind sight. An', as I remarks, if Dave's hit any, it's goin'
+to shorely be an accident, an' accidents don't happen none in
+Arizona; leastwise not with guns.
+
+'Mebby this Black Dog's banged away three times, when Dave, who's
+been followin' of him, through the sights for thirty seconds,
+onhooks his rifle, an' the deal comes to a full stop. Dave's
+shootin' a Sharp's, with a hundred an' twenty grains of powder, an'
+the way he sends a bullet plumb through that war-pony an' this yere
+Black Dog, who's hangin' on its off side, don't bother him a bit.
+The pony an' the Black Dog goes over on their heads.
+
+"Dave rides in, an' brings the blanket an' war-bunnit. Even then,
+the female towerist, which is the object of the meetin', don't seem
+informed none of the course of events. The fact is, she never does
+acquire the rights of it till we-alls is two days back on the return
+trail.
+
+"Thar's no more bother. Injuns is partic'lar people, that a-way,
+about etiquette as they saveys it, an' followin' Dave's downin' this
+Black Dog they ain't makin' a moan or a move. They takes it plenty
+solemn an' mute, an' goes to layin' out the Black Dog's obsequies
+without no more notice of us. It's a squar deal; they sees that; an'
+they ain't filin' no objections. As for our end of the game, we
+moves out for Wolfville, makin' no idle delays whatever.
+
+"Goin' in, Dave, after thinkin' some, su'gests to me that it's
+likely to be a heap good story not to tell Tucson Jennie.
+
+"'Females is illogical, that a-way,' says Dave, 'an' I ain't goin'
+to have time to eddicate Jennie to a proper view of this yere. So I
+reckons it's goin' to be a crafty play not to tell her.'
+
+"The Britons has been gone two weeks when Tucson Jennie learns the
+story. Them towerists is plumb weary of Arizona when we trails into
+Wolfville, an' don't seem to tarry a second before they lines out
+for Tucson.
+
+"'They jest hits a high place or two,' says Jack Moore, after he
+hears of them designs of the Black Dog, 'an' they'll be 'way yonder
+out of the country. I don't reckon none of 'em'll ever come back
+soon, neither.'
+
+"But it's the towerist woman makes the trouble from start to finish.
+It's a letter from her which she writes back to Dave, allowin'
+she'll thank him some more as her preserver, that brings the news to
+Jennie. Tucson Jennie gets this missive, an' ups an' rifles an'
+reads it to herse'f a whole lot. It's then Tucson Jennie gives it
+out cold, Dave is breakin' her heart, an' tharupon prances 'round
+for her shaker an' goes over to Missis Rucker's.
+
+"The whole camp knows the story in an hour, an' while we-ails
+sympathizes with Dave of course, no one's blamin' Tucson Jennie.
+She's a female, an' onresponsible, for one thing; an' then, ag'in
+Dave's a heap onlikely to stand any condemnations of his wife.
+
+"'She's as good a woman as ever wears a moccasin,' says Dave, while
+he's recoverin' of his sperits at the Red Light bar.
+
+"An' we-alls allows she shorely is; an' then everybody looks pensive
+an' sincere that a-way, so's not to harrow Dave none an' make his
+burdens more.
+
+"'But whatever can I do to fetch her back to camp?' asks Dave,
+appealin' to Enright mighty wretched. 'I goes plumb locoed if this
+yere keeps on.'
+
+"'My notion is, we-alls better put Missis Rucker in to play the
+hand,' says Enright. 'Missis Rucker's a female, an' is shorely due
+to know what kyards to draw. But this oughter be a lesson to you,
+Dave, not to go romancin' 'round with strange women no more.'
+
+"'It's a forced play, I tells you,' says Dave. 'Them Injuns has us
+treed. It's a case of fight or give up that she-towerist, so what
+was I to do?'
+
+"`Well,' says Enright, some severe,' you might at least have
+consulted with this yere towerist woman some. But you don't. You
+simply gets a gun an' goes trackin' 'round in her destinies, an'
+shootin' up her prospects like you has a personal interest. You
+don't know but she deplores the deal complete. Peets, an' me, an'
+Boggs, an' all the rest of us is your friends, an' nacherally
+partial on your side. We-alls figgers you means well. But what I
+says is this: It ain't no s'prisin' thing when Tucson Jennie, a-
+hearin' of them pronounced attentions which you pays this towerist
+lady, is filled with grief. This shootin' up an Injun, cause he's
+plannin' to wed this female some, is what I shorely calls pronounced
+attentions. What do you think yourse'f, Peets?'
+
+"'Why! I readily concedes what Dave says,' remarks Peets.
+'Ondoubtedly he acts for the best as he sees it. But jest as you
+puts it: s'pose Dave ain't hungerin' none for this towerist woman
+himse'f, the headlong way he goes after this yere Black Dog, settin'
+of the war-jig the next sun-up, an' all without even sayin' "Let me
+look at your hand," to this female, jestifies them inferences of
+yours. Of course I don't say--an' I don't reckon none--Dave thinks
+of this old-maid maverick once; but, he sees himse'f, ht shore goes
+to war a heap precipitate an' onconsiderate, an' Tucson Jennie has
+ondoubted grounds to buck.
+
+"'Which, when you-alls puts it so cl'ar, I thinks so too,' says
+Dave, who's listenin' to Enright an' Peets a mighty sight dejected.
+I But I ain't been wedded long--ain't more'n what you might call an
+amature husband. What you-alls oughter do now is he'p me to round
+her up. If Tucson Jennie's a bunch of cattle, or a band of ponies as
+has stampeded, you'd be in the saddle too quick.'
+
+"Missis Rucker shore does all she knows to soften Tucson Jennie. She
+reminds her how in the old times, when Dave gets his chile con carne
+at the O. K. House, and the party from the States takes to reprovin'
+of Missis Rucker about thar bein' nothin' but coffee an' beans to
+eat, Dave onlimbers his six-shooter an' goes to the front.
+
+"'The grub's dealt down,' says Dave, explainin' to this obnoxious
+tenderfoot, 'till thar's nothin' left in the box but beans, coffee,
+an' beans. It's a cat-hop, but it can't be he'ped none.'
+
+"'Cat-hop or no cat-hop,' says this tenderfoot, 'I'm dead ag'in
+beans; an' you can gamble I ain't out to devour no sech low
+veg'tables; none whatever.'
+
+"'You jest thinks you don't like beans,' says Dave, an' with that he
+sorter dictates at the tenderfoot with his gun, an' the tenderfoot
+thar-upon lays for his frijoles like he's actooally honin' tharfor.
+
+"'Which it all shows Dave's got a good heart,' says Missis Rucker to
+Tucson Jennie.
+
+"'That's nothin' to do with his makin' love to the British woman,'
+says Tucson Jennie, grittin' her teeth like she could eat the sights
+offen a six-shooter.
+
+"'He never makes no love to this yere woman,' says Missis Rucker.
+
+"'When he ketches her flirtin' with that Injun,' demands Tucson
+Jennie, 'don't Dave shoot him up a lot? What do you-all call makin'
+love? He never downs no Injuns for me, an' I'm his lawful wife.' An'
+yere Missis Rucker allows, when she reports to Enright an' Dave an'
+the rest of the outfit in the Red Light, Tucson Jennie weeps like
+her heart is shorely broke.
+
+"'Which the pore girl's to be pitied,' says Enright. 'Dave,' he goes
+on, turnin' to Tutt some fierce, 'you don't deserve no sech devotion
+as this.'
+
+"'That's whatever,' says Dan Boggs, lookin' red an' truculent, 'this
+yere Tucson Jennie's a angel.'
+
+"But thar we be, up ag'inst it, an' not a man knows a thing to do to
+squar' the deal with Dave's wife. We-alls, calls for drinks all
+'round, an' sets about an' delib'rates. At last Dave speaks up in a
+low-sperited way.
+
+"'I reckons she done jumps the game for good,' he says. 'But if
+she's goin', I wants her to have a layout. If you-alls cares to go
+over to the New York Store, I allows I'll play in a blue stack or
+two an' win her out some duds. I wants her to quit the deal ahead.'
+
+"So Dave sets out for the New York Store, an' the rest of us sorter
+straggles along. Thar's nothin' gay about us. Dave gets a shawl an'
+a dress; nothin' gaudy; it's a plain red an' yaller. Missis Rucker
+packs 'em over to Tucson Jennie an' gets that wrapped up in the deal
+she forgets utter to rustle us our grub.
+
+"Which, it's the onexpeeted as happens in Wolfville same as
+everywhere else. The minute Tucson Jennie sees the raiment, an'
+realizes how Dave loves her, that settles it. Her heart melts right
+thar. She ain't sayin' nothin'; jest ropes onto the dry-goods an'
+starts sobbin' out for the 'doby where she an' Dave lives at.
+
+"Dave, when he observes this yere from 'cross the street, shakes
+hands all 'round, but don't trust himse'f with no remarks. He gives
+our paws a squeeze like he knows he can rely on our friendship an'
+hunts his way across to Tucson Jennie without a word.
+
+"'It's all right about bein' yoothful an' light, that a-way,' says
+Enright, after Dave pulls his freight, 'but Tutt oughter remember
+yereafter, before he goes mixin' himse'f up with sech vain things as
+towerists an' Injuns an' British, that he's a married man.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+THE MAN FROM RED DOG.
+
+
+"Let me try one of them thar seegyars."
+
+It was the pleasant after-dinner hour, and I was on the veranda for
+a quiet smoke. The Old Cattleman had just thrown down his paper; the
+half-light of the waning sun was a bit too dim for his eyes of
+seventy years.
+
+"Whenever I beholds a seegyar," said the old fellow, as he puffed
+voluminously at the principe I passed over, "I thinks of what that
+witness says in the murder trial at Socorro.
+
+"'What was you-all doin' in camp yourse'f,' asks the jedge of this
+yere witness, 'the day of the killin'?'
+
+"'Which,' says the witness, oncrossin' his laigs an' lettin' on he
+ain't made bashful an' oneasy by so much attentions bein' shown
+hire, 'which I was a-eatin' of a few sardines, a-drinkin' of a few
+drinks of whiskey, a-smokin' of a few seegyars, an' a-romancin'
+'round.'"
+
+After this abrupt, not to say ambiguous reminiscence, the Old
+Cattleman puffed contentedly a moment.
+
+"What murder trial was this you speak of?" I asked. "Who had been
+killed?"
+
+"Now I don't reckon I ever does know who it is gets downed," he
+replied. "This yere murder trial itse'f is news to me complete. They
+was waggin' along with it when I trails into Socorro that time, an'
+I merely sa'nters over to the co't that a-way to hear what's goin'
+on. The jedge is sorter gettin' in on the play while I'm listenin'.
+
+"'What was the last words of this yere gent who's killed?' asks the
+jedge of this witness.
+
+"'As nearly as I keeps tabs, jedge,' says the witness, `the dyin'
+statement of this person is: "Four aces to beat."'
+
+"'Which if deceased had knowed Socorro like I does,' says the jedge,
+like he's commentin' to himse'f, 'he'd shorely realized that sech
+remarks is simply sooicidal.'"
+
+Again the Old Cattleman relapsed into silence and the smoke of the
+principe.
+
+"How did the trial come out?" I queried. "Was the accused found
+guilty?"
+
+"Which the trial itse'f," he replied, "don't come out. Thar's a
+passel of the boys who's come into town to see that jestice is done,
+an' bein' the round-up is goin' for'ard at the time, they nacherally
+feels hurried an' pressed for leesure. Theyalls oughter be back on
+the range with their cattle. So the fifth day, when things is
+loiterin' along at the trial till it looks like the law has hobbles
+on, an' the word goes round it's goin' to be a week yet before the
+jury gets action on this miscreant who's bein' tried, the boys
+becomes plumb aggravated an' wearied out that a-way; an', kickin' in
+the door of the calaboose, they searches out the felon, swings him
+to a cottonwood not otherwise engaged, an' the right prevails.
+Nacherally the trial bogs down right thar."
+
+After another season of silence and smoke, the Old Cattleman struck
+in again.
+
+"Speakn' of killin's, while I'm the last gent to go fosterin' idees
+of bloodshed, I'm some discouraged jest now by what I've been
+readin' in that paper about a dooel between some Eytalians, an' it
+shorely tries me the way them aliens plays hoss. It's obvious as
+stars on a cl'ar night, they never means fight a little bit. I
+abhors dooels, an' cowers from the mere idee. But, after all,
+business is business, an' when folks fights 'em the objects of the
+meetin' oughter be blood. But the way these yere European shorthorns
+fixes it, a gent shorely runs a heap more resk of becomin' a angel
+abrupt, attendin' of a Texas cake-walk in a purely social way.
+
+"Do they ever fight dooels in the West? Why, yes--some. My mem'ry
+comes a-canterin' up right now with the details of an encounter I
+once beholds in Wolfville. Thar ain't no time much throwed away with
+a dooel in the Southwest. The people's mighty extemporaneous, an'
+don't go browsin' 'round none sendin' challenges in writin', an'
+that sort of flapdoodle. When a gent notices the signs a-gettin'
+about right for him to go on the war-path, he picks out his meat,
+surges up, an' declar's himse'f. The victim, who is most likely a
+mighty serious an' experienced person, don't copper the play by
+makin' vain remarks, but brings his gatlin' into play surprisin'.
+Next it's bang! bang! bang! mixed up with flashes an' white smoke,
+an' the dooel is over complete. The gent who still adorns our midst
+takes a drink on the house, while St. Peter onbars things a lot an'
+arranges gate an' seat checks with the other in the realms of light.
+That's all thar is to it. The tide of life ag'in flows onward to the
+eternal sea, an' nary ripple.
+
+"Oh, this yere Wolfville dooel! `Well, it's this a-way. The day is
+blazin' hot, an' business layin' prone an' dead--jest blistered to
+death. A passel of us is sorter pervadin' 'round the dance-hall, it
+bein' the biggest an' coolest store in camp. A monte game is
+strugglin' for breath in a feeble, fitful way in the corner, an'
+some of us is a-watchin'; an' some a-settin' 'round loose a-
+thinkin'; but all keepin' mum an' still, 'cause it's so hot.
+
+"Jest then some gent on a hoss goes whoopin' up the street a-yellin'
+an' a-whirlin' the loop of his rope, an' allowin' generally he's
+havin' a mighty good time.
+
+"'Who's this yere toomultuous man on the hoss?' says Enright, a-
+regardin' of him in a displeased way from the door.
+
+"'I meets him up the street a minute back,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' he
+allows he's called "The Man from Red Dog." He says he's took a day
+off to visit us, an' aims to lay waste the camp some before he goes
+back.'
+
+"About then the Red Dog man notes old Santa Rosa, who keeps the
+Mexican baile hall, an' his old woman, Marie, a-fussin' with each
+other in front of the New York Store. They's locked horns over a
+drink or somethin', an' is pow-wowin' mighty onamiable.
+
+"'Whatever does this yere Mexican fam'ly mean,' says the Red Dog
+man, a-surveyin' of 'em plenty scornful, 'a-draggin' of their
+domestic brawls out yere to offend a sufferin' public for? Whyever
+don't they stay in their wickeyup an' fight, an' not take to puttin'
+it all over the American race which ain't in the play none an' don't
+thirst tharfor? However, I unites an' reeconciles this divided
+household easy.'
+
+"With this the Red Dog man drops the loop of his lariat 'round the
+two contestants an' jumps his bronco up the street like it's come
+outen a gun. Of course Santa Rosa an' Marie goes along on their
+heads permiscus.
+
+"They goes coastin' along ontil they gets pulled into a mesquite-
+bush, an' the rope slips offen the saddle, an' thar they be. We-alls
+goes over from the dance-hall, extricatin' of 'em, an' final they
+rounds up mighty hapless an' weak, an' can only walk. They shorely
+lose enough hide to make a pair of leggin's.
+
+"'Which I brings 'em together like twins,' says the Red Dog man,
+ridin' back for his rope. 'I offers two to one, no limit, they don't
+fight none whatever for a month.'
+
+"Which, as it shorely looks like he's right, no one takes him. So
+the Red Dog man leaves his bluff a-hangin' an' goes into the dance-
+hall, a-givin' of it out cold an' clammy he meditates libatin'.
+
+"'All promenade to the bar,' yells the Red Dog man as he goes in.
+'I'm a wolf, an' it's my night to howl. Don't 'rouse me, barkeep,
+with the sight of merely one bottle; set 'em all up. I'm some
+fastidious about my fire-water an' likes a chance to select.'
+
+"Well, we-alls takes our inspiration, an' the Red Dog man tucks his
+onder his belt an' then turns round to Enright.
+
+"'I takes it you're the old he-coon of this yere outfit?' says the
+Red Dog man, soopercillious-like.
+
+"'Which, if I ain't,' says Enright, 'it's plenty safe as a play to
+let your wisdom flow this a-way till the he-coon gets yere.'
+
+"'If thar's anythin',' says the Red Dog man, 'I turns from sick,
+it's voylence an' deevastation. But I hears sech complaints constant
+of this yere camp of Wolfville, I takes my first idle day to ride
+over an' line things up. Now yere I be, an' while I regrets it, I
+finds you-alls is a lawless, onregenerate set, a heap sight worse
+than roomer. I now takes the notion--for I sees no other trail--that
+by next drink time I climbs into the saddle, throws my rope 'round
+this den of sin, an' removes it from the map.'
+
+"'Nacherally,' says Enright, some sarcastic, 'in makin' them schemes
+you ain't lookin' for no trouble whatever with a band of tarrapins
+like us.'
+
+"'None whatever,' says the Red Dog man, mighty confident. 'In thirty
+minutes I distributes this yere hamlet 'round in the landscape same
+as them Greasers; which feat becomin' hist'ry, I then canters back
+to Red Dog.'
+
+"'Well,' says Enright, 'it's plenty p'lite to let us know what's
+comin' this a-way.'
+
+"'Oh! I ain't tellin' you none,' says the Red Dog man, 'I simply
+lets fly this hint, so any of you-alls as has got bric-a-brac he
+values speshul, he takes warnin' some an' packs it off all safe.'
+
+"It's about then when Cherokee Hall, who's lookin' on, shoulders in
+between Enright an' the Red Dog man, mighty positive. Cherokee is a
+heap sot in his idees, an' I sees right off he's took a notion ag'in
+the Red Dog man.
+
+"'As you've got a lot of work cut out,' says Cherokee, eyein' the
+Red Dog man malignant, 's'pose we tips the canteen ag'in.'
+
+"'I shorely goes you,' says the Red Dog man. 'I drinks with friend,
+an' I drinks with foe; with the pard of my bosom an' the shudderin'
+victim of my wrath all sim'lar.'
+
+"Cherokee turns out a big drink an' stands a-holdin' of it in his
+hand. I wants to say right yere, this Cherokee's plenty guileful.
+
+"'You was namin',' says Cherokee, 'some public improvements you aims
+to make; sech as movin' this yere camp 'round some, I believes?'
+
+"'That's whatever,' says the Red Dog man, 'an' the holycaust I
+'nitiates is due to start in fifteen minutes.'
+
+"'I've been figgerin' on you,' says Cherokee, 'an' I gives you the
+result in strict confidence without holdin' out a kyard. When you-
+all talks of tearin' up Wolfville, you're a liar an' a hoss-thief,
+an' you ain't goin' to tear up nothin'.'
+
+"'What's this I hears!' yells the frenzied Red Dog man, reachin' for
+his gun.
+
+"But he never gets it, for the same second Cherokee spills the glass
+of whiskey straight in his eyes, an' the next he's anguished an'
+blind as a mole.
+
+"'I'll fool this yere human simoon up a lot,' says Cherokee, a-
+hurlin' of the Red Dog man to the floor, face down, while his nine-
+inch bowie shines in his hand like the sting of a wasp. 'I shore
+fixes him so he can't get a job clerkin' in a store,' an' grabbin'
+the Red Dog man's ha'r, which is long as the mane of a pony, he
+slashes it off close in one motion.
+
+"'Thar's a fringe for your leggin's, Nell,' remarks Cherokee, a-
+turnin' of the crop over to Faro Nell. 'Now, Doc,' Cherokee goes on
+to Doc Peets, 'take this yere Red Dog stranger over to the Red
+Light, fix his eyes all right, an' then tell him, if he thinks he
+needs blood in this, to take his Winchester an' go north in the
+middle of the street. In twenty minutes by the watch I steps outen
+the dance-hall door a-lookin' for him. P'int him to the door all
+fair an' squar'. I don't aim to play nothin' low on this yere gent.
+He gets a chance for his ante.'
+
+"Doc Peets sorter accoomilates the Red Dog man, who is cussin' an'
+carryin' on scand'lous, an' leads him over to the Red Light. In a
+minute word comes to Cherokee as his eyes is roundin' up all proper,
+an' that he's makin' war-medicine an' is growin' more hostile
+constant, an' to heel himse'f. At that Cherokee, mighty ca'm, sends
+out for Jack Moore's Winchester, which is an 'eight-squar',' latest
+model.
+
+"'Oh, Cherokee!' says Faro Nell, beginnin' to cry, an' curlin' her
+arms 'round his neck. 'I'm 'fraid he's goin' to down you. Ain't thar
+no way to fix it? Can't Dan yere settle with this Red Dog man?'
+
+"'Cert,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' I makes the trip too gleeful. Jest to
+spar' Nell's feelin's, Cherokee, an' not to interfere with no gent's
+little game, I takes your hand an' plays it.'
+
+"'Not none,' says Cherokee; 'this is my deal. Don't cry, Nellie,' he
+adds, smoothin' down her yaller ha'r. 'Folks in my business has to
+hold themse'fs ready to face any game on the word, an' they never
+weakens or lays down. An' another thing, little girl; I gets this
+Red Dog sharp, shore. I'm in the middle of a run of luck; I holds
+fours twice last night, with a flush an' a full hand out ag'in 'em.'
+
+"Nell at last lets go of Cherokee's neck, an', bein' a female an'
+timid that a-way, allows she'll go, an' won't stop to see the
+shootin' none. We applauds the idee, thinkin' she might shake
+Cherokee some if she stays; an' of course a gent out shootin' for
+his life needs his nerve.
+
+"Well, the twenty minutes is up; the Red Dog man gets his rifle
+offen his saddle an' goes down the middle of the street. Turnin' up
+his big sombrero, he squar's 'round, cocks his gun, an' waits. Then
+Enright goes out with Cherokee an' stands him in the street about a
+hundred yards from the Red Dog man. After Cherokee's placed he holds
+up his hand for attention an' says:
+
+"'When all is ready I stands to one side an' drops my hat. You-alls
+fires at will.'
+
+"Enright goes over to the side of the street, counts 'one,' 'two,'
+'three,' an' drops his hat. Bangety! Bang! Bang! goes the rifles
+like the roll of a drum. Cherokee can work a Winchester like one of
+these yere Yankee 'larm-clocks, an' that Red Dog hold-up don't seem
+none behind.
+
+"About the fifth fire the Red Dog man sorter steps for'ard an' drops
+his gun; an' after standin' onsteady for a second, he starts to
+cripplin' down at his knees. At last he comes ahead on his face like
+a landslide. Thar's two bullets plumb through his lungs, an' when we
+gets to him the red froth is comin' outen his mouth some plenteous.
+
+"We packs him back into the Red Light an' lays him onto a monte-
+table. Bimeby he comes to a little an' Peets asks him whatever he
+thinks he wants.
+
+"'I wants you-alls to take off my moccasins an' pack me into the
+street,' says the Red Dog man. 'I ain't allowin' for my old mother
+in Missoury to be told as how I dies in no gin-mill, which she
+shorely 'bominates of 'em. An' I don't die with no boots on,
+neither.'
+
+"We-alls packs him back into the street ag'in, an' pulls away at his
+boots. About the time we gets 'em off he sags back convulsive, an'
+thar he is as dead as Santa Anna.
+
+"'What sort of a game is this, anyhow?' says Dan Boggs, who, while
+we stands thar, has been pawin' over the Red Dog man's rifle. 'Looks
+like this vivacious party's plumb locoed. Yere's his hind-sights
+wedged up for a thousand yards, an' he's been a-shootin' of
+cartridges with a hundred an' twenty grains of powder into 'em.
+Between the sights an' the jump of the powder, he's shootin' plumb
+over Cherokee an' aimin' straight at him.'
+
+"'Nellie,' says Enright, lookin' remorseful at the girl, who colors
+up an' begins to cry ag'in, 'did you cold-deck this yere Red Dog
+sport this a-way?'
+
+"'I'm 'fraid,' sobs Nell, 'he gets Cherokee; so I slides over when
+you-alls is waitin' an' fixes his gun some.'
+
+"'Which I should shorely concede you did,' says Enright. 'The way
+that Red Dog gent manip'lates his weepon shows he knows his game;
+an' except for you a-settin' things up on him, I'm powerful afraid
+he'd spoiled Cherokee a whole lot.'
+
+"'Well, gents,' goes on Enright, after thinkin' a while, 'I reckons
+we-alls might as well drink on it. Hist'ry never shows a game yet,
+an' a woman in it, which is on the squar', an' we meekly b'ars our
+burdens with the rest.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+CHEROKEE HALL.
+
+
+"An' you can't schedoole too much good about him," remarked the Old
+Cattleman. Here he threw away the remnant of the principe, and,
+securing his pipe, beat the ashes there-out and carefully reloaded
+with cut plug. Inevitably the old gentleman must smoke. His tone and
+air as he made the remark quoted were those of a man whose
+convictions touching the one discussed were not to be shaken. "No,
+sir," he continued; "when I looks back'ard down the trail of life,
+if thar's one gent who aforetime holds forth in Wolfville on whom I
+reflects with satisfaction, it's this yere Cherokee Hall."
+
+"To judge from his conduct," I said, "in the hard case of the
+Wilkins girl, as well as his remark as she left on the stage, I
+should hold him to be a person of sensibilities as well as
+benevolent impulse."
+
+It was my purpose to coax the old gentleman to further reminiscence.
+
+"Benev'lent!" retorted the old man. "Which I should shore admit it!
+What he does for this yere young Wilkins female ain't a marker.
+Thar's the Red Dog man he lets out. Thar's the Stingin' Lizard's
+nephy; he stakes said yooth from infancy. 'Benev'lent!' says you.
+This party Cherokee is that benev'lent he'd give away a poker hand.
+I've done set an' see him give away his hand in a jack-pot for two
+hundred dollars to some gent 'cross the table who's organizin' to go
+ag'in him an' can't afford to lose. An' you can onderscore it; a
+winnin' poker hand, an' him holdin' it, is the last thing a
+thoroughbred kyard-sharp'll give away. But as I says, I sees this
+Cherokee do it when the opp'sition is settin' in hard luck an'
+couldn't stand to lose.
+
+"How would he give his hand away? Throw it in the diskyard an' not
+play it none; jest nacherally let the gent who's needy that a-way
+rake in the chips on the low hand. Cherokee mebby does it this
+fashion so's he don't wound the feelin's of this yere victim of his
+gen'rosity. Thar's folks who turns sens'tive an' ain't out to take
+alms none, who's feelin's he spar's that a-way by losin' to 'em at
+poker what they declines with scorn direct. "'Benev'lent,' is the
+way you puts it! Son, 'benev'lent' ain't the word. This sport
+Cherokee Hall ain't nothin' short of char'table.
+
+"Speakin' wide flung an' onrestrained, Cherokee, as I mentions to
+you before, is the modestest, decentest longhorn as ever shakes his
+antlers in Arizona. He is slim an' light, an' a ondoubted kyard-
+sharp from his moccasins up. An' I never knows him to have a peso he
+don't gamble for. Nothin' common, though; I sees him one night when
+he sets ca'mly into some four-handed poker, five thousand dollars
+table stake, an' he's sanguine an' hopeful about landin' on his feet
+as a Cimmaron sheep. Of course times is plenty flush in them days,
+an' five thousand don't seem no sech mammoth sum. Trade is eager an'
+values high; aces-up frequent callin' for five hundred dollars
+before the draw. Still we ain't none of us makin' cigarettes of no
+sech roll as five thousand. The days ain't quite so halcyon as all
+that neither.
+
+"But what I likes speshul in Cherokee Hall is his jedgement. He's
+every time right. He ain't talkin' much, an' he ain't needin' advice
+neither, more'n a steer needs a saddle-blanket. But when he
+concloodes to do things, you can gamble he's got it plenty right.
+
+"One time this Cherokee an' Texas Thompson is comin' in from Tucson
+on the stage. Besides Cherokee an' Texas, along comes a female,
+close-herdin' of two young-ones; which them infants might have been
+t'rant'lers an' every one a heap happier. Sorter as range-boss of
+the whole out. fit is a lean gent in a black coat. Well, they hops
+in, an' Cherokee gives 'em the two back seats on account of the
+female an' the yearlin's.
+
+"'My name is Jones,' says the gent in the black coat, when he gets
+settled back an' the stage is goin', I an' I'm an exhortin'
+evangelist. I plucks brands from the burnin'.'
+
+"'I'm powerful glad to know it,' says Texas, who likes talk. 'Them
+games of chance which has vogue in this yere clime is some various,
+an' I did think I shorely tests 'em all; but if ever the device you
+names is open in Wolfville I overlooks the same complete.'
+
+"'Pore, sinkin' soul!' says the black-coat gent to the female; 'he's
+a-flounderin' in the mire of sin. Don't you know,' he goes on to
+Texas, 'my perishin' friend, you are bein' swept downward in the
+river of your own sinful life till your soul will be drowned in the
+abyss?"
+
+"'Well, no,' says Texas, 'I don't. I allows I'm makin' a mighty dry
+ford of it.'
+
+"'Lost! lost! lost!' says the black-coat gent, a-leanin' back like
+he's plumb dejected that a-way an' hopeless. 'It is a stiff-necked
+gen'ration an' sorely perverse a lot.'
+
+"The stage jolts along two or three miles, an' nothin' more bein'
+said. The black-coat gent he groans occasionally, which worries
+Texas; an' the two infants, gettin' restless, comes tumblin' over
+onto Cherokee an' is searchin' of his pockets for mementoes. Which
+this is about as refreshin' to Cherokee as bein' burned at the
+stake. But the mother she leans back an' smiles, an' of course he's
+plumb he'pless. Finally the black. coat gent p'ints in for another
+talk.
+
+"'What is your name, my pore worm?' says the black-coat gent,
+addressin' of Texas; 'an' whatever avocation has you an' your lost
+companion?'
+
+"I Why,' says Texas, 'this yere's Hall--Cherokee Hall. He turns faro
+in the Red Light; an',' continues Texas, a-lowerin' of his voice,
+'he's as squar' a gent as ever counted a deck. Actooally, pard, you
+might not think it, but all that gent knows about settin' up kyards,
+or dealin' double, or anv sech sinful scheme, is mere tradition.'
+"'Brother,' says the female, bristlin' up an' tacklin' the black-
+coat gent, 'don't talk to them persons no more. Them's gamblers, an'
+mighty awful men;' an' with that she snatches away the yearlin's
+like they's contam'nated.
+
+'This is relief to Cherokee, but the young-ones howls like coyotes,
+an' wants to come back an' finish pillagin' him. But the mother she
+spanks 'em, an' when Texas is goin' to give 'em some cartridges
+outen his belt to amoose 'em, she sasses him scand'lous, an' allows
+she ain't needin' no attentions from him. Then she snorts at Texas
+an' Cherokee contemptuous. The young-ones keeps on yellin' in a
+mighty onmelodious way, an' while Cherokee is ca'm an' don't seem
+like he minds it much, Texas gets some nervous. At last Texas lugs
+out a bottle, aimin' to compose his feelins', which they's some
+harrowed by now.
+
+"`Well, I never!' shouts the woman; 'I shorely sees inebriates ere
+now, but at least they has the decency not to pull a bottle that a-
+way
+
+before a lady.' "This stampedes Texas complete, an' he throws the
+whiskey
+
+outen the stage an' don't get no drink. "It's along late in the
+mornin' when the stage strikes the upper end of Apache Canyon. This
+yere canyon
+
+is lately reckoned some bad. Nothin' ever happens on the line, but
+
+them is the days when Cochise is cavortin' 'round plenty loose, an'
+it's mighty possible to stir up Apaches any time a-layin' in the
+hills
+
+along the trail to Tucson. If they ever gets a notion to stand up
+the stage, they's shore due to be in this canyon; wherefore Cherokee
+an' Texas an' Old Monte who's drivin' regards it s'picious. "'Send
+'em through on the jump, Monte,' says Cherokee, stickin' out his
+head. "The six hosses lines out at a ten-mile gait, which rattles
+things, an' makes the black-coat gent sigh, while the young-ones
+pours forth some appallin' shrieks. The female gets speshul mad at
+this, allowin'
+
+they's playin' it low down on her fam'ly. But she takes it out in
+cuffin' the yearlin's now an' then, jest to keep 'em yellin', an'
+don't say nothin'. "Which the stage is about half through the
+canyon, when up on both sides a select assortment of Winchesters
+begins to bang an' jump permiscus; the same goin' hand-in-hand with
+whoops of onusual merit. With the first shot Old Monte pours the
+leather into the team, an' them hosses surges into the collars like
+cyclones. "It's lucky aborigines ain't no shots. They never yet gets
+the phelosophy of a
+
+hind sight none, an' generally you can't reach their bullets with a
+ten-foot pole, they's that high above your head. The only thing as
+
+gets hit this time is Texas. About the beginnin', a little cloud of
+dust flies outen the shoulder of his coat, his face turns pale, an'
+Cherokee knows he's creased. "'Did they get you, Old Man?' says
+Cherokee, some anxious. "'No,' says Texas, tryin' to brace himse'f.
+'I'll be
+
+on velvet ag'in in a second. I now longs, however, for that whiskey
+I hurls overboard so graceful.' "The Apaches comes tumblin' down
+onto the trail an' gives chase, a-shootin' an' a-yellin' a heap
+zealous. As they's on foot, an' as Old Monte is makin' fifteen miles
+an hour by now, they merely manages to hold their own in the race,
+about forty yards to the r'ar.
+
+"This don't go on long when Cherokee, after thinkin', says to Texas,
+'This yere is the way I figgers it, If we-alls keeps on, them Injuns
+is that fervent they runs in on us at the ford. With half luck
+they's due to down either a hoss or Monte--mebby both; in which
+event the stage shorely stops, an' it's a fight. This bein' troo,
+an' as I'm 'lected for war anyhow, I'm goin' to caper out right
+yere, an' pull on the baile myse'f. This'll stop the chase, an'
+between us, pard, it's about the last chance in the box this pore
+female an' her offsprings has. An' I plays it for 'em, win or lose.'
+
+"'Them's my motives; says Texas, tryin' to pull himse'f together.
+'Shall we take this he-shorthorn along?' An' he p'ints where them
+four tenderfoots is mixed up together in the back of the stage.
+
+"'He wouldn't be worth a white chip,' says Cherokee, 'an' you-all is
+too hard hit to go, Texas, yourse'f. So take my regards to Enright
+an' the boys, an' smooth this all you know for Faro Nell. I makes
+the trip alone.'
+
+"'Not much,' says Texas. 'My stack goes to the center, too.'
+
+"But it don't, though, 'cause Texas has bled more'n he thinks. The
+first move he makes he tips over in a faint.
+
+"Cherokee picks up his Winchester, an', openin' the door of the
+stage, jumps plumb free, an' they leaves him thar on the trail.
+
+"'It's mebby an hour later when the stage comes into Wolfville on
+the lope. Texas is still in a fog, speakin' mental, an' about bled
+to death; while them exhortin' people is outen their minds entire.
+
+"In no time thar's a dozen of us lined out for Cherokee. Do we
+locate him? Which I should say we shorely discovers him. Thar's a
+bullet through his laig, an' thar he is with his back ag'in a rock
+wall, his Winchester to the front, his eyes glitterin', a-holdin'
+the canyon. Thar never is no Injun gets by him. Of course they
+stampedes prompt when they hears us a-comin', so we don't get no
+fight.
+
+"'I hopes you nails one, Cherokee,' says Enright; 'playin' even on
+this yere laig they shoots.'
+
+"'I win once, I reckons', says Cherokee, 'over behind that big rock
+to the left.'
+
+"'Shore enough he's got one Injun spread out; an', comin' along a
+little, Jack Moore turns up a second.
+
+"'Yere's another,' says Jack, 'which breaks even on the bullet in
+Texas.'
+
+"'That's right,' says Cherokee, 'I remembers now than is two. The
+kyards is comin' some Tast, an' I overlooks a bet.'
+
+"We-alls gets Cherokee in all right, an' next day 'round comes the
+female tenderfoot to see him.
+
+"'I wants to thank my defender,' she says.
+
+"'You ain't onder no obligations, whatever, ma'am', says Cherokee,
+risin' up a little, while Faro Nell puts another goose-h'ar piller
+onder him. 'I simply prefers to do my fightin' in the canyon to
+doin' it at the ford; that's all. It's only a matter of straight
+business; nothin' more'n a preference I has. Another thing, ma'am;
+you-all forgives it, seein' I'm a gent onused to childish ways: but
+when I makes the play you names, I simply seizes on them savages
+that a-way as an excuse to get loose from them blessed children of
+your'n a whole lot.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION."
+
+
+"An' between us," remarked the Old Cattle man, the observation being
+relevant to the subject of our conversation on the occasion of one
+of our many confabs, "between you an' me, I ain't none shore about
+the merits of what you-all calls law an' order. Now a pains-takin'
+an' discreet vig'lance committee is my notion of a bulwark. Let any
+outfit take a bale of rope an' a week off, an' if their camp ain't
+weeded down to right principles an' a quiet life at the end tharof,
+then I've passed my days as vain as any coyote which ever yelps.
+
+"Of course thar dawns a time when Wolfville has to come to it, same
+as others. They takes to diggin' for copper; an' they builds the
+Bird Cage Op'ry House, an' puts in improvements general. We even
+culminates in a paper, which Doc Peets assures us is the flower of
+our progress. Nacherally on the heels of all them outbursts we gives
+up our simple schemes, organizes, an' pulls off an 'lection. But as
+Old Man Enright is made alcalde tharby, with Jack Moore marshal, the
+jolt is not severe nor the change so full of notice.
+
+"It's not long prior to these yere stampedes into a higher
+moonicipal life, however, when quite a b'ilin' of us is in the Red
+Light discussin' some sech future. Our rival, Red Dog, is allowin'
+it's goin' to have a mayor or somethin', an' we sorter feels like
+our hands is forced.
+
+"'For myse'f,' says Old Man Enright, when the topic is circ'latin',
+with the whiskey followin' suit, an' each gent is airin' his idees
+an' paintin' his nose accordin' to his taste, 'for myse'f, I can see
+it comin'. Thar's to be law yere an' 'lections; an' while at first
+it's mighty likely both is goin' to turn out disturbin' elements,
+still I looks on their approach without fear. Wolfville is too
+strong, an' Wolfville intelligence is too well founded, to let any
+law loco it or set it to millin'.'
+
+"'Still,' says Dan Boggs, 'I must remark I prefers a dooly
+authorized band of Stranglers. A vig'lance committee gets my game
+right along. They's more honest than any of these yere lawsharps
+who's 'lected to be a jedge; an' they's a heap more zealous, which
+last is important.'
+
+"'Boggs is right,' replies Enright. 'It may not become me, who is
+head of the local body of that sort, to make boasts of the
+excellence of a vig'lance committee; but I ain't bluffin' on a four-
+flush when I challenges any gent to put his tongue to an event where
+a vig'lance committee stretches a party who ain't in need tharof; or
+which goes wastin' its lariats on the desert air. I puts it to you-
+alls without heat or pride, gents; Jedge Lynch is right every time.'
+
+"'Put me down,' says Doc Peets, at the same time makin' signs for
+the barkeep to remember his mission on earth, 'put me down as
+coincidin' in them sentiments. An' I says further, that any party
+who's lookin' for the place where the bad man is scarce, an' a law-
+abidin' gent has the fullest liberty, pegged out to the shorest
+safetytood, let him locate where he finds the most lynchin's, an'
+where a vig'lance committee is steadily engaged discriminatin'
+'round through the community.
+
+Which a camp thus provided is a model of heavenly peace.'
+
+"'You can
+ gamble, if anybody's plumb aware of these yore trooths, it's me,'
+says Texas Thompson.
+
+'When I'm down in the South Paloduro country, workin' a passel of
+Bar-K-7 cattle, I aids in an effort to 'lect a jedge an' institoot
+reg'lar shore-'nough law; an' the same comes mighty near leavin' the
+entire hamlet a howlin' waste. It deciminates a heap of our best
+citizens.
+
+"'This yere misguided bluff comes to pass peculiar; an' I allers
+allows if it ain't for the onforeseen way wherein things stacks up,
+an' the muddle we-alls gets into tryin' to find a trail, the Plaza
+Paloduro would have been a scene of bleatin' peace that day, instead
+of a stric'ly corpse-an'-cartridge occasion. The death rate rises to
+that degree in fact that the next roundup is shy on men; an' thar
+ain't enough cartridges in camp, when the smoke blows away, to be
+seed for a second crop. On the squar', gents, that 'lection day on
+the South Paloduro was what you-alls might term a massacre, an' get
+it right every time.'
+
+"'Well, what of this yere toomultuous 'lection?' demands Dave Tutt,
+who gets impatient while Texas refreshes himse'f in his glass. 'You-
+all reminds me a mighty sight, Texas, of the Tucson preacher who
+pulls his freight the other day. They puts it to him, the Tucson
+folks do, that he talks an' he talks, but he don't p'int out; an' he
+argufies an' he argufies, but he never shows wherein. A party who's
+goin' to make a pulpit-play, or shine in Arizona as a racontoor, has
+done got to cult'vate a direct, incisive style.'
+
+"'That's all c'rect,' remarks Texas, some savage, as he recovers his
+nose outen his glass; 'never you fret me none about my style not
+bein' incisive. Thar be other plays where any gent who comes puttin'
+it all over me with roode an' intemp'rate remarks will find me
+plenty incisive; not to say some soon:
+
+"'Yere!' interrupts Enright, quick an' sharp. 'This is plumb outside
+the line. Texas ain't got no call to wake up so malignant over
+what's most likely nothin' worse than humor on Tutt's part; an',
+Tutt, it ain't up to you none neither, to go spurrin' Texas in the
+shoulder in the midst of what I'm yere to maintain is a mighty
+thrillin' narration.'
+
+"'Texas is good people,' says Dave, 'an' the last gent with which I
+thirsts to dig up the war-axe. Which I'm proud to be his friend; an'
+I means no offense when I su'gests that he whirl a smaller loop when
+he onbosoms himse'f of a tale. I yere tenders Texas my hand,
+assurin' of him that I means my language an' ain't holdin' out
+nothin'. Shake!' An' at this Dave reaches his pistol-hand to Texas
+Thompson, an' the same is seized prompt an' friendly.
+
+"`This yere is my fault,' says Texas. 'I reckons now my wife
+recoverin' that Laredo divorce I'm mentionin' to you-alls, sorter
+leaves me a heap petulant, that a-way. But to go back to this war-
+jig I was relatin' about down at Plaza Paloduro.
+
+"'It's this a-way: No, Nellie; thar's no female in it. This yere
+grows from a business transaction; an' the effort tharfrom to
+improve on present conditions, institoot a reign of law, an' lect a
+jedge.
+
+"'Which the comin' of a miscreant named Cimmaron Pete, from some'ers
+over near the 'Doby Walls, is the beginnin' of the deal. This
+Cimmaron Pete comes trailin' in one day; an' a shorthorn called
+Glidden, who runs a store at the ford, comes ropin' at Cimmaron Pete
+to race ponies. "'"What for stakes do you-all aim to race for?"
+demands this Cimmaron Pete.
+
+"'"I'll run you for hoss an' saddle," says Glidden.
+
+"'"Say hoss ag'in hoss," says Cimmaron Pete, "an' I'm liable to go
+you. Saddles is hard to get, an' I won't resk mine. Ponies, however,
+is easy. I can get 'em every moonlight night."
+
+"'When them sports is racin',--which the run is to be a quarter of a
+mile, only they never finishes,--jest as Cimmaron begins to pull
+ahead, his pony bein' a shade suddener than Glidden's, whatever does
+the latter do but rope this Cimmaron Pete's pony by the feet an'
+down him.
+
+"'It's shore fine work with a lariat, but it comes high for Glidden.
+For, as he stampedes by, this Cimmaron turns loose his six-shooter
+from where he's tangled up with his bronco on the ground; an' as the
+first bullet gets Glidden in the back of his head, his light goes
+out like a candle.
+
+"'When the committee looks into the play they jestifies this
+Cimmaron. "While on the surface," they says, "the deal seems a
+little florid; still, when a gent armed with nothin' but a cold
+sense of jestice comes to pirootin' plumb through the affair with a
+lantern, he's due to emerge a lot with the conviction that Glidden's
+wrong." So Cimmaron is free in a minute.
+
+"'But thar's Glidden's store! Thar's nobody to claim it; thar bein'
+no fam'ly to Glidden nohow; not even a hired man.
+
+"'"Which, as it seems to be a case open to doubt," observes this
+yere Cimmaron, "I nacherally takes this Glidden party's store an'
+deals his game myse'f."
+
+"'It ain't much of a store; an' bein' as the rest of us is havin'
+all we-alls can ride herd on for ourse'fs, no gent makes objections,
+an' Cimmaron turns himse'f loose in Glidden's store, an' begins to
+sell things a whole lot. He's shorely doin' well, I reckons, when
+mebby it's a week later he comes chargin' over to a passel of us an'
+allows he wants the committee to settle some trouble which has cut
+his trail.
+
+"'"It's about the debts of this yere Glidden, deceased," says
+Cimmaron. "I succeeds to the business of course; which it's little
+enough for departed ropin' my pony that time. But you-alls can
+gamble I ain't goin' 'way back on this yere dead person's trail, an'
+settle all his gray an' hoary indebtnesses. Would it be right,
+gents? I puts it to you-alls on the squar'; do I immerse myse'f, I'd
+like for to be told, in deceased's liabilities merely for resentin'
+of his wrongs ag'in me with my gun? If a gent can go blindly
+shootin' himse'f into bankruptcy that a-way, the American gov'ment
+is a rank loser, an' the State of Texas is plumb played out."
+
+When we-alls proceeds to ferret into this yere myst'ry, we finds
+thar's a sharp come up from Dallas who claims that Cimmaron's got to
+pay him what Glidden owes. This yere Dallas party puts said
+indebtednesses at five stacks of blues.
+
+"'An' this yere longhorn's got 'em to make good, "says the Dallas
+sharp, p'intin' at Cimmaron, "'cause he inherits the store."
+
+"'Now, whatever do you-alls think of that?" says Cimmaron, appealin'
+to us. "Yere I've told this perverse sport that Glidden's done
+cashed in an' quit; an' now he lays for me with them indebtednesses.
+It shorely wearies me."
+
+"'It don't take the vig'lance committee no time to agree it ain't
+got nothin' to say in the case.
+
+"'" It's only on killin's, an' hoss-rustlin's, an' sim'lar breaks."
+explains Old Monroe, who's chief of the Paloduro Stranglers, "where
+we-alls gets kyards. We ain't in on what's a mere open-an'-shet case
+of debt."
+
+"'But this Dallas sharp stays right with Cimmaron. He gives it out
+cold he's goin' to c'lect. He puts it up he'll shore sue Cimmaron a
+lot.
+
+"'You-alls don't mean to say thar ain't no jedge yere?" remarks the
+Dallas sharp, when Old Monroe explains we ain't organized none for
+sech games as law cases. "Well, this yere Plaza Paloduro is for
+certain the locodest camp of which I ever cuts the trail! You-alls
+better get a hustle on right now an' 'lect a jedge. If I goes back
+to Dallas an' tells this story of how you-alls ain't got no jedge
+nor no law yere, they won't let this Plaza Paloduro get close enough
+to 'em in business to hand 'em a ripe peach. If thar's enough sense
+in this camp to make bakin'-powder biscuit, you-alls will have a
+jedge 'lected ready for me to have law cases with by second-drink
+time to-morrow mornin'."
+
+"'After hangin' up this bluff the Dallas sharp, puttin' on a heap of
+hawtoor an' dog, walks over to the tavern ag'in, an' leaves us to
+size up the play at our lcesure.
+
+"'What this obdurate party from Dallas says," finally remarks Old
+Monroe, "is not with. out what the Comanches calls tum-tum. Thar's
+savey an' jestice in them observations. It's my idee, that thar
+bein' no jedge yere, that a-way, to make a money round-up for a gent
+when his debtor don't make good, is mighty likely a palin' offen our
+fence. I shorely thinks we better rectify them omissions an' 'lect a
+jedge at once."
+
+"'Which I'm opposed to these proceedin's," interrupts Cimmaron. "I'm
+plumb adverse to co'ts. Them law-wolves gets into 'em, an' when they
+can't find no gate to come at you, they ups an' pushes down a panel
+of fence, an' lays for you, cross-lots. I'm dead ag'in these
+proceedin's."
+
+"'See yere," says Old Monroe, turnin' on this Cimmaron," you-all is
+becomin' too apparent in this camp; what I might describe as a heap
+too obvious. Now if you gets your stack in ag'in when it ain't your
+turn; or picks up anybody's hand but your own, I'll find a short way
+of knockin' your horns off. You don't seem gifted enough to realize
+that you're lucky to be alive right now."
+
+"'Bar Cimmaron, who lapses into silence after Old Monroe gives him
+notice, the entire camp lines up fav'rable on the idee to 'lect a
+jedge. They sends over to the corral an' gets a nose-bag for to
+deposit the votes; an' it's decided that Old Monroe an' a Cross-Z
+party named Randall has got to do the runnin'. Randall is plenty
+p'lite, an' allows he don't want to be jedge none nohow, an' says,
+give it to Old Monroe; but the latter gent, who is organizin' the
+play, insists that it wouldn't be legal.
+
+"'"Thar's got to be two gents to do the runnin'," so Old Monroe
+says, "or it don't go. The 'lection ain't legal that a-way onless
+thar's two candidates."
+
+"'They puts Bronco Charlie an' a sport named Ormsby in to be
+'lection supervisors. They was to hold the nose-bag; an' as votes is
+dropped in, they's to count 'em out accordin' to Hoyle, so we-alls
+can tell where the play's headin'. Bronco Charlie is jedge for
+Randall, an' Ormsby fronts up all sim'lar for Old Monroe. The
+'lection we-alls decides to hold in the Lone Star Saloon, so's to be
+conducted with comfort.
+
+"'"Make your game, now, gents," says Old Monroe, when everythin' is
+shorely ready. "Get in your votes. These yere polls is open for one
+hour."
+
+"'"One for Randall," says Bronco Charlie as Old Monroe votes.
+
+"'"An' one for Old Monroe," remarks Ormsby when Randall votes next.
+
+"'This gives the deal tone to have Randall an' Old Monroe p'int out
+by votin' for each other that a-way, and thar ain't one of us who
+don't feel more respectable by it.
+
+"'It's the opinion of level-headed gents even yet, that the Plaza
+Paloduro could have pulled off this 'lection an' got plumb away, an'
+never had no friction, if it ain't for a Greaser from San Antonio
+who tries to ring in on us. Thar's twenty-one of us has voted, an'
+it stands nine for Randall an' twelve for Old Monroe; when up lopes
+this yere Mexican an' allows he's locoed to vote. "'Who do you-all
+think you're goin' to vote for?" asks Ormsby.
+
+"'"Senior Monroe," says the Mexican, p'intin' at Old Monroe.
+
+"'Stop this deal," yells Bronco Charlie, "'I challenges that vote.
+Mexicans is barred."
+
+"'Which Mexicans is not barred," replies Ormsby. "An' the vote of
+this yere enlightened maverick from south of the Rio Grande goes.
+Thirteen for Old Monroe."
+
+"'Twelve for Old Monroe," remonstrates Bronco Charlie, feelin' for
+his gun.
+
+"'Thirteen for Old Monroe," retorts Ormsby, as his Colt's comes into
+action an' he busts Bronco's arm at the elbow.
+
+"'As his obstinacy has destroyed the further efficiency of my
+colleague," goes on Ormsby, as he shakes down the ballots in the
+nose-bag, "I'll now conduct these yere polls alone. Gents who
+haven't voted will please come a-runnin'. As I states a moment ago,
+she stands thirteen for Old Monroe."
+
+"'An' I says she's twelve for Old Monroe," shouts Red River Tom,
+crowdin' for'ard. "'You-all can't ring in Mexicans an' snake no play
+on us. This yere 'lection's goin' to be on the squar', or it's goin'
+to come off in the smoke."
+
+"'With this, Red River, who's been sorter domineerin' at Ormsby with
+his six-shooter while he's freein' his mind, slams her loose. Red
+River over-shoots, an' Ormsby downs him with a bullet in his laig.
+
+"'Thirteen for Old Monroe," says Ormsby.
+
+"'But that's where the 'lection ends. Followin' the subsidence of
+Red River Tom, the air is as full of lead as a bag of bullets.
+Through the smoke, an' the flashes, an' the noise, you can hear
+Ormsby whoopin'
+
+"'Thirteen for Old Monroe."
+
+"'You can gamble Ormsby's as squar' a 'lection jedge as any gent
+could ask. You gets a play for your money with Ormsby; but he dies
+the next day, so he never is 'lection jedge no more. Five gents gets
+downed, an' a whole corralfull is hurt. I, myse'f, reaps some lead
+in the shoulder; an' even at that I never goes nearer than the
+suburbs of the fight.
+
+"'No; Cimmaron Pete claws off all sound, an' no new holes in him.
+But as the Dallas party, who comes caperin' over with the first
+shot, is layin' at the windup outside the Lone Star door, plumb
+defunct, thar's an end to the root of the disorder.
+
+"'The 'lection itse'f is looked on as a draw. Old Monroe allows
+that, all things considered, he don't regard himse'f as 'lected
+none; and Randall, who a doctor is feelin' 'round in for a bullet at
+the time, sends over word that he indorses Old Monroe's p'sition;
+an' that as long as the Dallas sharp hits the trail after Glidden,
+an' is tharby able to look after his debts himse'f, he, Randall,
+holds it's no use disturbin' of a returned sereenity, an' to let
+everythin' go as it lays.
+
+"'An' that,' concloods Texas Thompson, as he reaches for his licker,
+'is what comes of an effort at law an' order in Plaza Paloduro. I
+ain't over-statin' it, gents, when I says, that that 'lection leaves
+me plumb gun-shy for over a year.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING.
+
+
+"Does Jack Moore have sand? Son, is this yere query meant for humor
+by you? Which for mere sand the Mohave desert is a fool to Jack."
+
+The Old Cattleman's face was full of an earnest, fine sincerity. It
+was plain, too, that my question nettled the old fellow a bit; as
+might a doubt cast at an idol. But the sharpness had passed from his
+tone when he resumed
+
+"Not only is Jack long on sand that a-way, but he's plumb loaded
+with what you-alls calls 'nitiative. Leastwise that's what one of
+these yere fernologists allows, who straggles into camp an' goes to
+thumbin' our bumps one day.
+
+"'Which this young person,' says the bumpsharp, while his fingers is
+caperin' about on Jack's head, I is remarkable for his 'nitiative.
+He's the sort of gent who builds his fire before he gets his wood;
+an' issues more invites to drink than he receives. Which his
+weakness, speakin' general, is he overplays.'
+
+"Which this yere bump party might have gone wrong in his wagers a
+heap of times; but he shorely calls the turn on Jack when he says
+he's some strong on 'nitiative.
+
+"An' it's this yere proneness for the prematoor, an' nacheral
+willin'ness to open any pot that a-way, that makes Jack sech a slam-
+up offishul. Bein' full of 'nitiative, like this fernologist states,
+Jack don't idle along ontil somethin's happened. Not much; he abates
+it in the bud.
+
+"Once when most of the outfit's over in Tucson, an' Jack is sorter
+holdin' down the camp alone, a band of rustlers comes trackin' in,
+allowin' they'll run Wolfville some. Which, that's where Jack's
+'nitiative shows up big. He goes after 'em readily, like they's
+antelope. Them hold-ups is a long majority over Jack, an' heeled;
+but that Jack stands thar--right up ag'in the iron--an' he tells 'em
+what he thinks an' why he thinks it for; makes his minority report
+onto 'em all free, like he outnumbers 'em two to one; an' winds up
+by backin' the game with his gun in a way that commands confidence.
+
+"'You-alls hears my remarks,' he says at the close, briefly flashin'
+his six-shooters on the outfit; 'thar ain't no band of bad men in
+Arizona can tree this town an' me informed. Now go slow, or I'll
+jest stretch a few of you for luck. It's sech consoomin' toil, a-
+diggin' of sepulchers in this yere rock-ribbed landscape, or I'd do
+it anyhow.'
+
+"An' tharupon them rustlers, notin' Jack's got the drop on 'em,
+kicks up a dense cloud of dust an is seen no more.
+
+"But bein' replete with sand an' 'nitiative, that a-way, don't state
+all thar is good of Jack. Let any pore, he'pless party cut Jack's
+trail, an' he's plumb tender. On sech times Jack's a dove; leastwise
+he's a dove a whole lot.
+
+"One hot afternoon, Enright an' Doc Peets is away about some cattle
+I reckons. Which the rest of us is noomerous enough; an' we're
+sorter revolvin' 'round the post-office, a-waitin' for Old Monte an'
+the stage. Yere she comes, final, a-rattlin' an' a-creakin'; that
+old drunkard Monte a-poppin' of his whip, the six hosses on the
+canter, an' the whole sheebang puttin' on more dog than a Mexican
+officer of revenoo. When the stage draws up, Old Monte throws off
+the mailbags an' the Wells-Fargo box, an' gets down an' opens the
+door. But nobody emerges out.
+
+"'Well, I'm a coyote! ' says Monte, a heap disgusted, `wherever is
+the female?'
+
+"Then we-alls peers into the stage an' thar's only a baby, with
+mebby a ten-months' start down this vale of tears, inside; an' no
+mother nor nothin' along. Jack Moore, jest as I says when I begins,
+reaches in an' gets him. The baby ain't sayin' nothin', an' sorter
+takes it out in smilin' on Jack; which last pleases him excessive.
+
+"'He knows me for a hundred dollars!' says Jack. 'I'm an Apache if
+he ain't allowin' he knows me! Wherever did you get him, Monte?'
+
+"'Give me a drink,' says Monte, p'intin' along into the Red Light.
+'This yere makes me sick.'
+
+"After Old Monte gets about four fingers of carnation onder his
+belt, he turns in an' explains as how the mother starts along in the
+stage all right enough from Tucson. The last time he sees her, so he
+puts it up, is at the last station back some twenty miles in the
+hills; an' he s'poses all the time later, she's inside ridin' herd
+on her progeny, ontil now.
+
+"'I don't reckon,' says Old Monte, lookin' gloomy-like at the
+infant, 'that lady is aimin' to saw this yore young-one onto the
+stage company none?'
+
+"'Don't upset your whiskey frettin' about the company,' says Jack,
+a-plantin' of the infant on the bar, while we-alls crowds in for a
+look at him. `The camp'll play this hand; an' the company ain't
+goin' to be in it a little bit.'
+
+"'I wish Enright an' Peets was yere,' says Cherokee Hall, 'to be
+heard hereon; which I shore deems this a grave occasion. Yere we-
+alls finds ourse'fs possessed of an onexpected child of tender
+years; an' the question nacheral enough is, whatever'll we do with
+it?'
+
+"'Let's maverick it,' says Dan Boggs, who's a mighty good man, but
+onthinkful that a-way.
+
+"'No,' says Cherokee; 'its mother'll come hoppin' along to-morrow,
+a-yellin'. This yere sot Monte has jest done drove off an' left her
+some'ers up the trail; she'll come romancin' along in time.'
+
+"'Meanwhile,' says Jack, 'the infant's got to be took care of, to
+which dooty I volunteers. Thar's a tenderfoot a-sleepin' in the room
+back of the dance-hall, an' he's that 'feminate an' effeet, he's got
+a shore-'nough bed an' some goose-ha'r pillers; which the same I do
+yereby confiscate to public use to take care of this yearlin'. Is
+the sentiment pleasin'?'
+
+"'Jack's scheme is right,' says Boggs; 'an' I'm present to announce
+he's allers right. Let the shorthorn go sleep onder a mesquite-bush;
+it'll do him good a whole lot.'
+
+"'I'm some doobersome of this play,' says Cherokee. 'Small infants
+is mighty myster'ous people, an' no livin' gent is ever onto their
+game an' able to foresee their needs. Do you-all reckon now you can
+take care of this yere young-one, Jack? Be you equal to it?'
+
+"'Take care of a small baby like this' says Jack, plenty scornful;
+'which the same ain't weighin' twenty pounds? Well, it'll be some
+funny if I can't. I could break even with him if he's four times as
+big. All I asks is for you-alls to stand by in crisises an' back the
+play; an', that settled, you can go make side bets we-alls comes out
+winners on the deal.'
+
+'I ain't absolootly shore,' says Dave Tutt, 'bein' some shy of
+practice with infants myse'f, but jedgin' by his lookin' smooth an'
+silky, I offers fifty dollars even he ain't weaned none yet.'
+
+"'I won't bet none on his bein' weaned complete; says Jack, 'but
+I'll hang up fifty he drinks outen a bottle as easy as Old Monte!
+
+"'I'll go you once,' says Tutt; 'it's fifty dollars even he grows
+contemptuous at a bottle, an' disdains it.'
+
+"Which we-alls talks it over an' decides that Jack's to nurse said
+infant; after which a passel of us proceed's to make a procession
+for the tenderfoot's bed, which he shorely resigns without a
+struggle. We packs it back to Jack; an' Cherokee Hall an' Boggs then
+goes over to the corral an' lays for a goat to milk her. This yere
+goat is mighty reluctant, an' refuses to enter into the sperit of
+the thing; but they swings an' rastles with her, makes their p'int
+right along, an' after a frightful time comes back with'most a
+dipper-full.
+
+"'That's all right,' says Jack, who's done camped in a room back of
+the Red Light, 'now hop out an' tell the barkeep to give you a pint
+bottle. We-alls has this yere game payin' div'dends in two minutes.'
+
+"Jack gets his bottle an' fills her up with goat's milk; an' makes a
+stopper outen cotton cloth an' molasses for the infant to draw it
+through. Which it's about this time the infant puts up a yell, an'
+refuses peace ag'in till Jack gives him his six-shooter to play
+with.
+
+"'Which shows my confidence in him,' says Jack. 'Thar's only a few
+folks left I'll pass my gun to.'
+
+"Jack gets along with him first-rate, a-feedin' of him the goat's
+milk, which he goes for with avidity; tharby nettin' Jack that fifty
+from Dave Tutt. Boggs builds a fire so Jack keeps the milk warm.
+Jack turns loose that earnest he don't even go for no grub; jest
+nacherally has 'em pack it to him.
+
+"'We-alls'll have to stand night gyards on this yere foundlin' to-
+night, I reckons?" asks Boggs of Jack, when he's bringin' Jack
+things.
+
+"'I s'pose most likely we'll have to make a play that a-way,' says
+Jack.
+
+"'All right,' says Boggs, tappin' his shirt with his pistol-finger;
+'you-all knows me an' Cherokee. We're in on this yere any time you
+says.'
+
+"So a band of us sorter camps along with Jack an' the infant ontil
+mebby it's second-drink time at night. The infant don't raise the
+war-yell once; jest takes it out in goat's milk; an' in laughin',
+an' playin' with Jack's gun.
+
+"'Excuse me, gents,' finally says Jack, mighty dignified, 'but I've
+been figgerin' this thing, an' I allows it's time to bed this yere
+young-one down for the night. If you-alls will withdraw some, I'll
+see how near I comes to makin' runnin' of it. Stay within whoopin'
+distance, though; so if he tries to stampede or takes to millin' I
+can get he'p.'
+
+"We-alls lines out an' leaves Jack an' the infant, an' turns in on
+faro an' poker an' sim'lar devices which is bein' waged in the Red
+Light. Mebby it's an hour when Jack comes in.
+
+"'Boggs,' he says; 's'pose you-all sets in an' plays my hand a
+minute with that infant child, while I goes over an' adjourns them
+frivolities in the dance-hall. It looks like this yere camp is
+speshul toomultuous to-night.'
+
+"Boggs goes in with the infant, an' Jack proceeds to the baile house
+an' states the case.
+
+"'I don't want to onsettle the reg'lar programme,' says Jack, 'but
+this yere young-one I'm responsible for, gets that engaged in the
+sounds of these yere revels, it don't look like he's goin' to sleep
+none. So if you-alls will call the last waltz, an' wind her up for
+to-night, it'll shorely be a he'p. The kid's mother'll be yere by
+sun-up; which her advent that a-way alters the play all 'round, an'
+matters then goes back to old lines.'
+
+"'Enough said,' says Jim Hamilton, who runs the dance-hall. 'You can
+gamble this temple of mirth ain't layin' down on what's right, an'
+tonight's shindig closes right yere. All promenade to the bar. We
+takes a drink on the house, quits, an' calls it a day.'
+
+"Then Jack comes back, a heap grave with his cares, an' relieves
+Boggs; who's on watch, straddled of a chair, a-eyein' of the infant,
+who, a-settin' up ag'in a goose-ha'r piller, is likewise a-eyein' of
+Boggs.
+
+"'He's a 'way up good infant, Jack,' says Boggs, givin' up his seat.
+
+"'You can bet your life he's a good infant,' says Jack; 'but it
+shore looks like he don't aim to turn in an' slumber none. Mebby the
+goat's milk is too invigeratin' for 'him, an' keeps him awake that
+a-way.'
+
+"About another hour goes by, an' out comes Jack into the Red Light
+ag'in.
+
+"'I ain't aimin' to disturb you-alls none,' he says, 'but, gents, if
+you-alls could close these games yere, an' shet up the store, I'll
+take it as a personal favor. He can hear the click of the chips, an'
+it's too many for him. Don't go away; jest close up an' sorter camp
+'round quiet.'
+
+"Which we-alls does as Jack says; closes the games, an' then sets
+'round in our chairs an' keeps quiet, a-waitin' for the infant to
+turn in. A half-hour later Jack appears ag'in.
+
+"'It ain't no use, gents,' he says, goin' back of the bar an'
+gettin' a big drink; 'that child is onto us. He won't have it. You
+can gamble, he's fixed it up with himse'f that he ain't goin' to
+sleep none to-night. I allows it's 'cause he's among rank strangers,
+an' he figgers it's a good safe play to lookout his game for
+himse'f.'
+
+"'I wonder couldn't we sing him to sleep,' says Cherokee Hall.
+
+"'Nothin' ag'in a try,' says Jack, some desp'rate, wipin' his lips
+after the drink.
+
+"'S'pose we-alls gives him "The Dyin' Ranger" an' "Sandy Land" for
+an hour or so, an' see,' says Boggs.
+
+"In we trails. Cherokee lines up on one side of the infant, an' Jack
+on t'other; an' the rest of us takes chairs an' camps 'round, We
+starts in an' shore sings him all we knows; an' we keeps it up for
+hours. All the time, that child is a-settin' thar, a-battin' his
+eyes an' a-starin', sleepless as owls. The last I remembers is
+Boggs's voice on 'Sandy Land'
+
+"'Great big taters on sandy land,
+ Get thar, Eli, if you can.'
+
+"The next thing I'm aware of, thar's a whoop an' a yell outside. We-
+alls wakes up--all except the infant, who's wide awake all along--
+an' yere it is; four o'clock in the mornin', an' the mother has
+come. Comes over on a speshul buckboard from the station where that
+old inebriate, Monte, drove off an' left her. Well, son, everybody's
+plumb willin' an' glad to see her. An' for that matter, splittin'
+even, so's the infant."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE.
+
+
+"That's straight, son; you shorely should have seen Jack Moore,"
+continued the Old Cattleman, after a brief pause, as he hitched his
+chair into a comfortable position; "not seein' Jack is what any gent
+might call deeprivation.
+
+"Back in the old days," he went on, "Jack Moore, as I relates, is
+kettle-tender an' does the rope work of the Stranglers. Whatever is
+the Stranglers? Which you asks Borne late. I mentions this assembly
+a heap frequent yeretofore. Well, some folks calls 'ern the
+'vig'lance committee'; but that's long for a name, so in Wolfville
+we allers allooded to 'em as `Stranglers.' This yere is brief, an'
+likewise sheds some light.
+
+"This Jack Moore--which I'm proud to say he's my friend--I reckons
+is the most pro bono publico gent in the Southwest. He's out to do
+anythin' from fight to fiddle at a dance, so's it's a public play.
+
+"An' then his idees about his dooties is wide. He jest scouts far
+an' near, an' don't pay no more heed to distance an' fatigue than a
+steer does to cobwebs.
+
+"'A offishul," says Jack, 'who don't diffuse himse'f 'round none,
+an' confines his endeavors to his own bailiwick, is reestricted an'
+oneffectooal, an' couldn't keep down crime in a village of prairie-
+dogs.' An' then he'd cinch on his saddle, an' mebby go curvin' off
+as far north as the Flint Hills, or east to the Turkey-track.
+
+"That's right; when it comes to bein' active, Jack is what you might
+call an all-round seelection. An' clean strain? Game as hornets.
+Never knowed him to quit anythin' in his life--not even whiskey. I
+says to him myse'f one time: 'Jack; whyever don't you renig on
+whiskey? Looks like it's sorter gettin' behind you some, ain't it?
+Some day mebby it outholds you when you can't stand to lose.'
+
+"'Sometimes I thinks I'll pass it up, myse'f,' says Jack, 'but don't
+you know, I can't do it. I'm too sperited, that a-way, an'
+chivalrous. That's whatever! I'm too chivalrous.' An' I shore
+reckons he was.
+
+"But as for doin' his dooty! Which the same is simply relaxation to
+Jack Moore. I recalls one instance speshul. One day thar comes
+trailin' along into Wolfville a party from down 'round Yallerhouse
+some'ers. This yere Yallerhouse gent looks disperited an' off color
+as to health. But of course we-alls don't refer none to it; for
+whether this stranger's sick or well is his business, not ours;
+leastwise in its first stages. This yere's before Doc Peets inhabits
+Wolfville or he'd informed us touchin' this party's that a-way.
+
+"Which the Yallerhouse gent tracks along into the Red Light, an'
+tells the barkeep to set out the nose-paint. He drinks alone, not
+invitin' of the pop'lace, whereby we knows for shore he's offen his
+feed.
+
+"Well, after he corrals his forty drops, this invalid camps down in
+one corner of the stage station, an' next mornin' he wakes up outen
+his head an' plumb locoed.
+
+"'This yere Yallerhouse man,' says Dan Boggs, comin' along into the
+Red Light about first-drink time the same mornin', an' speakin'
+general, 'is what conserv'tive opinion might call "some sick." I
+stops a minute ago an' asks him how he's stackin' up like, but it
+ain't no use. He's plumb off his mental reservation, an' crazy as a
+woman's watch.'
+
+"'Whatever do you allow is the matter of him, Boggs?' asks Old Man
+Enright.
+
+"'Smallpox,' says Boggs, mighty confident.
+
+"'Smallpox!' repeats Enright; 'be you shore?'
+
+"'That's what I says,' answers Boggs; 'an' you can gamble my long
+suit is pickin' out smallpox every time. I knows the signal smoke
+like my own campfire.'
+
+"'Well, see yere,' says Dave Tutt, who's come in, 'I jest now rounds
+up them symptoms of this Yallerhouse gent; an' talkin' of smallpox,
+I offers a hundred dollars even he ain't got no smallpox. Bein' out
+solely for legit'mate sport,' continues Tutt, 'an' not aimin' to
+offend Boggs none, I willin'ly calls it fifty to one hundred he
+ain't got nothin'.'
+
+"'Which I takes both bets,' says Boggs, 'an' deems 'em easy. Which
+both is like robbin' a bird's-nest. Yere's the circ'latin' medium.
+Thar; cover it an' file it away with the barkeep to wait results.'
+So Tutt an' Boggs makes their bets mighty eager, an' the barkeep
+holds the stakes.
+
+"As soon as it gets blown through Wolfville this Yallerhouse party
+has smallpox, everybody comes canterin' over to the Red Light, gets
+a drink, an' wants to hold a mass meetin' over it. By partic'lar
+request Enright takes the chair an' calls 'em to order.
+
+"'This yere meetin',' says Enright, meanwhile beatin' with the butt
+of his six-shooter on the poker-table, 'is some sudden an'
+permiscus; but the objects is easy an' plain. We-alls convenes
+ourse'fs to consider the physical condition of this party from
+Yallerhouse, which report says is locoed an' can't talk none for
+himself. To make this inquiry a success, we-alls oughter see this
+Yallerhouse gent; an' as thar is fewer of him than of us, I app'ints
+Jack Moore, Dan Boggs, an' Short Creek Dave, a committee, of three,
+to bring him before us in a body. Pendin' the return of the
+committee the meetin' will take a drink with the chair.'
+
+"In about no time back comes the outfit, packin' the Yallerhouse man
+all easy enough in a blanket, an' spreads him out on the floor. He
+looks sorter red 'round in spots, like somethin's been stingin' of
+him, but it's evident, as Boggs says, he's locoed. He lays thar,
+rollin' his eyes an' carryin' on to himse'f, but he don't address
+the chair or offer to take no part in the meetin'. Enright quaffs
+his drink all slow an' dignified, an' gazes at the Yallerhouse man
+on the floor.
+
+"'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, settin' down his glass, an'
+givin' the poker-table a little tap with his gun, 'yere's the party,
+an' the question is now: "What's he got?" Do I hear any remarks?'
+
+"'Bein' in the lines, Mister Pres'dent,' says Boggs, 'of previous
+assertion, an' for the purpose of bringin' the question squar'
+before this house, I now moves you this yere Yallerhouse party has
+the smallpox. I ain't aimin' herein at playin' it low on Tutt, an'
+su'gests that the chair, in puttin' the question, also informs the
+meetin' as to them wagers; which the money tharof is now in the war-
+bags of the barkeep. I believes in givin' every gent all necessary
+light wherein to make up his mind; an', as I says, to open the game
+all logical, I ag'in moves this Yallerhouse man has the smallpox.'
+
+"'Yo tambien,' yells a Mexican over near the door.
+
+"'Put that Greaser out!' shouts Enright, at the same time bangin'
+the table. 'This ain't no international incident at all, an' nothin'
+but the clean-strain American wolf is eligible to howl.'
+
+"The Greaser goes out on his saddle-colored head, an' Enright puts
+Boggs's motion.
+
+"'Every gent,' says Enright, 'in favor of this Yallerhouse man
+havin' the smallpox, say "Aye"; contrary "No."'
+
+"Everybody shouts 'Aye!'
+
+"'Which the "Ayes" has it unanimous,' says Enright. 'The Yallerhouse
+party has the smallpox, an' the next chicken on the parliamentary
+roost is the question: "Whatever is to be done to make this yere
+malady a success?" Is thar any su'gestions?'
+
+"'Mister Pres'dent,' says Texas Thompson, risin' in his place, 'I've
+done took no hand in these proceedin's so far, through ignorance of
+the purposes of this yere convocation. Said purposes bein' now for
+the first time lined out all right in my mind, an' the question
+bein', "What's to be done with our captive?" I asks your indulgence.
+My first idee is that our dooty an' our path is plain; the same
+bein' simply to take a lariat an' hang this Yallerhouse person to
+the dance-hall windmill; but this course, on second thought, seems
+prematoor an' the offsprings of nacheral impulse. Still, somethin'
+must be done; an' while my mind is by no means cl'ar, I su'gests we
+turn the gent over to Jack Moore, which is the marshal hereof, to
+ride herd on him till further orders; an' I makes a motion to that
+effect.'
+
+"'Seconds the motion!' says Short Creek Dave.
+
+"'You don't have to put that motion, Mister Pres'dent,' says Jack;
+'I've been cirelin' the idee some myse'f, an' I reckons it's my
+dooty to take charge of this Yallerhouse gent. You can bet anythin'
+which gets sawed onto me as my dooty goes, an' don't make no doubt
+about it. Yere's how I trails out on this: If it ain't my dooty to
+take care of this person, whose dooty is it? 'Tain't nobody's.
+Tharfore I plays the hand.'
+
+"'Which the same bein' eminent satisfactory,' says Dave Tutt,
+risin', as if he thinks of somethin' speshul, 'I now inquires
+whether this yere is held decisive of them bets I makes with Boggs.
+I holdin', meanwhile, contrary views emphatic.'
+
+"'This bein' a question of priv'lege,' says Enright, 'the chair will
+answer it. These proceedin's decides your bets with Boggs, an' the
+barkeep pays Boggs the dinero. This is a gov'ment of the people, for
+the people, by the people, an' founded on a vox populi bluff. The
+voice of the majority goes. You tharfore lose your bets to Boggs;
+drinks on Boggs, of course. Thar is another matter,' continues
+Enright, 'a bet we overlooks. Takin' care of this Yallerhouse gent
+will cost a stack or two, an' means must be provided. I tharfore
+makes as an order that yereafter thar's to be a rake on tens-up or
+better, showed, to make a fund to back this play; said rake to go
+ontil Mister Moore reports said Yallerhouse gent as safe or ceased
+to be.'
+
+"Jack takes this Yallerhouse party over to the calaboose an' lays
+him away on some blankets. The calaboose is dry, an' what you-alls
+might call, commodious. It's a slam-up camp; yes indeed! Never has
+but Steve Stevenson in it. Puts Steve in one night when he's dead-
+drunk. The calaboose is new then, an' we-alls is that proud an'
+anxious to try it an' put it to some use, we couldn't resist, so in
+Steve goes.
+
+"About four hours later Steve comes back up to the Red Light,
+hotter'n a burnt boot. Seems like he comes to, an' is that outraged
+an' indignant about bein' corralled that a-way, he busts the corner
+outen the calaboose an' issues forth a whole lot to find who does
+it.
+
+"When he comes into the Red Light he revives himse'f with a drink,
+an' then inquires whether it's humorous, or do we mean it? Seein'
+how speshul low Steve takes it, we-alls allows it's a joke; an'
+Steve, while he evident feels some fretted, concloods to let it go
+at that.
+
+"But on account of the hole through which Steve emerges, an' which
+he makes liberal an' big, the calaboose is a mighty commodious
+place. So Jack beds down the Yallerhouse man all right an' starts in
+to bringin' him through. The rest of us don't crowd 'round none to
+watch the play, don't hover over it that a-way, 'cause we ain't
+aimin' to acquire nothin' ourse'fs.
+
+"Jack has a heap of trouble an' worry. Never sees no smallpox do
+you? Folks locoed most usual,--clean off up in the air an' pitchin'
+on their ropes. Of course the Yallerhouse gent has all he needs.
+That rake on tens-up them days would have took care of a fam'ly. But
+he keeps Jack herdin' him all the time. Otherwise, not bein'
+watched, an' crazy that a-way, he's liable to come stampedin' over
+to the Red Light, or some'ers else, any time, an' skeer us up some.
+
+"'He's a world-beater,' says Jack one day, when he comes over for a
+drink. 'He's shorely four kings an' an ace. You can't ride him with
+buckin'-straps an' a Spanish bit. It's got so now--his disease bein'
+at a crisis like--that I simply has to be with this Yallerhouse
+party day an' night. He'd shorely lay waste this camp if I didn't.'
+
+"At last the Yallerhouse party an' Jack somehow beats the smallpox,
+but Yallerhouse comes out shy an eye. The smallpox gouges it out one
+of them times when Jack ain't lookin' out his game sharp. It's his
+pistol eye, too; which makes him feel the loss more keen, an'
+creates general sympathy. The Yallerhouse man gets some morose over
+it, which ain't, after all, onnacheral. A gent ain't got so many
+eyes he can afford to go short one on every little game he plays. So
+he finds fault with Jack a lot, an' allows if he has him back in the
+States he'd sue him for neglect of dooty.
+
+"'Which, I shorely likes that!' says Jack to the Yallerhouse party,
+gettin' peevish over his fault-findin'. 'Don't you know it's merely
+owin' to the mercy of hell an' my watchful care, you-all ain't
+bustin' your harp-strings an' raisin' all round discord among the
+heavenly hosts on high right now, instead of bein' safe an' well
+yere in Wolfville? You don't act like a gent who saveys when he
+makes a winnin'. S'pose you be an eye out; you're still lookin' at
+things terrestrial with the other. You talks of gross neglect of
+dooty! Now let me inform you of somethin': You come pesterin' 'round
+me some more an' I'll bend a gun over your head.'
+
+"'Which if it ain't my six-shooter eye which's out,' says the
+Yallerhouse party, mighty ugly, 'do you know what I'd do? Well, this
+yere would be the basis of a first-class gun-play. You can gamble
+thar wouldn't be no jim-crow marshal go pirootin' 'round, losin' no
+eye of mine an' gettin' away with it, an' then talk of bendin' guns
+on me; none whatever.'
+
+"But it all preys on Jack. An' a-seein' of this Yallerhouse gent
+'round camp a-lookin' at him in a fault-findin' way outen his one
+eye sorter aggravates Jack like it's a nightmare.
+
+"'I wouldn't mind it so much,' says Jack to me, confidential, 'if
+this Yallerhouse gent quits a laig or an arm behind, 'cause in which
+event we pieces him out with wood, easy. But about eyes, it's
+different. An eye out is an eye out; an' that settles it.'
+
+"One day Jack can't b'ar it no longer, an', resolvin' to end it, he
+walks up to the Yallerhouse party in the Red Light, all brisk an'
+brief.
+
+"'It's a rough deal on a one-eyed gent,' says Jack, 'an' I shore
+asks pardon an' states regrets in advance. But things has got to a
+show-down. I'm slowly becomin' onfit for public dooty. Now yere's an
+offer, an' you can have either end. You-all can get a hoss an' a
+hundred dollars of me, an' pull your freight; or you can fix
+yourse'f with a gun an' have a mighty stirrin' an' eventful time
+with me right yere. As an outcome of the last, the public will have
+one of us to plant, an' mebby a vacancy to fill in the post of
+kettle-tender. Which is it, an' what do you say?'
+
+"'What for a hoss is she?' asked the Yallerhouse party.
+
+"'Which she's a pinto,' says Jack; 'as excellent a paint pony as
+ever is roped.'
+
+"'Does this yere threat you-all makes incloode a saddle an' spurs?'
+asks the Yallerhouse party.
+
+"'It shorely does,' replies Jack. 'Is it a go?'
+
+"'Well,' says the Yallerhouse man, after ponderin' it up one way an'
+down the other, 'this idee of settlin' for eyes for a hoss an' a
+hundred dollars is far from bein' usual with me. If I has my eye
+ag'in, I'd shorely stay an' shoot it out, an' admire to be present.
+But now sech thoughts is vanity. So round up your money an' your
+pony at the Red Light in fifteen minutes by the watch, an' as soon
+as I gets a bottle filled I'm ready to go. I shorely should not
+regret leavin' an' outfit which puts folks in jail for bein' sick,
+an' connives by reckless an' criminal neglect of dooty at their
+bein' blinded for life.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+JACKS UP ON EIGHTS.
+
+
+"No; you can hazard your wealth a lot, thar's no sooperstition
+lurkin' 'round in me or my environs; none whatever. I attaches no
+importance to what you-all calls omens."
+
+Somebody had undertaken a disquisition on dreams, and attempted to
+cite instances where the future had been indicated in these hazy
+visions of our sleep. This had served to turn the Old Cattleman's
+train of thought upon the weird.
+
+"Thar's signs, of course, to which I'd shorely bow, not to say pay
+absorbin' heed. If some gent with whom I chooses to differ touchin'
+some matter that's a heap relevant at the time, ups an' reaches for
+his gun abrupt, it fills me full of preemonitions that the near
+future is mighty liable to become loaded with lead an' interest for
+me. Now thar's an omen I don't discount. But after all I ain't
+consentin' to call them apprehensions of mine the froot of no
+sooperstition, neither. I'm merely chary; that's all.
+
+"It's Cherokee Hall who is what I onhesitatin'ly describes as
+sooperstitious. Cherokee is afflicted by more signs an' omens in
+carryin' on his business than an almanac. It's a way kyardsharps
+gets into, I reckons; sorter grows outen their trade. Leastwise I
+never creeps up on one yet who ain't bein' guided by all sorts of
+miracles an' warnin's that a-way. An' sometimes it does look like
+they acquires a p'inter that comes to 'em on straight lines. As
+'llustratin' this yere last, it returns to me some vivid how
+Cherokee an' Boggs gets to prophesyin' one day, an' how they calls
+off the play between 'em so plumb c'rrect that a-way, it's more than
+amazin'; it's sinister.
+
+"It's a hot August day, this occasion I has in mind, an' while not
+possessin' one of them heat-gauges to say ackerate, I'm allowin'
+it's ridin' hard on sech weather as this. A band of us is at the
+post-office a-wrastlin' our letters, when in trails Cherokee Hall
+lookin' some moody, an' sets himse'f down on a box.
+
+"'Which you-all no doubt allows you'll take some missives yourse'f
+this mornin',' says Doc Peets, a-noticin' of his gloom, an' aimin'
+to p'int his idees up some other trail. Doc, himse'f, is feelin'
+some gala. 'Pass over them documents for Cherokee Hall, an' don't
+hold out nothin' onto us. We-alls is 'way too peevish to stand any
+offishul gaieties to-day.'
+
+"'Thar's no one weak-minded 'nough to write to me none,' says
+Cherokee. `Which I remarks this yere phenomenon with pleasure. Mail-
+bags packs more grief than joy, an' I ain't honin' for no hand in
+the game whatever. It's fifteen years since I buys a stamp or gets a
+letter, an' all thirst tharfor is assuaged complete.'
+
+"'Fifteen years is shore a long time,' says Enright, sorter to
+himse'f, an' then we-alls hops into our letters ag'in. Finally
+Cherokee breaks in once more.
+
+"` I ain't aimin' to invest Wolfville in no sooperstitious fears,'
+says Cherokee, 'an' I merely chronicles as a current event how I was
+settin' into a little poker last night, an' three times straight I
+picks up "the hand the dead man held," jacks up on eights, an' it
+wins every time.'
+
+"`Who lose to it?' asks Dan Boggs.
+
+"'Why,' says Cherokee, 'it's every time that old longhorn as comes
+in from Tucson back some two weeks ago.'
+
+"'That settles it,' says Boggs, mighty decided. 'You can bet your
+saddle an' throw the pony in, Death is fixin' his sights for him
+right now. It's shorely a warnin', an' I'm plumb glad it ain't none
+of the boys; that's all.'
+
+"You see this yere stranger who Cherokee alloods at comes over from
+Tucson a little while before. He has long white ha'r an' beard, an',
+jedgin' from the rings on his horns, he's mebby a-comin' sixty. He
+seems like he's plenty of money, an' we takes it he's all right. His
+leavin' Tucson shows he has sense, so we cashes him in at his
+figger. Of course we-alls never asks his name none, as askin' names
+an' lookin' at the brands on a pony is speshul roode in the West,
+an' shows your bringin' up; but he allows he's called 'Old Bill
+Gentry ' to the boys, an' he an' Faro Nell's partic'lar friendly.
+
+"'Talkin' to him,' says Nell, ' is like layin' in the shade. He
+knows everythin', too; all about books an' things all over the
+world. He was a-tellin' me, too, as how he had a daughter like me
+that died 'way back some'ers about when I was a yearlin'. He feels a
+heap bad about it yet, an' I gets so sorry for him; so old an'
+white-ha'red.'
+
+"'An' you can gamble,' says Dave Tutt, 'if Nell likes him, he's all
+right.'
+
+"'If Nell likes him, that makes him all right,' says Cherokee.
+
+"We-alls is still talkin' an' readin over our mail in the post-
+office, when all at once we hears Jack Moore outside.
+
+"'What's this yere literatoor as affronts my eyes, pasted onto the
+outside of Uncle Sam's wickeyup?' says Jack, mighty truculent. We.
+alls goes out, an' thar, shore-'nough, is a notice offerin' fifteen
+hundred dollars reward for some sharp who's been a-standin' up the
+stage over towards Prescott.
+
+"'Whoever tacks this up? I wonder,' says Enright. `It never is yere
+ten minutes ago.'
+
+"'Well, jest you-all hover 'round an' watch the glory of its comin'
+down,' says Jack, a-cuttin' of it loose with his bowie, an' tearin'
+it up. 'I yerewith furnishes the information cold, this camp of
+Wolfville knows its business an' don't have to be notified of
+nothin'. This yere outfit has a vig'lance committee all reg'lar,
+which I'm kettle-tender tharfor, an' when it comes nacheral to
+announce some notice to the public, you-alls will perceive me a-
+pervadin' of the scenery on a hoss an' promulgatin' of said notice
+viver voce. Am I right, Enright?'
+
+"'Right as preachin', Jack,' says Enright. 'You speaks trooth like a
+runnin' brook.'
+
+"'But whoever sticks that notice?--that's the information I pants
+for,' says Boggs, pickin' up an' readin' of the piece. "'I reckons I
+posts that notice some myse'f,' says a big, squar'-built gent we-
+alls don't know, an' who comes in the other mornin' with Old Monte
+on the stage. As he says this he's sa'nterin' about the suburbs of
+the crowd, listenin' to the talk.
+
+"'Well, don't do it no more, partner,' says Jack, mighty grave. 'As
+a commoonity Wolfville's no doubt 'way wrong, but we-alls has our
+prides an' our own pecooliar little notions, that a-way, about what
+looks good; so, after now, don't alter the landscape none 'round
+yere till you c'lects our views.'
+
+"'I'm offerin' even money, postin' notices don't hurt this yere camp
+a little bit,' says the stranger.
+
+"'Comin' right to cases,' says Enright, 'it don't hurt none, but it
+grates a whole lot. The idee of a mere stranger a-strollin' in an'
+a-pastin' up of notices, like he's standin' a pat hand on what he
+knows an' we not in it, is a heap onpleasant. So don't do it no
+more.'
+
+"'Which I don't aim to do it no more,' says the squar'-built gent,
+'but I still clings to my idee that notices ain't no set-back to
+this camp.'
+
+"'The same bein' a mere theery,' says Doc Peets, 'personal to
+yourse'f, I holds it would be onp'lite to discuss it; so let's all
+wheel onder cover for a drink.'
+
+"At this we-alls lines up on the Red Light bar an' nacherally drinks
+ends the talk, as they allers ought.
+
+"Along towards sundown we-alls gets some cooler, an' by second-drink
+time in the evenin' every one is movin' about, an', as it happens,
+quite a band is in the Red Light; some drinkin' an' exchangin' of
+views, an' some buckin' the various games which is goin' wide open
+all 'round. Cherokee's settin' behind his box, an' Faro Nell is up
+at his shoulder on the lookout stool. The game's goin' plenty lively
+when along comes Old Gentry. Cherokee takes a glance at him an'
+seems worried a little, reflectin', no doubt, of them 'hands the
+dead man held,' but he goes on dealin' without a word.
+
+"'Where's you-all done been all day?' says Nell to the old man. 'I
+ain't seen you none whatever since yesterday.'
+
+"'Why, I gets tired an' done up a lot, settin ag'inst Cherokee last
+night,' says the old man, 'an' so I prowls down in my blankets an'
+sleeps some till about an hour ago.'
+
+"The old man buys a stack of blues an' sets 'em on the ten. It's
+jest then in comes the squar'-built gent, who's been postin' of the
+notice former, an' p'ints a six-shooter at Gentry an' says
+
+"'Put your hands up! put 'em up quick or I'll drill you! Old as you
+be, I don't take no chances.'
+
+"'At the first word Nell comes off her stool like a small landslide,
+while Cherokee brings a gun into play on the instant. The old man's
+up even with the proceedin's, too; an' stands thar, his gun in his
+hand, his eyes a-glitterin' an' his white beard a-curlin' like a
+cat's. He's clean strain.
+
+"'Let me get a word in, gents,' says Cherokee, plenty ca'm, 'an'
+don't no one set in his stack on. less he's got a hand. I does
+business yere my way, an' I'm due to down the first hold-up who
+shoots across any layout of mine. Don't make no mistake, or the next
+census'll be shy, shore.'
+
+"'What be you-alls aimin' to cel'brate anyhow?' says Jack Moore,
+gettin' the squar'-built gent's gun while Boggs corrals Gentry's. '
+Who's Wolfville entertainin' yere, I'd like for to know?'
+
+"'I'm a Wells-Fargo detective,' says the squar'-built gent, 'an'
+this yere,' p'intin' to Old Gentry, 'is Jim Yates, the biggest hold-
+up an' stage-robber between hell an' 'Frisco. That old tarrapin'll
+stop a stage like a young-one would a clock, merely to see what's
+into it. He's the party I'm pastin' up the notice for this mornin."
+
+"'He's a liar!' says the old man, a-gettin' uglier every minute.
+`Give us our six-shooters an throw us loose, an' if I don't lance
+the roof of his lyin' mouth with the front sight of my gun, I'll
+cash in for a hold-up or whatever else you-alls says.'
+
+"'What do you say, Enright?' says Jack. 'Let's give 'em their
+jewelry an' let 'em lope. I've got money as says the Wells-Fargo
+bill-paster can't take this old' Cimmaron a little bit.'
+
+"'Which I trails in,' says Boggs, 'with a few chips on the same
+kyard.'
+
+"'No,' says Enright, 'if this yere party's rustlin' the mails, we-
+alls can't call his hand too quick. Wolfville's a straight camp an'
+don't back no crim'nal plays; none whatever.'
+
+"Enright tharupon calls a meetin' of the Stranglers, an' we-alls
+lines out for the New York Store to talk it over. Before we done
+pow-wows two minutes up comes Old Monte, with the stage, all dust
+an' cuss-words, an' allows he's been stood up out by the cow springs
+six hours before, an' is behind the mail-bag an' the Adams Company's
+box on the deal. We-alls looks at Old Man Gentry, an' he shorely
+seems to cripple down. "'Gentry,' says Peets, after Old Monte tells
+his adventures, 'I hears you tell Nell you was sleepin' all day.
+S'pose you takes this yere committee to your budwer an' exhibits to
+us how it looks some.'
+
+"'The turn's ag'in me,' says the old man, 'an' I lose. I'll cut it
+short for you-alls. I holds up that stage this afternoon myse'f.'
+
+"'This yere's straight goods, I takes it,' says Enright, 'an' our
+dooty is plain. Go over to the corral an' get a lariat, Jack.'
+
+"'Don't let Enright hang the old man, Cherokee,' says Nell,
+beginnin' to weep a whole lot. 'Please don't let 'em hang him.'
+
+"'This holdin' a gun on your friends ain't no picnic,' whispers
+Cherokee to Nell, an' flushin' up an' then turnin' pale, 'but your
+word goes with me, Nell.' Then Cherokee thinks a minute. 'Now, this
+yere is the way we does,' he says at last. 'I'll make 'em a long
+talk. You-all run over to the corral an' bring the best hoss you
+sees saddled. I'll be talkin' when you comes back, an' you creep up
+an' whisper to the old man to make a jump for the pony while I
+covers the deal with my six-shooter. It's playin' it low on Enright
+an' Doc Peets an' the rest, but I'll do it for you, Nell. It all
+comes from them jacks up on eights.'
+
+"With this, Cherokee tells Nell 'good-by,' an' squar's himse'f. He
+begins to talk, an' Nell makes a quiet little break for the corral.
+
+"But no hoss is ever needed. Cherokee don't talk a minute when Old
+Gentry comes buckin' offen his chair in a 'pleptic fit. A 'pleptic
+fit is permiscus an' tryin', an' when Old Gentry gets through an'
+comes to himse'f, he's camped jest this side of the dead line. He
+can only whisper.
+
+"'Come yere,' says he, motionin' to Cherokee. 'Thar's a stack of
+blues where I sets 'em on the ten open, which you ain't turned for
+none yet: Take all I has besides an' put with it. If it lose, it's
+yours; if it win, give it to the little girl.'
+
+"This is all Old Gentry says, an' he cashes in the very next second
+on the list.
+
+"Enright goes through'em, an' thar's over two thousand dollars in
+his war-bags; an', obeyin' them last behests, we-alls goes over to
+the Red Light an' puts it on the ten along of the stack of blues.
+It's over the limit, but Cherokee proceeds with the deal, an' when
+it comes I'm blessed if the ten ain't loser an' Cherokee gets it
+all.
+
+"'But I won't win none ag'in a dead man; says Cherokee. An' he gives
+it to Nell, who ain't sooperstitious.
+
+"'Do you-alls b'ar in mind,' says Boggs, as we takes a drink later,
+'how I foresees this yere racket the minute I hears Cherokee a-
+tellin' about his "Jacks up on eights"--the "hand the dead man
+holds?"'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+THE RIVAL DANCE-HALLS.
+
+
+It was sweet and cool after the rain, and the Old Cattleman and I,
+moved by an admiration for the open air which was mutual, found
+ourselves together on the porch.
+
+As in part recompense for his reminiscences of the several days
+before, I regaled my old friend with the history of a bank-failure,
+the details as well as the causes of which were just then forcing
+themselves upon me in the guise of business.
+
+"The fact is," I said, as I came to the end of my story, "the fact
+is, the true cause of this bank's downfall was a rivalry--what one
+might call a business feud--which grew into being between it and a
+similar institution which had opened as its neighbor. In the
+competition which fell out they fairly cut each other's throat. They
+both failed."
+
+"An' I takes it," remarked the Old Cattleman in comment, "one of
+these yere trade dooels that a-way goes on vindictive an'
+remorseless, same as if it's a personal fight between cow-folks over
+cattle."
+
+"Quite right," I said. "Money is often more cruel than men; and a
+business vendetta is frequently mere murder without the incident of
+blood. I don't suppose the life of your Arizona town would show
+these trade wars. It would take Eastern--that is, older--conditions,
+to provoke and carry one on."
+
+"No," replied the old gentleman, with an air of retrospection, "I
+don't recall nothin' of the sort in Wolfville. We're too much in a
+huddle, anyway; thar ain't room for no sech fracas, no how. Now the
+nearest we-alls comes to anythin' of the kind is when the new dance-
+hall starts that time.
+
+"Which I reckons," continued the Old Cattle. man, as he began
+arranging a smoke, "which I now reckons this yere is the only
+catyclism in trade Wolfville suffers; the only time it comes to what
+you-all Eastern sports would call a showdown in commerce. Of course
+thar's the laundry war, but that's between females an' don't count.
+Females--while it's no sorter doubt they's the noblest an' most
+exhilaratin' work of their Redeemer--is nervous that a-way, an' due
+any time to let their ha'r down their backs, emit a screech, an'
+claw an' lay for each other for luck. An', as I says, if you
+confines the festivities to them females engaged, an' prevents the
+men standin' in on the play, it's shore to wind up in sobs an'
+forgiveness, an' tharfore it don't go.
+
+"As I says, what I now relates is the only industrial trouble I
+recalls in Wolfville. I allers remembers it, 'cause, bein' as how I
+knows the party who's the aggravatin' cause tharof, it mortifies me
+the way he jumps into camp an' carries on.
+
+"When I sees him first is ages before, when I freights with eight
+mules over the Old Fort Bascome trail from Vegas to the Panhandle.
+This sharp--which he's a tenderfoot at the time, but plumb wolf by
+nacher-trails up to me in the Early Rose Saloon in Vegas one day,
+an' allows he'd like to make a deal an' go projectin' over into the
+Panhandle country with me for a trip. "Freightin' that a-way three
+weeks alone on the trail is some harrowin' to the sperits of a gent
+who loves company like me, so I agrees, an' no delay to it.
+
+"Which I'm yere to mention I regrets later I'm that easy I takes
+this person along. Not that he turns hostile, but he's allers havin'
+adventures, an' things keeps happenin' to him; an' final, I thinks
+he's shorely dead an' gone complete--the same, as I afterward
+learns, bein' error; an', takin' it up one trail an' down another,
+that trip breaks me offen foolin' with shorthorns complete, an' I
+don't go near 'em for years, more'n if they's stingin' lizards.
+
+"Whatever does this yere maverick do to me? Well, nothin' much to me
+personal; but he keeps a-breedin' of events which pesters me.
+
+"We're out about four days when them mishaps begins. I camps over
+one sun on the Concha to rest my mules. I'm loaded some heavy with
+six thousand pounds in the lead, an' mebby four thousand pounds in
+the trail wagon; an' I stops a day to give my stock a chance to roll
+an' breathe an' brace up. My off-wheel mule--a reg'lar shave-tail--
+is bad med'cine. Which he's not only eager to kick towerists an'
+others he takes a notion ag'inst; but he's likewise what you-alls
+calls a kleptomaniac, an' is out to steal an' sim'lar low-down
+plays.
+
+"I warns this yere tenderfoot--his name's Smith, but I pulls on him
+when conversin' as 'Colonel'--I warns this shorthorn not to fuss
+'round my Jerry mule, bein', as I states, a mule whose mood is
+ornery.
+
+"'Don't go near him, Colonel,' says I; 'an' partic'lar don't go
+crowdin' 'round to get no r'ar views of him. You-all has no idee of
+the radius of that mule; what you might call his sweep. You never
+will till he's kicked you once or twice, an' the information ain't
+worth no sech price. So I don't reckon I'd fool with him, none
+whatever.
+
+"'An' speshul, Colonel,' I goes on, for I shore aims to do my dooty
+by him, 'don't lay nothin' 'round loose where this yere Jerry mule
+can grab it off. I'm the last freighter on the Plains to go
+slanderin' an' detractin' of a pore he'pless mule onless it's
+straight; but if you-all takes to leavin' keepsakes an' mementoes
+layin' about casooal an' careless that a-way, Jerry'll eat 'em; an'
+the first you saveys your keepsakes is within Jerry's interior, an'
+thar you be.
+
+"'The fact is, stranger, this Jerry mule's a thief,' I says. 'If
+he's a human, Jerry would be lynched. But otherwise he's a sincere,
+earnest mule; an up hill or at a quicksand crossin' Jerry goes into
+his collar like a lion; so I forgives him bein' a thief an' allows
+it's a peccadillo."
+
+"'Well, you bet!' says this tenderfoot Colonel, 'this yere Jerry
+better not come no peccadillos on me.'
+
+"'If you-all maintains about twenty feet,' I replies, 'between
+Jerry's hind-Hocks an' you; an' if you keeps your bric-a-brac in
+your war-bags, you an' Jerry'll get along like lambs. Now, I warns
+you, an' that's got to do. If Jerry an' you gets tangled up
+yereafter you-all ain't goin' to harbor no revenges ag'in him, nor
+make no ranikaboo plays to get even.'
+
+"As I states, I'm camped on the Concha, an` the Colonel, who's
+allers out to try experiments an' new deals, puts it up he'll go
+down to the river an' take a swim. Tharupon he lines out for the
+water.
+
+"Jerry's hangin' about camp--for he's sorter a pet mule--allowin'
+mebby I submits a ham-rind or some sech delicacy to him to chew on;
+an' he hears the Colonel su'gest he'll swim some. So when the
+Colonel p'ints for the Concha, Jerry sa'nters along after,
+figgerin', mighty likely, as how he'll pass the hour a-watchin' the
+Colonel swim.
+
+"I'm busy on flapjacks at the time--which flapjacks is shore good
+food--an' I don't observe nothln' of Jerry nor the Colonel neither.
+They's away half an hour when I overhears ejac'lations, though I
+can't make out no words. I don't have to get caught in no landslide
+to tumble to a game, an' I'm aware at once that Jerry an' the
+Colonel has got their destinies mixed.
+
+"Nacherally, I goes over to the held of strife, aimin' to save
+Jerry, or save the Colonel, whichever has the other down. When I
+bursts on the scene, the Colonel starts for me, splutterin' an'
+makin' noises an' p'intin' at Jerry, who stands thar with an air of
+innocence. The Colonel's upper lip hangs down queer, like an ant-
+eater's, an' he can't talk. It's all mighty amazin'.
+
+"'What's all this toomult about?' I says.
+
+"The short of the riot is this: The Colonel goes in for a swim, an'
+he lays out his false teeth that a-way on a stone. When he comes for
+his teeth they's shorely gone, an' thar stands Jerry puttin' it on
+he's asleep. Them teeth is filed away in Jerry.
+
+"Which the Colonel raves 'round frightful, an' wants to kill Jerry
+an' amputate him, an' scout for the teeth. But I won't have it. I'm
+goin' to need Jerry down further on the quicksand fords of the
+Canadian; an', as I explains, them teeth is a wreck by now, an' no
+good if he get's 'em ag'in; Jerry munchin' of his food powerful.
+
+"After a while I rounds up the Colonel an' herds him back to camp.
+Jerry has shore sawed off a sore affliction on that tenderfoot when
+he takes in them teeth; I can see that. His lip hangs like a
+blacksmith's apron, an' he can't talk a little bit; jest makes signs
+or motions, like he's Injun or deef.
+
+"It's mebby two weeks later when Jerry gets another shot at the
+Colonel. It's the evenin' after the night Jerry sneaks into camp,
+soft-foot as a coyote, noses open the grub-box, an' eats five
+bottles of whiskey; all we has. We've pitched camp, an' I've hobbled
+this Jerry mule an' his mate--the other wheeler--an' throwed 'em
+loose, an' is busy hobblin' my nigh-swing mule, when trouble begins
+fomentin' between my tenderfoot an' Jerry.
+
+"The fact is it's done fomented. This Colonel, bein' some heated
+about that whiskey, an' plumb sore on Jerry on account of them
+teeth, allows to himse'f he'll take a trace-chain an' warp Jerry
+once for luck.
+
+"If this yere tenderfoot had been free with me, an' invited me into
+his confidence touchin' his designs, I'd took a lariat an' roped an'
+throwed Jerry for him, an' tied the felon down, an' let the Colonel
+wallop him an hour or so: but the Colonel's full of variety that a-
+way, or mebby he thinks I'll side with Jerry. Anyhow, he selects a
+trace-chain, an', without sayin' a word, dances all cautious towards
+his prey. Which this is relaxation for Jerry.
+
+[drawing of Jerry kicking the Colonel with caption: "That he'pless
+shorthorn stops both heels.]
+
+"While that Colonel tenderfoot is a rod away, Jerry turns his tail
+some sudden in his direction, an' the next instant that he'pless
+shorthorn stops both heels some'ers about the second button of his
+shirt. That settles it; the Colonel's an invalid immediate. I
+shorely has a time with him that night.
+
+"The next day he can't walk, an' he can't ride in the wagon 'cause
+of the jolts. It all touches my heart, an' at last I ups an' make a
+hammock outen a Navajo blanket, which is good an' strong, an' swings
+the Colonel to the reach of the trail wagon.
+
+"It's mostly a good scheme. Where the ground's level the Colonel
+comes on all right; but now an' then, when a wheel slumps into a
+rut, the Colonel can't he'p none but smite the ground where he's the
+lowest, an' it all draws groans an' laments from him a heap.
+
+"One time, when the Colonel's agony makes him groan speshul strong,
+I sees Jerry bat his eyes like he enjoys it; an' then Jerry mentions
+somethin' to his mate over the chain. We're trottin' along the trail
+at the time, an', bein' he's the nigh-wheeler--which is the saddle-
+mule of a team--I'm ridin' Jerry's compadre, an' when I notes how
+Jerry is that joyous about it I reaches across an' belts him some
+abrupt between the y'ears with the butt of a shot-filled black-
+snake. It rather lets the whey outen Jerry's glee, an' he don't get
+so much bliss from that tenderfoot's misfortunes as he did.
+
+"It goes along all right ontil I swings down to the crossin' of the
+Canadian. It's about fourth-drink time in the afternoon, an' I'm
+allowin' to ford the Canadian that evenin' an' camp on t'other side.
+The river is high an' rapid from rain some'ers back on its head
+waters, an' it's wide an' ugly. It ain't more'n four foot deep, but
+the bottom is quicksand, an' that false, if I lets my wagons stop
+ten seconds anywhere between bank an' bank, I'm goin' to be shy
+wagons at the close. I'll be lucky if I win out the mules. It's
+shore a hard, swift crossin'.
+
+"I swings down, as I says, to the river's aige with my mind filled
+up about the rush I've got to make. It's go through on the run or
+bog down. First I settles in my saddle, gives the outfit the word,
+an' then, pourin' the whip into the two leaders, I sends the whole
+eight into the water on the jump. The river is runnin' like a scared
+wolf, an' the little lead mules hardly touches bottom.
+
+"As the trail wagon takes the water, an' the two leaders is plumb in
+to the y'ears, a howl develops to the r'ar. It's my pore tenderfoot
+in his hammock onder the trail wagon. He shrieks as the water gets
+to him; an' it all hits me like a bullet, for I plumb overlooks him,
+thinkin' of that quicksand crossin'.
+
+"It's shore too late now; I'm in, an' I can't stop. To make things
+more complex, as the water cuts off the tenderfoot's yell like
+puffin' out a candle, a little old black mule, which is my off-
+p'inter, loses his feet an' goes down. I pours the leather into the
+team the harder, an' the others soars into their collars an' drug my
+black p'inter with 'em; only he's onder water. Of course I allows
+both the black p'inter an' the Colonel's shorely due to drown a
+whole lot.
+
+"We gets across, the seven other mules an' me; an' the second he's
+skated out on the sand on his side, the drowned mule gets up an'
+sings as triumphant as I ever hears. Swimmin' onder the river don't
+wear on him a bit.
+
+"Then I goes scoutin' for the Colonel, but he's vanished complete.
+Nacherally, I takes him for a dead-an'-gone gent; an' figgers if
+some eddy or counter-current don't get him, or he don't go aground
+on no sand-bar, his fellow-men will fish him out some'ers between me
+an' New Orleans, an' plant him an' hold services over him.
+
+"Bein' as I can't be of no use where it's a clean-sweep play like
+this, I dismisses the Colonel from my mind. After hobblin' an'
+throwin' loose my team, I lugs out the grub-box all sorrowful an'
+goes into camp.
+
+"Which I should allers have played the Colonel for dead, if it ain't
+that years later he one day comes wanderin' into Wolfville. He ain't
+tender now; he's as hard as moss-agates, an' as worthless.
+
+"I renews my acquaintance with him, an' he tells how he gets outen
+the Canadian that day; but beyond that we consoomes a drink or two
+together, I rather passes him up. Thar's a heap about him I don't
+take to.
+
+"The Colonel lays 'round Wolfville mebby it's a week, peerin' an'
+spyin' about. He says he's lookin' for an openin'. An' I reckons he
+is, for at the end of a week he slaps up a joint outen tent-cloth
+an' fence-boards, an' opens a dance-hall squar' ag'inst Jim
+Hamilton's which is already thar.
+
+"This yere alone is likely to brood an' hatch trouble; but, as if
+takin' a straight header into Hamilton's game ain't enough, this
+Colonel of mine don't get no pianer; don't round-up no music of his
+own; but stands pat an' pulls off reels, an' quadrilles, an' green-
+corn dances to Hamilton's music goin' on next door.
+
+"I'm through the Lincoln County war, an' has been romancin' about
+the frontier for years; but I never tracks up on no sech outrage in
+my life as this disgraceful Colonel openin' a hurdy-gurdy ag'in
+Hamilton's, an' maverickin' his music that a-way, an' dancin'
+tharunto.
+
+"It's the second night, an' Hamilton concloods he'll see about it
+some. He comes into the Colonel's joint, ca'm an' considerate, an'
+gives it out thar's goin' to be trouble if the Colonel don't close
+his game or play in his own fiddlers.
+
+"'Which if you-all don't close your game or hunt out your own
+music,' says Hamilton, 'I'm mighty likely to get my six-shooter an'
+close it for you.'
+
+"'See yere,' says my Colonel--which he's shore been learnin' since I
+parts with him on the Canadian--'the first hold-up who comes foolin'
+'round to break up a baile of mine, I'll shorely make him hard to
+find. What business you got fillin' up my place with your melodies?
+You rolls your tunes in yere like you owns the ranch; an' then you
+comes curvin' over an' talks of a gun-play 'cause, instead of layin'
+for you for that you disturbs my peace with them harmonies, I'm that
+good-nachered I yields the p'int an' dances to 'em. You-all pull
+your freight,' says the Colonel, 'or I'll fill you full of lead.'
+
+"This argument of the Colonel's dazzles Hamilton to that degree he
+don't know whether he's got the high hand or not. He thinks a
+minute, an' then p'ints over to the Red Light for Enright an' Doc
+Peets. As he leaves the rival dance-hall, the Colonel, who's callin'
+off his dances, turns to the quadrille, which is pausin pendin' the
+dispoote, an' shouts:
+
+"'You bet I knows my business! Right hand to your partner; grand
+right an' left!'
+
+"When Hamilton turns away they's shore makin' things rock an'
+tremble; an' all to the strains of 'The Arkansaw Traveller,' which
+is bein' evolved next door at Hamilton's expense.
+
+"Which somethin's goin' to pop; says Hamilton, mighty ugly to
+Enright an' the rest of us, as he pours a drink into his neck. 'I
+allows in the interests of peace that I canters over an' sees you-
+alls first. I ain't out to shake up Wolfville, nor give Red Dog a
+chance to criticise us none as a disorderly camp; but I asks you
+gents, as citizens an' members of the vig'lance committee, whether
+I'm to stand an' let this yere sharp round-up my music to hold his
+revels by, an' put it all over me nightly?'
+
+"'I don't see no difference,' says Dan Boggs, 'between this convict
+a-stealin' of Hamilton's music, than if he goes an' stands up Old
+Monte an' the stage.'
+
+"'The same bein' my idee exact,' says Texas Thompson. 'Yere's
+Hamilton caterin' to this camp with a dance-hall. It's a public good
+thing. If a gent's morose, an' his whiskey's slow placin' itse'f, he
+goes over to Hamilton's hurdy-gurdy an' finds relaxation an' relief.
+Now yere comes this stranger--an' I makes it fifty dollars even he's
+from Massachusetts--an' what does he do? Never antes nor sticks in a
+white chip, but purloins Hamilton's strains, an' pulls off his
+dances tharby. It's plumb wrong, an' what this party needs is
+hangin'.'
+
+"'Oh, I don't know,' says Cherokee Hall, who's in on the talk.
+'Hamilton's all right, an' a squar' man. All he wants is jestice.
+Now, while I deems the conduct of this stranger low an' ornery;
+still, comin' down to the turn, he's on his trail all right. As this
+sharp says: Who gives Hamilton any license to go fillin' his hurdy-
+gurdy full of dance-music? S'pose this gent would come caperin' over
+an' set in a stack ag'in Hamilton for overloadin' his joint with
+pianer an' fiddle noises without his consent; an' puttin' it up he's
+out to drag the camp if Hamilton don't cease? The only way Hamilton
+gets 'round that kind of complaint is, he don't own them walses an'
+quadrilles after they fetches loose from his fiddle; that they ain't
+his quadrilles no more, an' he's not responsible after they
+stampedes off into space.'
+
+"'That's straight,' says Dave Tutt, 'you-alls can't run no brand on
+melodies. A gent can't own no music after he cuts it loose that a-
+way. The minute it leaves the bosoms of his fiddles, that's where he
+lets go. After that it belongs to any gent to dance by, cry by, set
+by, or fight by, as he deems meet an' pleasant at the time.'
+
+"'What do you-alls say?' says Hamilton to Enright an' Peets. 'Does
+this yere piece of oppression on a leadin' citizen, perpetrated by a
+rank outsider, go? I shore waits for your reply with impatience, for
+I eetches to go back an' shoot up this new hurdy-gurdy from now till
+sun-up.'
+
+"Enright takes Doc Peets down by the end of the bar--an' thar's no
+doubt about it, that Peets is the wisest longhorn west of the
+Missoury--an' they has a deep consultation. We-alls is waitin'. some
+interested, to see what they says. It's shore a fine p'int this
+Colonel's makin' to jestify an' back his game.
+
+"'Get a move on you, Enright!' at last says Dan Boggs, who is a
+hasty, eager man, who likes action; 'get a move on you, you an'
+Peets, an' settle this. You're queerin' the kyards an' delayin' the
+play.'
+
+"'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, comin' back where we-alls is
+by the door, 'Peets an' me sees no need decidin' on them questions
+about who owns a tune after said tune has been played. But thar is a
+subject, that a-way, which requires consideration; an' which most
+likely solves this dance-hall deadlock. In all trade matters in a
+growin' camp like Wolfville, it's better to preserve a equilibrium.
+It's ag'in public interest to have two or three dance-halls, or two
+or three saloons, all in a bunch that a-way. It's better they be
+spraddled 'round wide apart, which is more convenient. So Peets an'
+me proposes as a roole for this yere camp that two hurdy-gurdies be
+forbid to be carried on within five hundred feet of each other. As
+it looks like nobody objects, we concloods it's adopted. Nacherally,
+the last hurdy-gurdy up has to move, which disposes of this yere
+trouble.'
+
+"'Before I ends what I has to say,' goes on Enright, 'I wants to
+thank our townsman, Mister Hamilton, for consultin' of the
+Stranglers prior to a killin'. It shows he's a law-abidin' gent an'
+a credit to the camp. An' mighty likely he prolongs his stay on
+earth. If he'd pranced in an' skelped this maraudin' stranger, I
+don't reckon we could avoid swingin' him at the end of a lariat
+without makin' a dangerous preceedent. As it is, his rival will be
+routed an' his life made sereen as yeretofore.'
+
+"'As to the execution of this new roole,' concloods Enright, 'we
+leaves that to Jack Moore. He will wait on this party an' explain
+the play. He must up stakes an' move his camp; an' if he calls on
+another shindig after he's warned, we-alls takes our ponies an' our
+ropes an' yanks his outfit up by the roots. A gent of his
+enterprise, however, will come to a dead halt; an' his persecutions
+of Hamilton will cease.'
+
+"'An' you-all calls this yere a free American outfit!' says my
+Colonel, mighty scornful, when Jack Moore notifies him. 'If I don't
+line out for t'other end of camp you-alls is allowin' to rope my
+joint an' pull it down! Well, that lets me out; I quits you. I'd be
+shorely degraded to put in my time with any sech low-flung passel of
+sports. You-all may go back an' tell your folks that as you leaves
+you hears me give the call to my guests, "All promenade to the bar";
+an' the dancin' is done. To-morrow I departs for Red Dog to begin
+life anew. Wolfville is too slow a camp for any gent with any
+swiftness to him.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+SLIM JIM'S SISTER.
+
+
+"Which thar's folks in this caravansary I don't like none," remarked
+the Old Cattleman, as I joined him one afternoon on the lawn. His
+tone was as of one half sullen, half hurt, and as he jerked his
+thumb toward the hotel behind us, it was a gesture full of scorn.
+"Thar's folks thar, takin' 'em up an' down, horns, hide, tallow, an'
+beef, who ain't worth heatin' a runnin'-iron to brand."
+
+"What's the trouble?" I inquired, as I organized for comfort with my
+back against the elm-tree which shadowed us.
+
+"No trouble at all," replied my old friend sourly, "leastwise
+nothin' poignant. It's that yoothful party in the black surtoot who
+comes pesterin' me a moment ago about the West bein', as he says, a
+roode an' irreligious outfit."
+
+"He's a young preacher," I explained. "Possibly he was moved by an
+anxiety touching your soul's welfare."
+
+"Well, if he's out to save souls," retorted the old gentleman, "he
+oughter whirl a bigger loop. No, no, he won't do,"he continued,
+shaking his head with an air of mournful yet resentful decision,
+"this yere gent's too narrow; which his head is built too much the
+shape of a quail-trap. He may do to chase jack-rabbits an' sech, but
+he's a size too small for game like me. Save souls, says you! Why,
+if that onp'lite young person was to meet a soul like mine comin' up
+the trail, he'd shorely omit what to do entire; he'd be that
+stampeded. He'd be some hard to locate, I takes it, after he meets
+up with a soul like mine a whole lot."
+
+The Old Cattleman made this proclamation rather to himself than me,
+but I could detect an air of pride. Then he went on:
+
+"'This yere West you emanates from,' says this young preacher-sharp
+to me that a-way, 'this yere West you hails from is roode, an' don't
+yield none to religious inflooences.'
+
+"'Well,' I says back to him, fillin' my pipe at the same time, 'I
+reckons you shorely can c'llect more with a gun than a contreebution
+box in the West, if that's what you-all is aimin' at. But if you
+figgers we don't make our own little religious breaks out in
+Arizona, stranger, you figgers a heap wrong. You oughter have heard
+Short Creek Dave that time when he turns 'vangelist an' prances into
+the warehouse back of the New York Store, an' shows Wolfville she's
+shore h'ar-hung an' breeze-shaken over hell that a-way. Short Creek
+has the camp all spraddled out before he turns his deal-box up an'
+closes his game.'
+
+"'But this yere Short Creek Dave,' he remonstrates to me, 'ain't no
+reg'lar licensed divine. He ain't workin' in conjunctions with no
+shore 'nough' sociation, I takes it. This Short Creek person is most
+likely one of them irrelevant exhortin' folks, an' that makes a
+difference. He don't belong to no reg'lar denom'nation.'
+
+"'That's troo, too,' I says. 'Short Creek ain't workin' with no
+reg'lar religious round-up; he's sorter runnin' a floatin' outfit,
+criss-crossin' the range, prowlin' for mavericks an' strays on his
+own game. But what of that? He's shorely tyin' 'em down an' brandin'
+'em right along.'
+
+"'Oh, I don't dispoote none the efficacy of your friend's work that
+a-way,' replies the young preacher-sharp, 'but it's irreg'lar; it's
+plumb out of line. Now what you-alls needs in the West is real
+churches, same as we-alls has in the East.'
+
+"`I ain't none shore of that.' I says, 'an' I'm gettin' a little
+warm onder the collar some with them frills he puts on; 'I ain't
+none shore. The East needn't deem itse'f the only king in the deck;
+none whatever. The West can afford the usual rooles an' let all bets
+go as they lays, an' still get up winner on the deal. I takes it
+you-alls never notes the West sendin' East for he'p?'
+
+"'But that ain't the idee,' he urges. 'Churches that a-way is the
+right thing. They molds a commoonity, churches does. You b'ars
+witness yourse'f that where churches exists the commoonity is the
+most orderly an' fuller of quietood an' peace.'
+
+"'Not necessarily I don't,' I replies back, for I'm goin' to play my
+hand out if it gets my last chip, 'not necessarily. What I b'ars
+witness to is that where the commoonity is the most orderly that a-
+way an' fuller of quietood an' peace, the churches exists.'
+
+"'Which I'm shorely some afraid,' he says,--an' his looks shows he's
+gettin' a horror of me,--'you belongs to a perverse generation. You-
+all is vain of your own evil-doin'. Look at them murders that
+reddens the West, an' then sit yere an' tell me it don't need no
+inflooences.'
+
+"'Them ain't murders,' I answers; them's killin's. An' as for
+inflooenccs, if you-all don't reckon the presence of a vig'lance
+committee in a camp don't cause a gent to pause an' ponder none
+before he pulls his gun, you dwells in ignorance. However, I'm yere
+to admit, I don't discern no sech sin-encrusted play in a killin'
+when the parties breaks even at the start, an' both gents is workin'
+to the same end unanimous. It does some folks a heap of good to kill
+'em a lot.'
+
+"It's at this p'int the young preacher-sharp pulls his freight, an'
+I observes, by the way he stacks me up with his eyes that a-way, he
+allows mebby I'm locoed."
+
+The Old Cattleman said no more for a moment, but puffed at his cob
+pipe in thought and silence. I had no notion of involving myself in
+any combat of morals or theology, so I did not invade his mood. At
+last I suggested in a half-tone of inoffensive sympathy that the
+West was no doubt much misunderstood.
+
+"Life there," I remarked, "amid new and rough conditions must be
+full of hardship and tragedy."
+
+This vague arrow in the air had the effect of sending the old fellow
+off at a tangent. His bent was evidently discursive, and all
+thoughts of his late religious controversy seemed to pass from his
+mind.
+
+"Full of hardship an' tragedy is your remark," he retorted, "an' I
+joins you tharin. Take them disasters that pounces on Slim Jim. What
+happens in the case of this yere Slim Jim tenderfoot," the old
+fellow continued as a damp gleam of sympathy shone in his eye,"is
+both hardship an' tragedy. Which of course thar's a mighty sight of
+difference. A hardship a gent lives through; but it's a tragedy when
+his light's put out. An' as Slim Jim don't live through this none,
+it's nacherally a tragedy that a-way.
+
+"I frequent sees bad luck to other folks, as well as comin' to me
+personal, in the years I inhabits the grass country, but this was
+shorely the toughest. It even overplays anythin' Rainbow Sam ever is
+ag'inst; an' the hard luck of Rainbow Sam is a proverb of Arizona.
+
+"'Which I reckons I was foaled with a copper on me,' says this
+Rainbow Sam to Enright one day. 'In all my born days I never makes a
+killin'--never gets up winner once. I was foaled a loser, an' I'll
+keep a-losin' ontil this yere malady--which it's consumption-which
+has me in charge delivers me to the angels an' gets its receipt.'
+
+"It's a mockery what transpires touchin' this Rainbow Sam. Jest as
+he states, the consumption's got him treed an' out on a limb. Doc
+Peets says, himse'f, nothin' can he'p him; an' when Peets quits a
+little thing like consumption an' shoves his chair back, you-alls
+can gamble a gent's health, that a-way, is on a dead kyard.
+
+"I recalls how Rainbow Sam dies; which he rides out into eternity
+easy an' painless. We-alls is into a poker-game nne night-that is,
+five of us--when Doc Peets is called away.
+
+"'See yere, Rainbow,' says Peets to Rainbow Sam, who's penniless an'
+tharfore lookin' on; 'you never has a morsel of luck in your life.
+Now, yere: You play my hand an' chips awhile. I'm on velvet for
+three hundred an' fifty, an' I'd as soon you'd lose it into the game
+as any sport I knows. An' to rouse your moral nacher I wants to tell
+you, whatever you rakes in you keeps. Now thar's luck at the jump;
+you can't lose an' you may win, so set in yere. Napoleon never has
+half the show.'
+
+"Peets goes away for an hour about somethin', an' Rainbow Sam takes
+his seat; an', merely to show how one gent outlucks another, while
+Peets has had the luck of dogs it's that profuse an' good, it looks
+like the best Rainbow can get is an even break. For half an hour he
+wins an' he loses about equal; an' he's shore tryin' hard to win,
+too.
+
+"'If I takes in a couple of hundred or so,' says this Rainbow to me,
+'I allows I'll visit my folks in the States once for luck.'
+
+"But he never visits them folks he adverts to. It's on Boggs's deal,
+an' he's throwin' the kyards 'round when Rainbow's took bad. His
+consumption sorter mutinies onto him all at once. He's got the seat
+on the left of Boggs, too,--got the age.
+
+"'Play my hand,' he says to Hamilton, who's stepped in from the
+dance-hall; 'play my hand, Jim, till I feels a little better. I'll
+be all right in a moment. Barkeep, deal me some whiskey.'
+
+"So Rainbow walks over to the bar, an' Hamilton picks up his kyards.
+I notes that Rainbow steps off that time some tottersome; but he's
+so plumb weak that a-way, cats is robust to him; an' so I deems
+nothin' tharof. I'm skinnin' my kyards a bit interested anyhow,
+bein' in the hole myse'f.
+
+"Everybody comes in this deal, an' when the chips is in the center--
+this yere's before the draw--Hamilton, speakin' up for Rainbow,
+says:
+
+"'These yere's Doc Peets's chips anyhow?'
+
+"'Which they shorely be,' says Boggs, 'so play 'em merciless, 'cause
+Peets is rich.'
+
+"'That's what I asks for,' says Hamilton, 'for I don't aim to make
+no mistakes with pore Rainbow's money.'
+
+"'That's all right,' says Boggs, 'dump 'em in. If you-all lose, it's
+Peets's; if you win, it's Rainbow's.'
+
+"'Play 'em game an' liberal, Old Man,' says Rainbow over by the
+bar,--an' it strikes me at the time his tones is weak an' queer; but
+bein' as I jest then notes a third queen in my hand, I don't have no
+chance to dwell on the fact. 'Play 'em game an' free,' says Rainbow
+ag'in. 'Free as the waters of life. Win or lose, she's all the same
+a hundred year from now.'
+
+"Hamilton takes another look an' then raises the ante a hundred
+dollars. This yere is table stakes; this game was; an' the stakes is
+five hundred.
+
+"'Which I plays this,' says Hamilton, as he comes up with the
+hundred raise, 'the same as I would for myse'f, which the same means
+plenteous an' free as a king.'
+
+"Thar's three of us who stays, one of the same bein' me. I allers
+recalls it easy, 'cause it frost-bites my three queens for over
+three hundred dollars before the excitement dies away. Boggs, who's
+so vociferous recent about Hamilton playin' wide open, stays out;
+not havin' as good as nine-high.
+
+"On the draw Hamilton allows Rainbow's hand needs one kyard, an' he
+gets it. I takes one also; the same bein' futile, so far as he'pin'
+my hand goes; an' the others takes kyards various.
+
+"Thar's only one raise, an' that's when it gets to Hamilton. He sets
+in a little over two hundred dollars, bein' the balance of the
+stake; an' two of us is feeble-minded enough to call. What does he
+have? Well, it's ample for our ondoin' that a-way. It's a straight
+flush of diamonds; jack at the head of the class. It shorely carries
+off the pot like it's a whirlwind. As near as I can measure,
+Hamilton claws off with about six hundred dollars for Rainbow on
+that one hand.
+
+"'Yere you be, Rainbow!' shouts Boggs. 'Come a-runnin'! It's now you
+visits them relations; you makes a killin' at last.'
+
+"It turns out some late for Rainbow though. Thar's no reply to
+Boggs's talk, an' when we-alls goes over to him where he's set down
+by the end of the bar thar, with his arm on a monte-table, an' his
+chin on his shirt, Rainbow Sam is dead.
+
+"'Which I regrets,' says Doc Peets when he returns, 'that Rainbow
+don't stay long enough to onderstand how luck sets his way at last.
+It most likely comforts him an' makes his goin' out more cheerful.'
+
+"'It's a good sign, though,' says Cherokee Hall, 'that straight
+flush is. Which it shows Rainbow strikes a streak of luck; an' mebby
+it lasts long enough to get him by the gates above all right. That's
+all I asks when my time comes; that I dies when I'm commencin' a run
+of luck.'
+
+"Oh! about this Slim Jim tenderfoot an' his tragedy! Do you know I
+plumb overlooks him. I gets trailed off that a-way after pore old
+Rainbow Sam, an' Slim Jim escapes my mem'ry complete.
+
+"Which the story of this gent, even the little we-alls knows, is a
+heap onusual. No one, onless he's the postmaster, ever does hear his
+name. He sorter ha'nts about Red Dog an' Wolfville indiscriminate
+for mighty nigh a year; an' they calls him 'Slim Jim' with us, an'
+'The Tenderfoot' in Red Dog; but, as I says, what's his real name
+never does poke up its head.
+
+"Whatever brings this yere Slim Jim into the cow country is too
+boggy a crossin' for me. Thar ain't a thing he can do or learn to.
+We-alls has him on one round-up, an' it's cl'ar from the jump he
+ain't meant by Providence for the cattle business. The meekest
+bronco in the bunch bucks him off; an' actooally he's that timid
+he's plumb afraid of ponies an' cattle both.
+
+"We-alls fixes Slim Jim's saddle with buckin'-straps; an' even
+fastens a roll of blankets across the saddle-horn; but it ain't
+enough. Nothin' bar tyin' Slim Jim into the saddle, like the hoss-
+back Injuns does to papooses, could save him.
+
+"An' aside from nacheral awk'ardness an' a light an' fitful seat in
+a saddle, it looks like this Slim Jim has baleful effects on a
+bronco. To show you: One mornin' we ropes up for him a pony which
+has renown for its low sperits. It acts, this yere pony does, like
+it's suffered some disapp'intment which blights it an' breaks its
+heart; an' no amount of tightenin' of the back cinch; not even
+spurrin' of it in the shoulder an' neck like playful people who's
+out for a circus does, is ever known to evolve a buck-jump outen
+him, he's that sad. Which this is so well known, the pony's name is
+'Remorse.'
+
+"As I says, merely to show the malignant spell this yere Slim Jim
+casts over a bronco, we-alls throws him onto this Remorse pony one
+mornin'.
+
+"'Which if you can't get along with that cayouse,' remarks Jack
+Moore at the time, 'I reckons it's foreordained you-all has to go
+afoot.'
+
+"An' that's how it turns out. No sooner is Slim Jim in the saddle
+than that Remorse pony arches his back like a hoop, sticks his nose
+between his knees, an' gives way to sech a fit of real old worm-
+fence buckin' as lands Slim Jim on his sombrero, an' makes expert
+ponies simply stand an' admire.
+
+"That's the last round-up Slim Jim attempts; workin' cattle he says
+himse'f is too deep a game for him, an' he never does try no more.
+So he hangs about Wolfville an' Red Dog alternate, turnin' little
+jim-crow tricks for the express company, or he'pin' over to the
+stage company's corrals, an' sorter manages to live.
+
+"Now an' then some party who's busy drinkin', an' tharfore hasn't
+time for faro, an' yet is desirous the same be played, stakes Slim
+Jim ag'inst the game; an' it happens at times he makes a small pick-
+up that a-way. But his means of livelihood is shorely what you-alls
+would call precar'ous.
+
+"An' yet, as I sends my mind back over the trail, I never knows of
+nothin' bad this yere Slim Jim does. You needn't go inferrin' none,
+from his havin' a terror of steers an' broncos that a-way, that he's
+timid plumb through. Thar's reason to deem him game when he's up
+ag'inst mere man.
+
+"Once, so they tells the story, Curly Bill rounds up this Slim Jim
+in a Red Dog hurdy-gurdy an' concloods to have some entertainment
+with him.
+
+"'Dance, you shorthorn!' says this yere Curly Bill, yankin' out his
+six-shooter an' p'intin' it mighty sudden at Slim Jim's foot;
+'shuffle somethin' right peart now, or you-all emerges shy a toe.'
+
+"Does this Slim Jim dance? Never cavorts a step. At the first move
+he swarms all over this Curly Bill like a wild-cat, makes him drop
+his gun, an' sends him out of the hurdy-gurdy on a canter. That's
+straight; that's the painful fact in the case of Curly Bill, who
+makes overgay with the wrong gent.
+
+"Later, mebby an hour, so the party says who relates it to me, Curly
+Bill sends back word into the hurdy-gurdy, tellin' the barkeep, if
+his credit's good after sech vicissitoodes, to treat the house. He
+allows the drinks is on him, an' that a committee can find him
+settin' on the post office steps sorter goin' over himse'f for
+fractures, if it's held necessary for him to be present when the
+drinks is took.
+
+"Which of course any gent's credit is good at the bar that a-way;
+an' so a small delegation of three ropes up this yere Curly Bill an'
+brings him back to the hurdy-gurdy, where he gets his gun ag'in, an'
+Slim Jim an' him makes up.
+
+"'Which I renounces all idee of ever seein' you dance some,' says
+Curly Bill, when he an' Jim shakes; 'an' I yereby marks your
+moccasins plumb off my list of targets.'
+
+"Everybody's pleased at this; an' the barkeep is delighted speshul,
+as one of them reeconciliations that a-way is mighty condoosive to
+the sale of nose-paint. I'm yere to remark, if thar ain't no more
+reeconciliations on earth, an' everybody stands pat on them hatreds
+an' enmities of his, whiskey-drinkin' falls off half.
+
+"I only su'gest this turn-up with Curly Bill to 'lustrate that it's
+about as I says, an' that while Slim Jim's reluctant an' hesitatin'
+in the presence of wild steers, an' can't adhere to a pony much,
+this yere girlishness don't extend to men none; which last he faces
+prompt an' willin' as a lion.
+
+"Thar's times when I shorely ponders the case of this Slim Jim a
+mighty sight, 'cause he keeps strikin' me as a good gent gone bad,
+an' as bein' the right gent in the wrong place.
+
+"'This pore maverick is plumb Eastern, that's all,' says Enright one
+day, while he's discussin' of this Slim Jim. 'He ain't to blame, but
+he ain't never goin' to do, none whatever, out yere. He can't no
+more get used to Arizona than one of the Disciples, an' he might
+camp 'round for years.'
+
+"It's mebby hard onto a year when along comes the beginnin' of the
+end as far as this Slim Jim's concerned, only we-alls don't know it.
+The postmaster says afterward he gets a letter; an' by what's found
+on the remainder it looks like the postmaster's right, an' this
+letter sets him goin' wrong. I allers allows, after he gets this
+missive, that he sees the need of money that a-way an' plenty of it;
+an' that it's got to come quick.
+
+"Most likely he's been bluffin' some parties in the East about how
+rich he is an' how lucrative he's doin',--sech bluffs bein' common
+in the West,--an' now along comes events an' folks he's fooled, an'
+his bluff is called.
+
+"When it arrives, none of us knows of this yere letter the
+postmaster mentions, an' which is later read by all; but it's about
+that time Slim Jim acts queer an' locoed. He's flustered an'
+stampeded about somethin', we-alls notes that; an' Dave Tutt even
+forgets himse'f as a gent so far as to ask Slim Jim what's up.
+
+"`Which you looks oneasy these autumn days,' says Tutt to Slim Jim.
+'What's wrong?'
+
+"'Nothin',' says Slim Jim, lookin' a bit woozy, 'nothin' wrong. A
+friend of mine is likely to show up yere; that's all.'
+
+"'Which he has the air of a fugitive from jestice when he says it,'
+observes Tutt, when he speaks of it after all's over; 'though
+jedgin' by the party who's on his trail that time I don't reckon
+he's done nothin' neither.'
+
+"It's shorely the need of money drives this Slim Jim to turnin'
+route-agent an' go holdin' up the stage, for the evenin' he quits
+camp he says to Cherokee Hall: 'S'pose I asks you-all to lend me
+money, quite a bundle, say, would you do it?'
+
+"'I turns faro for my money,' says Cherokee; 'which I merely
+mentions it to show I comes honestly by my roll. As to borrowin' of
+me, you-all or any gent in hard lines can get my money by showin' he
+needs it worse than I do; an' to encourage you I might say I don't
+need money much. So, go on an' tell me the news about yourse'f, an'
+if it's as bad as the way you looks, I reckons I'll have to stake
+you, even if it takes half my pile.' Tharupon Cherokee urges Slim
+Jim to onfold his story.
+
+"But Slim Jim gets shy an' won't talk or tell Cherokee what's
+pesterin' him, or how much money he needs.
+
+"'No,' he says, after thinkin' a little, 'I never begs a stake yet,
+an' I never will. Anyhow I sees another way which is better.'
+
+"Countin' noses afterwards, it's probably this talk with Cherokee is
+the last Slim Jim has before he breaks over into the hills on the
+hunt for money. He goes afoot, too; for he don't own no pony, an' he
+couldn't, as I explains previous, stay on him if he does.
+
+"But he fixes himse'f with a Winchester which he gets from the
+stage-company people themse'fs on a talk he makes about takin' some
+reecreation with the coyotes, an' p'ints straight over into Rawhide
+Canyon,--mebby it's six miles from camp. When the stage gets along
+an hour later, this Slim Jim's made himse'f a mask with a
+handkerchief, an' is a full-fledged hold-up which any express
+company could be proud to down. Old Monte relates what happens in
+the canyon, 'cause from where he's stuck up on the box he gets a
+better view.
+
+"'Yere's how this happens,' says Old Monte, while renooin' his yooth
+with Red Light licker after he's got in. 'It's a little hazy in the
+canyon, comin' evenin' that a-way, an' my eyes is watery with the
+shootin' goin' on, an' I tharfore don't say I notes things none
+minoote; but as near as I can, you gets the story.
+
+"`Thar's only one passenger, an' she's a woman. Which for that
+matter she's a beautiful girl, with eyes like a buck antelope's; but
+bein' she's layin' over to the stage station defunct right now,
+along with this yere Slim Jim, I don't dwell none on how she looks.'
+
+"'When I pulls out from Tucson I has this yere young female inside;
+an' the company puts two Wells-Fargo gyards on top of the coach, the
+same bein' the first time in months. These Wells-Fargo parties ain't
+along for hold-ups, but jest 'cause they has business over yere, an'
+so comes by stage same as other gents.
+
+"`It all goes smooth ontil I'm rattlin' along in Rawhide Canyon not
+half-a-dozen miles from where we-alls is now drinkin' all free an'
+amiable, like life's nothin' but sunshine.
+
+"'The first p'inter I has that I'm up ag'inst it, bang! goes a
+Winchester, an' throws my off leader dead ag'inst the trail. Thar's
+no goin' 'round the dead hoss, an' bar the nacheral rarin' an'
+pitchin' of the other five on beholdin' of the ontimely end of their
+companion that a-way, the whole business comes to a dead stop.
+
+"'"Hold up your hands!" says a voice up the rocks on one side.
+
+"'My hands is already up, for I'm an old stage-driver, gents, an'
+you-alls can gamble I knows my trade. I'm hired to drive. It ain't
+no part of my game to fight hold-ups an' stand off route-agents that
+a-way, an' get shot dead for it by their pards the next trip; so, as
+I says, the moment that Winchester goes off, I clamps my fingers
+back of my head an' sets thar. Of course I talks back at this hold-
+up a heap profane, for I don't aim to have the name of allowin' any
+gent to rustle my stage an' me not cuss him out. "'But these yere
+Wells-Fargo sharps, they never holds up their hands. That's nacheral
+enough, for them gents is hired to fight, an' this partic'lar trip
+thar's full six thousand dollars to go to war over.
+
+"With the first shot the Wells-Fargo gents--they was game as goats
+both of 'em--slides offen the coach an' takes to shootin'. The guns
+is makin' a high old rattle of it, an' I'm hopin' the hold-up won't
+get to over-shootin' an' drill me, when the first casooalty occurs.
+One of the Wells-Fargo sports gets a bullet plumb through his frame,
+an' is dead an' out in the crack of a whip.
+
+"'It looks like the hold-up sees him tumble, for it's then he cuts
+loose a whoop, jumps down onto the trail an' charges. He comes a-
+shootin', too, an' the way the lead an' fire fetches forth from that
+Winchester he's managin' shore reminds me of them Roman candles last
+July.
+
+"'All this yere don't take ten seconds. An' it don't last ten
+seconds more. As my hold-up comes chargin' an' shootin' towards the
+stage, I overhears a scream inside, an' the next moment that young
+female passenger opens the door an' comes scamperin' out.
+
+"'If she tries she couldn't have selected no worse epock. She hits
+the ground, an' the second she does--for I'm lookin' over at her at
+the time--she stops one of that hold-up's bullets an' goes down with
+a great cry.
+
+"'It's on me, gents, at this p'int to take all resks an' go down an'
+look-out the play for the girl. But I never gets a chance, an' it's
+as well I don't; for towards the last the shootin' of the remainin'
+Wells-Fargo person is reckless an' inordinate. It's plumb
+reedundant; that shootin' is. But as I remarks, I never has no
+occasion to go to the girl; for as I feels the impulse I hears the
+hold-up shout:
+
+"'"God! it's Mary! It's my sister!"
+
+"'Thar's a letter on him we finds later, which shows this statement
+about my passenger bein' his sister is troo; an' that she's p'intin'
+out when downed, now they's orphans--which the letter states their
+father's jest cashed in--to come an' keep house for him. As the
+hold-up makes this yere exclamation about the girl bein' his
+relative that a-way, his Winchester goes a-rattlin' onto the trail
+an' he gathers her in his arms. However, he don't last longer than a
+drink of whiskey now. He don't no more'n lift her up, before even he
+kisses her, the remainin' Wells-Fargo gent downs him, an' the riot's
+over complete.
+
+"'Three killed an' none wounded is how results stacks up; an' after
+me an' the live Wells-Fargo gent cl'ars the dead leader outen the
+trail, we-alls lays out the remainders inside all peaceful, an'
+comes a-curvin' on to Wolfville. It's then, as we puts 'em in the
+coach, I sees that my hold-up's that onfortunate felon, Slim Jim.
+Which I was shorely astonished. I says to the Wells-Fargo gent, as
+we looks at Slim Jim:
+
+"'"Pard, the drinks is due from me on this. If I has a week to guess
+in, I'd never said 'Slim Jim.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE.
+
+
+"Whatever makes this yere jaybird Bob believe he's a humorist," said
+the Old Cattleman one afternoon as we slowly returned from a walk,
+"whatever it is misleads him to so deem himself is shorely too many
+for me. Doc Peets tells him himse'f one day he's plumb wrong.
+
+"'You-all's nacherally a somber, morose party,' says Doc Peets this
+time, 'an' nothin' jocose or jocund about you. Your disp'sition,
+Jaybird, don't no more run to jokes than a prairie-dog's."
+
+"'Which I would admire to know why not?' says Jaybird Bob.
+
+"'Well,' goes on Doc Peets, 'you thinks too slow--too much like a
+cow in a swamp. Your mind moves sluggish that a-way, an' sorter
+sinks to the hocks each step. If you was born to be funny your
+intellects would be limber an' frivolous.'
+
+"'Bein' all this is personal to me,' says Jaybird Bob, 'I takes
+leave to regard you as wrong. My jokes is good, high-grade jokes;
+an' when you-all talks of me bein' morose, it's a mere case of
+bluff.' An' so Jaybird goes on a-holdin of himse'f funny ontil we-
+alls has him to bury.
+
+"No; Jaybird ain't his shore-'nough name; it's jest a handle to his
+'dentity, so we-alls picks it up handy and easy. Jaybird's real name
+is Graingerford,--Poindexter Graingerford. But the same is cumbersom
+an' onwieldy a whole lot; so when he first trails into Wolfville we-
+alls considers among ourse'fs an' settles it's a short cut to call
+him 'Jaybird Bob,' that a-way. An' we does.
+
+"It's on the spring round-up this yere Jaybird first develops that
+he regards himse'f witty. It's in the morning as we-alls has saddled
+up an' lines out to comb the range roundabout for cattle. Thar's a
+tenderfoot along whose name is Todd, an', as he's canterin' off,
+Jaybird comes a-curvin' up on his bronco an' reaches over an' tails
+this shorthorn's pony.
+
+"What's tailin' a pony? It's ridin' up from the r'ar an' takin' a
+half-hitch on your saddle. horn with the tail of another gent's
+pony, an' then spurrin' by an' swappin' ends with the whole outfit,-
+-gent, hoss, an' all.
+
+"It's really too toomultuous for a joke, an' mebby breaks the pony's
+neck, mebby the rider's. But whether he saves his neck or no, the
+party whose pony is thus tailed allers emergers tharfrom deshevelled
+an' wrought-up, an' hotter than a wolf. So no one plays this yere
+joke much; not till he's ready to get shot at.
+
+"As I says, this Jaybird watches Todd as he rides off. Bein' new on
+the range that a-way, Todd don't ride easy. A cow saddle ain't built
+like these yere Eastern hulls, nohow. The stirrup is set two inches
+further back for one thing, an' it's compiled a heap different other
+ways. Bein' onused to cow saddles, an' for that matter cow ponies,
+this Todd lops over for'ard an' beats with his elbows like he's a
+curlew or somethin' flyin', an' I reckons it's sech proceedin's
+makes Jaybird allow he's goin' to be funny an' tail Todd's pony.
+
+"As I explains, he capers along after Todd an' reaches over an' gets
+a handful of the pony's tail; an' then, wroppin' it 'round his
+saddle-horn, he goes by on the jump an' spreads Todd an' his bronco
+permiscus about the scene. This yere Todd goes along the grass on
+all fours like a jack-rabbit.
+
+"Which Todd, I reckons, is the hostilest gent in south-east Arizona.
+Before ever he offers to get up, he lugs out his six-shooter an'
+makes some mighty sincere gestures that a-way to shoot up Jaybird.
+But he's slow with his weepon, bein' spraddled out on the grass, an'
+it gives Dave Tutt an' Enright a chance to jump in between an' stop
+the deal.
+
+"We-alls picks Todd up, an' rounds up his pony,--which scrambles to
+its feet an' is now cavortin' about like its mind is overturned,--
+an' explains to him this yere is a joke. But he's surly an'
+relentless about it; an' it don't take no hawk to see he don't
+forgive Jaybird a little bit.
+
+"'Tailin' a gent's pony,' says Todd, 'is no doubt thrillin'
+amoosement for folks lookin' on, but thar's nothin' of a redeemin'
+nature in it from the standp'int of the party whose pony's upheaved
+that a-way. Not to be misonderstood at this yere crisis,' goes on
+this Todd, 'I wants to announce that from now for'ard life will have
+but one purpose with me, which'll be to down the next gent whoever
+tails a pony of mine. The present incident goes as a witticism; but
+you can gamble the next won't be so regarded.'
+
+"That sorter ends the talk, an' all of us but the cook an' the hoss-
+hustlers bein' in the saddle by now, we disperses ourse'fs through
+the scenery to work the cattle an' proceed with the round-up we-alls
+is on. We notes, though, that tailin' Todd's pony don't go ag'in
+with safety.
+
+"It's when we-alls rides away that Doc Peets--who's out with the
+round-up, though he ain't got no cattle-brand himse'f--tells Jaybird
+he's not a humorist, like I already repeats.
+
+"But, as I su'gests, this Jaybird Bob can't believe it none. He's
+mighty shore about his jokes bein' excellent good jokes; an' while
+it's plain Todd ain't got no confidence in him an' distrusts him
+complete since he tips over his bronco that mornin', it looks like
+Jaybird can't let him alone. An' them misdeeds of Jaybird's keeps
+goin' on, ontil by the merest mistake--for it's shore an accident if
+ever one happens in the cow country--this yere tenderfoot shoots up
+Jaybird an' kills him for good.
+
+"It looks to us like it's a speshul Providence to warn folks not to
+go projectin' about, engaged in what you might call physical jests
+none. Still, this yere removal of Jaybird don't take place till
+mighty near the close of the round-up; an' intervenin', he's
+pirootin' 'round, stockin' the kyards an' settin' up hands on the
+pore shorthorn continuous.
+
+"One of Jaybird's jokes--'one of his best,' Jaybird calls it--
+results in stampedin' the herd of cattle we-alls is bringin' along
+at the time--bein' all cows an' their calves--to a brandin'-pen.
+Which thar's two thousand, big an' little, in the bunch; an'
+Jaybird's humor puts 'em to flight like so many blackbirds; an' it
+takes two days hard ridin' for the whole outfit to bring 'em
+together ag'in.
+
+"Among other weaknesses this Todd imports from the States is, he's
+afraid of snakes. Rattlesnakes is his abhorrence, an' if each is a
+disembodied sperit he can't want 'em further off. He's allers
+alarmed that mebby, somehow, a rattlesnake will come pokin' in onder
+his blankets nights, an' camp with him while he's asleep. An' this
+yere wretched Jaybird fosters them delusions.
+
+"'About them serpents,' I overhears Jaybird say to him one evenin'
+while we-alls is settin' 'round;--all but Moore an' Tutt, who's
+ridin' herd; ''bout them serpents; a gent can't be too partic'lar.
+It looks like they has but one hope, which it's to crawl into a
+gent's blankets an' sleep some with him. Which, if he moves or turns
+over, they simply emits a buzz an' grabs him I knows of forty folks
+who's bit that a-way by snakes, an' nary a one lives to explain the
+game.'
+
+"'Be rattlesnakes thick in Arizona?' I hears Todd say to this
+Jaybird.
+
+"'Be they thick?' answers Jaybird. 'Well, I shore wishes I had
+whiskey for all the rattlesnakes thar is yereabouts. I don't want to
+go overstatin' the census to a gent who is out playin' for
+information, an' who's learnin' fast, but I s'pose now thar ain't
+none less than a billion snakes in southeast Arizona alone. If I
+could saw off the little passel of cattle I has on this range, you
+can gamble I'd pull my freight to-morrow. It's all right for sech
+old Cimmarons as Enright, an' sech parties as that sawbones Peets,
+to go bluffin' about thar' bein' no rattlesnakes to speak of, an'
+that they couldn't p'ison you to death no how; but you bet I ain't
+seen forty of my nearest friends cash in of snake-bites, an' not
+learn nothin'. An' almost every time it's a rattlesnake as comes
+slidin' into bed with 'em while they's locked in dreams, an' who
+gets hot an' goes to chewin' of 'em, because they wants to turn out
+before the snake does. Rattlesnakes that a-way wants to sleep till
+it's fourth-drink time an' the sun's 'way up yonder. An' when a gent
+goes to rollin' out of his blankets say at sun-up, it makes 'em
+monstrous angry to be disturbed; an' the first he knows of where
+they be an' how they looks on early risin', their teeth's in him up
+to the gyard, an' before night thar's one less gent to cook for, an'
+an extra saddle rides along in the grub-wagon with the blankets when
+they next moves camp.'
+
+"Of course all this is a heap impressive to Todd; an' while Enright
+an' Peets both tells him Jaybird's havin' fun with him, you can see
+he's mortal afraid every night when he spreads his blankets, an' he
+makes a cirele about where he sleeps at with a horse-ha'r lariat
+he's got from a Mexican, an' who tells him it'll tickle the snakes'
+necks when they goes to crawl across it, an' make 'em keep away.
+
+"The way this yere Jaybird manages to stampede the bunch that time
+is this a-way. Jaybird comes ridin' in from the cattle about three
+hours before sun-up, to turn out Tutt, who is due to take his place
+on herd. Jaybird's got a rawhide rope that he's drugged about in the
+grass, which makes it damp an' cold. As Jaybird rides up to camp he
+sees this Todd rolled in his blankets, snorin' to beat four of a
+kind.
+
+"Nacherally Jaybird's out to be joyous in a second. He rides up
+close to this he'pless shorthorn as he lays asleep, an' tosses a
+loop of his wet rawhide across his countenance where it's turned up
+in the moonlight. As it settles down cold an' startlin' on Todd's
+skin, Jaybird yells:
+
+"Snake, Todd! Thar's a rattlesnake on you bigger'n a dog.'
+
+"Jaybird says later as how this Todd behaves tremendous. He b'iles
+up into the atmosphere with a howl like a wolf; an', grabbin' a
+blanket in each hand, he starts out over the plains in a state of
+frenzy. Which the worst is he charges headlong toward the herd; an'
+what with them shrieks he volunteers, an' the blankets flappin' an'
+wavin', thar ain't a cow in the bunch who stays in her right mind a
+moment. Which she springs to her feet, an takin' her offspring
+along, goes surgin' off into the hills for good. You couldn't head
+or stop 'em then. It's the completest case of stampede I ever turns
+out to behold.
+
+"No; this yere Todd never gathers the rights of the eepisode. He's
+that peevish an' voylent by nacher no one tells him it's Jaybird;
+an' onless, in the light of knowin' more, he has since figgered out
+the trooth, he allows to this day a rattlesnake as big as a roll of
+blankets tries to recline on his face that time.
+
+"To keep peace in camp an' not let him go to pawin' 'round for real
+trouble with the festive Jaybird, Enright stands in to cap the game
+himse'f; an' puts it up in confab with this Todd the next day as how
+he sees the rattlesnake, an' that it's mighty near bein' a whopper.
+
+"'It's shore,' says Enright, when he an' Todd is conversin' tharon,
+'the most giant serpent I ever sees without the aid of licker. An'
+when he goes streakin' off into the gloom, bein' amazed an' rattled
+by your cries, he leaves, so far as I'm concerned, a trail of relief
+behind. You-all can gamble, I wasn't interruptin' of no sech snake,
+nor makin' of no pretexts for his detainment.
+
+"'What for was his rattles like?' says Todd; an' he gets pale at the
+mere sound of Enright's talk.
+
+"'As to them rattles,' says Enright, like he's mighty thoughtful
+tryin' to recall 'em to mind, 'as to this reptile's rattles, it's
+that dark that while I sees 'em I couldn't but jest. So far as I
+notes anythin' they looks like a belt full of car-tridges, sorter
+corrugated an' noomerous.
+
+"Now this yere which I relates, while no doubt burnin' experiences
+to Todd, is after all harmless enough. An' to people not careful
+about the basis of their glee it might do some to laugh at. But it
+all closes up on a play with nothin' gay nor merry in it; leastwise
+not for Jaybird Bob.
+
+"This yere finish joke of jaybird's transpires one evenin' as the
+cook's startin' in to rustle some chuck. The grub-wagon's been
+stopped in the mouth of Peeled Pine Canyon. Every gent's in camp but
+this yere tenderfoot Todd. Enright, who's actin' as round-up boss
+for the outfit--for everybody's cattle's bein' worked together that
+a-way, like we allers does--has sent Todd peerin' 'round for cattle,
+'way off up the valley into which the Peeled Pine Canyon opens. This
+yere shorthorn's due to be back any time now, 'cause it's only a
+question of how far up the valley does he go. He don't run no show
+to be lost, for nothin' less aerial than goats could climb out of
+the canyon he's in, an' tharfore he's bound to find camp.
+
+"Of course, knowin' every gent's station in the day's ridin', we-
+alls is plenty aware that this tenderfoot Todd is some'ers above us
+in the valley. None of the rest of us is turnin' our minds to him
+probably, except Jaybird Bob. It all of a bump like a buckin' pony
+strikes Jaybird that he's missin' a onusual chance to be buoyant.
+
+"'What for a play would it be,' says Jaybird, rousin' up from where
+he lays watchin' of the cook slice salt hoss for the fryin'-pan,
+'what for a game would it be, I says, for a passel of us to lay out
+up the draw, an' bush-whack this yere ontaught person Todd as he
+comes ridin' down to camp? We-alls could hop out at him, a-whoopin'
+an' shoutin', an' bein' wropped up in blankets, he allows it's shore
+Injuns an' goes plumb locoed.'
+
+"`You-all will keep harrowin' away at this Todd party, Jaybird,'
+says Enright, 'ontil you arises from the game loser. Now I don't
+reckon none I'd play Apache if I'm you. Thar's too much effort in
+bein' an Apache that a-way. I'd lay yere an' think up some joke
+which don't demand so much industry, an' ain't calc'lated to scare
+an innocent gent to death.'
+
+"But Jaybird won't listen. He falls into admiration of his scheme;
+an' at last Tutt an' Jack Moore allows they'll go along an' play
+they's aborigines with Jaybird an' note how the tenderfoot stands
+the racket.
+
+"'As long as this yere Jaybird's bound to make the play,' says Jack
+Moore to Enright, talkin' one side, 'it's a heap better to have the
+conserv'tive element represented in the deal. So I puts it up, it's
+a good sage move for me an' Tutts to stand in. We-alls will come
+handy to pull Jaybird an' this shorthorn apart if they gets their
+horns locked in the course of them gaities.'
+
+"Enright takes the same view; so Jaybird an' Moore an' Tutt wanders
+off up the canyon a mile, an' lays in wait surreptitious to head off
+Todd. Jack tells me the story when him an' Tutt comes ridin' back
+with the corpse.
+
+"'This is how we does,' says Jack. 'Me an' Tutt an' deceased--which
+last is Jaybird all right enough--is ensconced behind a p'int of
+rocks. Jaybird's got his blanket wropped, 'round him so he looks
+like a savage. It ain't long when we-alls hears the tenderfoot
+comin' down the canyon; it's likely he's half-mile away. He's
+runnin' onto us at a road-gait; an' when he's about two hundred
+yards off Jaybird turns out a yell to make you shiver, shakes a load
+or two outen his gun, goes surgin' out from 'round the p'int of
+rocks, an' charges straight at this onthinkin' tenderfoot. It is due
+to trooth to say, me an' Tutt follows this Jaybird's suit, only not
+so voylent as to whoops.
+
+"'Does it scare up the tenderfoot? Well, it shorely alarms him a
+heap. He takes Jaybird for an Injun an' makes no question; which the
+same is nowise strange; I'd took him for a savage myse'f, only,
+bein' in the deal that a-way I knows it's Jaybird. So, as I remarks,
+it horrifies the tenderfoot on end, an' at the first sight of
+Jaybird he whirls his pony an' lights out up that valley like
+antelope.
+
+"'Nacherally we-alls follows; Jaybird leadin', a-whoopin', an' a-
+shootin', an' throwin' no end of sperit into it. It's a success,
+this piece of wit is, up to this juncture, an' Jaybird puts a heap
+of zest into it.
+
+"'The weak spot in all this yere humor grows out of the idees this
+tenderfoot's been gainin', an' the improvements he's been makin',
+while stragglin' about in our s'ciety. I onhesitatin'ly states that
+if this yere joke is pulled off by Jaybird when Todd first enters
+our midst, it might have been the vict'ry of his life. But Jaybird
+defers it too long. This tenderfoot has acquired a few Western ways;
+enough to spoil the fun an' send pore Jaybird a-curvin' to his home
+on high.
+
+"'This is what that shorthorn does which teaches me he's learnin'.
+While he's humpin' off up the canyon, an' me an' Jaybird an' Tutt is
+stampedin' along in pursoot, the fugitive throws loose his six-
+shooter, an' without even turnin' his head or lookin' back at us, he
+onhooks the entire bundle of lead our way.
+
+"Which the worst feature of it is, this backhanded, blind shootin'
+is a winner. The very first shot smites Jaybird plumb through the
+hat, an' he goes off his pony without even mentionin' about it to
+either Tutt or me.
+
+"`That's all thar is to the report. Dave an' me pulls up our
+broncos, abandons the joke, lays Jaybird across his saddle like a
+sack of corn, an' returns to state the case.'
+
+"'Whatever did you-alls do with this frightened stranger?' asks
+Enright.
+
+"'Which we never does nothin',' says Jack. 'The last I beholds, he's
+flyin' up the valley, hittin' nothin' but the high places. An'
+assoomin' his project is to get away, he's succeedin' admirable. As
+he vanishes, I should jedge from his motions he's reloadin' his gun;
+an' from the luck he has with Jaybird, Tutt an' me is led to believe
+thar's no real object in followin' him no further. I don't press my
+s'ciety on no gent; shorely not on some locoed tenderfoot that a-way
+who's pulled his gun an' is done blazin' away erratic, without
+purpose or aim.'
+
+"'Don't you an' Tutt know where he is at?' demands Enright.
+
+"'Which we shorely don't,' says Jack. 'If his hoss holds, an' he
+don't swerve none from the direction he's p'inting out in when he
+fades from view, he's goin' to be over in the San Simon country by
+to-morrow mornin' when we eats our grub; an' that's half way to the
+Borax desert. If you yearns for my impressions,' concloods Jack,
+'drawn from a-seein' of him depart, I'm free to say I don't reckon
+you-alls is goin' to meet this yere tenderfoot none soon.'
+
+"An' that's about the size of it. Jack calls the turn. Jaybird's
+last joke alarms this tenderfoot Todd plumb outen Arizona, an' thar
+ain't none of us ever sees ha'r, horn, nor hoof mark of him no more.
+An' he takes with him, this Todd does, the boss pony in our bunch."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVX.
+
+BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE.
+
+
+"No; thar's nothin' prolix about Boggs. Which on the contrary, his
+nacher is shorely arduous that a-way. If it's a meetin' of the
+committee, for instance, with intent then an' thar to dwell a whole
+lot on the doin's of some malefactor, Boggs allers gets to a mental
+show-down ahead of the other gents involved. Either he's out to
+throw this party loose, or stretch his neck, or run him outen camp,
+or whatever's deemed exact jestice, long before sech slow-an'-shore
+people as Old Man Enright even looks at their hands. The trooth is,
+Boggs ain't so strong on jedgement; his long suit is instinct. An'
+moreover I knows from his drawin' four kyards so much in poker,
+Boggs is plumb emotional."
+
+At this point in his discourse the Old Cattle man paused and put in
+several profound minutes in apparent contemplation of Boggs. Then he
+went on.
+
+"That's it; Boggs is emotional; an' I shorely reckons which he'd
+even been a heap religious, only thar's no churches much on Boggs's
+range. Boggs tells me himse'f he comes mighty near bein' caught in
+some speritual round-up one time, an' I allers allows, after hearin'
+Boggs relate the tale, that if he'd only been submerged in what you-
+alls calls benigner inflooences that a-way, he'd most likely made
+the fold all right an' got garnered in with the sheep.
+
+"It's just after Short Creek Dave gets to be one of them
+'vangelists. Dave has been exhortin' of Wolfville to leave off its
+ways, over in the warehouse of the New York Store, an' that same
+evenin' Boggs, bein' some moved, confides in me how once he mebby
+half-way makes up his mind he'll be saved.
+
+"'Leastwise,' says Boggs, when he takes me into his past that a-way,
+'I allows I'll be religious in the spring after the round-up is
+over. But I don't; so you can't, after all, call it a religious
+exper'ence none; nothin' more'n a eepisode.
+
+"'It's winter when I makes them grace-of-heaven determinations,'
+goes on this Boggs, 'an' the spring round-up is months away. But I
+allers puts it up I'd shorely filled my hand an' got plumb into the
+play, only it's a bad winter; an' in the spring the cattle, weak an'
+starved, is gettin' down an' chillin' to death about the water-
+holes; an' as results tharof I'm ridin' the hills, a-cussin' an' a-
+swearin'; an' all 'round it's that rough, an' I'm that profane an'
+voylent, I reckons towards April probably my soul's buried onder ten
+foot of cuss-words, an' that j'inin' the church in my case is mighty
+likely to be a bluff. An' so I passes it up.
+
+"'You sees,' says Boggs, 'thar's no good tryin' to hold out kyards
+on your Redeemer. If your heart ain't right it's no use to set into
+the game. No cold deck goes. He sees plumb through every kyard you
+holds, an' nothin' but a straight deal does with Him. Nacherally,
+then, I thinks--bein' as how you can't bluff your way into heaven,
+an' recallin' the bad language I uses workin' them cattle--I won't
+even try. An' that's why, when resolvin' one winter to get religion
+mebby next June, I persists in my sinful life.
+
+"'It's over to Taos I acquires this religious idee. I'm come new to
+the camp from some'ers down 'round Seven Rivers in the Pecos
+country, an' I don't know a gent. Which I'm by nacher gregar'ous; so
+not knowin' folks that a-way weighs on me; an' the first night I'm
+thar, I hastens to remedy this yere evil. I'm the possessor of
+wealth to a limit,--for I shore despises bein' broke complete, an'
+generally keeps as good as a blue stack in my war-bags,--an' I goes
+projectin' 'round from dance-hall to baile, an' deciminates my
+dinero an' draws to me nose-paint an' friends. As thar ain't but
+three gin-mills, incloosive of the hurdy-gurdy, I'm goin' curvin' in
+them grand rounds which I institoots, on a sort of triangle.
+
+"'Which it can't be said I don't make runnin' of it, however; I
+don't reckon now it's mor'n an hour before I knows all Taos, bar
+Mexicans an' what some folks calls "the better elements." It also
+follows, like its lariat does a loose pony, that I'm some organized
+by whiskey, not to say confused.
+
+"'It's because I'm confused I'm misled into this yere pra'r-meetin.'
+Not that them exercises is due to dim my eternal game none, now nor
+yereafter; but as I ain't liable to adorn the play nor take proper
+part tharin, I'd shorely passed out an' kept on to the hurdy-gurdy
+if I'd knowed. As it stands, I blunders into them orisons
+inadvertent; but, havin' picked up the hand, I nacherally continues
+an' plays it.
+
+"'It's this a-way about them religious exercises: I'm emerged from
+the Tub of Blood, an' am p'intin' out for the dance-hall, when I
+strikes a wickeyup all lighted, an' singin' on the inside. I takes
+it for a joint I ain't seen none as yet, an' tharupon heads up an'
+enters. From the noise, I allows mebby it's Mexican; which Greasers
+usual puts up a heap of singin' an' scufflin' an' talkin' in
+everythin' from monte to a bull-fight.
+
+"'Once I'm in, I notes it ain't Mexicans an' it ain't monte. Good
+folks though, I sees that; an' as a passel of 'em near the door
+looks shocked at the sight of me, I'm too bashful to break out
+ag'in, but sorter aiges into the nearest seat an' stands pat.
+
+"'I can tell the outfit figgers on me raisin' the long yell an'
+stampedin' round to make trouble; so I thinks to myse'f I'll fool
+'em up a lot. I jest won't say a word. So I sets silent as a coyote
+at noon; an' after awhile the sharp who's dealin' for 'em goes on
+with them petitions I interrupts as I comes bulgin' in.
+
+"'Their range-boss says one thing I remembers. It's about castin'
+your bread upon the waters. He allows you'll get it ag'in an' a band
+of mavericks with it. It's playin' white chips to win blues; that's
+what this sharp says.
+
+"'It shorely strikes me as easy. Every time you does good, says this
+party, Fate is out to play a return game with you; an' it's written
+you quits winner on all the good you promulgates that a-way.
+
+"'I sets the deal out an' gets some sleepy at it, too. But I won't
+leave an' scand'lize the congregation; an' as I gives up strong when
+the plate goes by, I ain't regarded as no setback.
+
+"'When the contreebution-box--which she's a tin plate--comes
+chargin' by, I'm sorter noddin,' I'm that weary. I notes the jingle
+of money, an' rouses up, allowin' mebby it's a jack-pot, I reckons.
+
+"'"How hard be you-all in?" I says to the gent next to me, who's
+gone to the center for a peso.
+
+"'"Dollar," says the gent.
+
+"'"Well," I says, "I ain't seen my hand since the draw, but I'll
+raise you nine blind." An' I boards a ten-dollar bill.
+
+"'When the rest goes, I sorter sidles forth an' lines out for the
+dance-hall. The fact is I'm needin' what you-alls calls stimulants.
+But all the same it sticks in my head about castin' good deeds on
+the water that a-way. It sticks thar yet, for that matter.
+
+"Bein' released from them devotions, I starts to drinkin' ag'in with
+zeal an' earnestness. An' thar comes a time when all my money's in
+my boots. Yere's how: I only takes two stacks of reds when I embarks
+on this yere debauch. Bein' deep an' crafty, an' a new Injun at that
+agency that a-way, an' not knowin' what game I may go ag'inst, I
+puts the rest of my bank-roll over in Howard's store. It turns out,
+too, that every time I acquires silver in change, I commits it to my
+left boot, which is high an' ample to hold said specie. Why I puts
+this yere silver money in my boot-laig is shore too many for me. But
+I feels mighty cunnin' over it at the time, an' regards it as a
+'way-up play.
+
+"'As I tells you, thar arrives an hour while I'm in the Tub of Blood
+when my money's all in my boot, an' thar's still licker to drink.
+Fact is, I jest meets a gent named Frosty, as good a citizen as ever
+riffles a deck or pulls a trigger, an' p'liteness demands we-alls
+puts the nose-paint in play. That's why I has to have money.
+
+"'I don't care to go pullin' off my moccasins in the Tub of Blood,
+an' makin' a vulgar display of my wealth by pourin' the silver onto
+the floor. Thar's a peck of it, if thar's dos reals; an' sech an
+exhibition as spillin' it out in the Tub of Blood is bound to
+mortify me, an' the barkeep, an' Frosty, an' most likely lead to
+makin' remarks. So I concloods I'll round up my silver outside an'
+then return.
+
+"'Excuse me," I says to Frosty. "You stay right yere with the
+bottle, an' I'll be among you ag'in in a minute all spraddled out."
+
+"'I goes wanderin' out back of the Tub of Blood, where it's
+lonesome, an' camps down by a Spanish-bayonet, an' tugs away to get
+my boot off an' my dinero into circ'lation.
+
+"'An' while I'm at it, sleep an' nose-paint seizes me, an' my light
+goes plumb out. I rolls over behind the bayonet-bush an' raises a
+snore. As for that Frosty, he waits a while; then he pulls his
+freight, allowin' I'm too deliberate about comin' back, for him.
+
+"'It must have made them coyotes stop an' consider a whole lot about
+what I be. To show you how good them coyotes is, I wants to tell
+you: I don't notice it ontil the next day. While I'm curled up to
+the r'ar of that bush they comes mighty near gnawin' the scabbard
+offen my gun. Fact; the leather looks like some pup has been chewin'
+it. But right then I ain't mindin' nothin' so oninterestin' as a
+coyote bitin' on the leather of my gun.
+
+"'Now this is where that bluff about bread on the waters comes in;
+an' it falls so pat on the heels of them devotions of mine, it he'ps
+brand it on my mem'ry. While I'm layin' thar, an' mighty likely
+while them coyotes is lunchin' offen my scabbard that a-way, along
+comes a rank stranger they calls Spanish Bill.
+
+"'I learns afterward how this Spanish Bill is hard, plumb through.
+He's rustled everythin' from a bunch of ponies to the mail-bags, an'
+is nothin' but a hold-up who needs hangin' every hour. Whatever
+takes him to where I lays by my bayonet-bush I never knows. He don't
+disclose nothin' on that p'int afterward, an' mebby he tracks up on
+me accidental.
+
+"'But what informs me plain that he explores my war-bags for stuff,
+before ever he concloods to look after my health, is this: Later,
+when we gets acquainted an' I onfurls my finances onto him, he seems
+disapp'inted an' hurt.
+
+"'The statistics of the barkeep of the Tub of Blood next day, goes
+to the effect that I'm shorely out thar four hours; an' when Spanish
+Bill discovers me I'm mighty near froze. Taos nights in November has
+a heap of things in common with them Artic regions we hears of,
+where them fur-lined sports goes in pursoot of that North Pole.
+Bein' froze, an' mebby from an over-dab of nose-paint, I never
+saveys about this yere Spanish Bill meetin' up with me that a-way
+ontil later. But by what the barkeep says, he drug me into the Tub
+of Blood an' allows he's got a maverick.
+
+"'"Fix this yere froze gent up somethin' with teeth," says Spanish
+Bill to the barkeep. "I don't know his name none, but he's sufferin'
+an' has got to be recovered if it takes the entire check-rack."
+
+"'Which the barkeep stands in an' brings me to. I comes 'round an'
+can walk some if Spanish Bill goes along steadyin' of me by the
+collar. Tharupon said Bill rides herd on me down to the Jackson
+House an' spreads me on some blankets.
+
+"'It's daylight when I begins to be aware my name's Boggs, an' that
+I'm a native of Kentucky, an' little personalities like that; an'
+what wakes me up is this Spanish Bill.
+
+"'"See yere," says this hold-up, "I'm goin' to turn in now, an' it's
+time you-all is up. Yere's what you do: Thar's five whiskey-checks
+on the Tub of Blood, which will he'p you to an appetite. Followin'
+of a s'fficient quantity of fire-water, you will return to the
+Jackson House an' eat. I pays for it. I won't be outen my blankets
+by then; but they knows that Spanish Bill makes good, 'cause I
+impresses it on 'em speshul when I comes in.
+
+"'"You-all don't know me," goes on this Spanish Bill, as I sets up
+an' blinks at him some foggy an' blurred, "an' I don't know you"--
+which we-alls allows, outen p'liteness, is a dead loss to both. "But
+my name's Spanish Bill, an' I'm turnin' monte in the Bank Exchange.
+I'll be thar at my table by first-drink time this evenin'; an' if
+you sa'nters that a-way at that epock, we'll have a drink; an' bein'
+as you're busted, of course I stakes you moderate on your way."
+
+"'It's this bluff about me not havin' money puts me in mind later
+that this Bill must have rustled my raiments when he finds me that
+time when I'm presided over by coyotes while I sleeps. When he says
+it, however, I merely remarks that while I'm grateful to him as
+mockin'-birds, money after all ain't no object with me; an', pullin'
+off my nigh moccasin, I pours some two pounds of specie onto the
+blankets.
+
+"'"Which I packs this in my boot," I observes, "to put mysc'f in
+mind I've got a roll big enough to fill a nose-bag over to Howard's
+store."
+
+"'"An' I'm feelin' the galiest to hear it," says this Spanish Bill;
+though as I su'gests he acts pained an' amazed, like a gent who's
+over-looked a bet.
+
+"'Well, that's all thar is to that part. That's where Spanish Bill
+launches that bread of his'n; an' the way it later turns out it
+sorter b'ars down on me, an' keeps me rememberin' what that skyscout
+says at the pra'r-meetin' about the action a gent gets by playin' a
+good deed to win.
+
+"'It's the middle of January, mebby two months later, when I'm over
+on the Upper Caliente about fifty miles back of the Spanish Peaks.
+I'm workin' a bunch of cattle; Cross-K is the brand; y'ear-marks a
+swallow-fork in the left, with the right y'ear onderhacked.'
+
+"What's the good of a y'ear-mark when thar's a brand?" repeated the
+Old Cattleman after me, for I had interrupted with the question.
+"Whatever's the good of y'ear-marks? Why, when mixed cattle is in a
+bunch, standin' so close you can't see no brands on their sides, an'
+you-all is ridin' through the outfit cuttin' out, y'ear-marks is
+what you goes by. Cattle turns to look as you comes ridin' an'
+pesterin' among 'em, an' their two y'ears p'ints for'ard like fans.
+You gets their y'ear-marks like printin' on the page of a book. If
+you was to go over a herd by the brands, you wouldn't cut out a
+steer an hour. But to trail back after Boggs.
+
+"`It's two months later, an' I'm ridin' down a draw one day,' says
+this Dan Boggs, 'cussin' the range an' the weather, when my pony
+goes to havin' symptoms. This yere pony is that sagacious that while
+it makes not the slightest mention of cattle when they's near, it
+never comes up on deer, or people in the hills, but it takes to
+givin' of manifestations. This is so I can squar myse'f for whatever
+game they opens on us.
+
+"`As I says, me an' this yere wise pony is pushin' out into the
+Caliente when the pony begins to make signs. I brings him down all
+cautious where we can look across the valley, an'
+
+[Illustration with caption: "Nacherally I stops an' surveys him
+careful]
+
+you-all can gamble I'm some astonished to see a gent walkin' along
+afoot, off mebby a couple hundred yards. He sorter limps an' leans
+over on one side like he's hurt. Nacherally I stops an' surveys him
+careful. It's plenty strange he's thar at all; an' stranger still
+he's afoot. I looks him over for weepons; I wants to note what he's
+like an' how he's heeled.
+
+"'You saveys as well as me it don't do to go canterin' out to
+strangers that a-way in the hills; speshully a stranger who's afoot.
+He might hunger for your pony for one thing, an' open a play on you
+with his gun, as would leave you afoot an' likewise too dead to know
+it.
+
+"'I'm allers cautious that a-way, around a party who's lost his
+hoss. It locoes him an' makes him f'rocious; I s'pose bein' afoot he
+feels he'pless, an' let out an' crazy. A gent afoot is a heap easier
+to aggravate, too; an' a mighty sight more likely to lay for you
+than when he's in a Texas saddle with a pony between his knees.
+
+"'Which is why I remarks, that I stacks up this pedestrian careful
+an' accurate before I goes after him.
+
+"'As I says, he carries on like he's hurt; an' he's packin' a six-
+shooter. He seems familiar, too; an' while I looks him over I'm
+wonderin' where I cuts his trail before.
+
+"'As I has the advantage of a Winchester, I at last rides into the
+open an' gives a whoopee. The party turns, comes limpin' toward me,
+an' whoever do you allow it is? Which it's shorely Spanish Bill; an'
+it's right yere he gets action on that bread on the waters he plays
+in when he recovers me that time in Taos.
+
+"'To make it brief, Spanish Bill tells me that after I leaves Taos
+he goes over an' deals monte a bit at Wagon Mound. One night a
+Mexican comes caperin' in, an' Bill gives him a layout or two. At
+last he makes an alcy bet of fifty dollars on the queen; what the
+Greasers calls the "hoss." The Mexican loses; an' instead of takin'
+it easy like a sport should, he grabs the money.
+
+"'As was his dooty, Spanish Bill bends his six-shooter over the
+Mexican. Tharupon he searches out a knife; an' this yere so
+complicates the business, Bill, to simplify things, plugs the
+Mexican full of holes.
+
+"'This shootin' is on the squar', an' no one takes hostile notice of
+it. Spanish Bill goes on layin' out his monte same as usual. Two
+days later, though, he gets a p'inter the Mexicans is fixin' for
+him. So that night he moves camp--mebby to where it's a hundred an'
+sixty miles from Wagon Mound, over on the Vermejo.
+
+"'But it looks like the Greasers hangs to the trail; for the day
+before I tracks up on him a band of 'em hops outen a dry arroya,
+where they's bush-wackin' for him, an' goes to shootin'. As might be
+expected, Spanish Bill turns loose, free an' frequent, an' they all
+shorely has a high, excessive time.
+
+"'The Mexicans downs Spanish Bill's pony, an' a bullet creases
+Bill's side; which last is what curves him over an' indooces him to
+limp when I trails up with him.
+
+"'As Spanish Bill goes down, the Mexicans scatter. The game is too
+high for 'em. They was shy two people, with another plugged deep an'
+strong; by which you notes that Bill is aimin' low an' good.
+
+"'After the shootin' Spanish Bill crawls over to a ranch, an',
+gettin' a pony an' saddle, which he easy does, he breaks back into
+the hills where I encounters him. It's that morning his pony gets
+tired of the deal, an' bucks him off, an' goes stampedin' back.
+That's why he's afoot.
+
+"'While he's talkin' all this, I recalls how Spanish Bill rounds me
+up that night in Taos, so I don't hesitate. I takes him over to my
+camp. The next mornin' he turns his nose for Texas on my best pony;
+which is the last I sees or hears of Spanish Bill, onless he's the
+Bill who's lynched over near Eagle Pass a year later, of which I
+surmises it's some likely.
+
+"'But whether Bill's lynched or not, it all brings up ag'in what
+that Gospel-gent says about doin' benev'lences; an' how after many
+days you dies an' makes a winnin', an' lives on velvet all eternity.
+An' don't you know this Spanish Bill pickin' me up that night, an'
+then in less than two months, when he's afoot an' hurt in the hills,
+gettin' ag'inst me an' drawin' out of the game ahead a saddle, a
+pony an' safety, makes it seem like that Bible-sharp is right a
+whole lot?
+
+"'That's how it strikes me,' concloods Boggs. 'An' as I tells you;
+if so many cattle don't die that spring; an' if I don't give way so
+frightful in my talk, I'd shorely hunted down a congregation the
+next June, an' stood in."'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS.
+
+
+"Whatever's the difference between the East an' the West?" said the
+Old Cattleman, repeating my question rather for the purpose of
+consideration than from any failure to understand: "What's the
+difference between the East an' the West? Which, so far as I notes,
+to relapse into metaphor, as you-alls says, the big difference is
+that the East allers shoots from a rest; while the West shoots off
+hand.
+
+"The West shore learns easy an' is quick to change a system or alter
+a play. It's plumb swift, the West is; an' what some regards as
+rough is mere rapidity. The West might go broke at faro-bank in the
+mornin', an' be rich at roulette in the afternoon; you can't tell. I
+knows partners in Arizona who rolls out in the gray light of
+breakin' day an' begins work by dissolvin' an' windin' up the firm's
+affairs. By dark them same gents is pards ag'in in a new enterprise
+complete. Folks'll fight at sun-up an' cook their chile con carne
+together at night, an' then sleep onder the same blankets. For which
+causes thar's no prophets in the West; a Western future that a-way
+bein' so mighty oncertain no prophet can fasten his lariat.
+
+"Speakin' of pards an' the fog which surrounds what the same is
+likely to do, makes me think of the onlicensed an' onlooked-for
+carryin's-on of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd. Them two
+gents fosters a feud among themse'fs that splits 'em wide open an'
+keeps 'em pesterin' each other for years; which the doin's of them
+locoed people is the scandal of Wolfville while it lasts.
+
+"It's mebby the spring after we erects the Bird Cage Op'ry House,
+an' Wolfville is gettin' to be considerable of a camp. We-alls is
+organized for a shore-'nough town, an Jack Moore is a shore-'nough
+marshal, with Enright for alcalde that a-way, an' thar's a heap of
+improvements.
+
+"When I first tracks into Wolfville, cows is what you might call the
+leadin' industry, with whiskey an' faro-bank on the side. But in the
+days of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd, ore has been
+onearthed, the mines is opened, an' Wolfville's swelled tremendous.
+We-alls even wins a county-seat fight with Red Dog, wherein we puts
+it all over that ornery hamlet; an' we shorely deals the game for
+the entire region.
+
+"As I states, it's the spring after we promotes the Bird Cage Op'ry
+House--which temple of amoosements is complete the fall before--that
+'Doby an' Billy turns up in Wolfville. I knows she's spring, for I'm
+away workin' the round-up at the time, an' them gents is both thar
+drunk when I comes in.
+
+"'Doby an' Billy's been pards for ten years. They's miner folks, an'
+'Doby tells me himse'f one day that him an' Billy has stood in on
+every mine excitement from Alaska to Lower Californy. An' never once
+does they get their trails crossed or have a row.
+
+"The two gents strikes at Wolfville when the mines is first opened,
+an' stakes out three claims; one for 'Doby, one for Billy. an' one
+for both of 'em. They's camped off up a draw about half a mile from
+town, where their claims is, an' has a little cabin an' seems to be
+gettin' along peaceful as a church; an' I reckons thar's' no doubt
+but they be.
+
+"When 'Doby an' Billy first comes caperin' into Wolfville they's
+that thick an' friendly with each other, it's a shame to thieves. I
+recalls how their relations that a-way excites general admiration,
+an' Doc Peets even goes so far he calls 'em 'Jonathan an' David.'
+Which Peets would have kept on callin' 'em 'Jonathan an' David'
+plumb through, but Billy gets hostile.
+
+"'It ain't me I cares for,' says Billy,--which he waits on Doc Peets
+with his gun,--'but no gent's goin' to malign 'Doby Dawson none an'
+alloode to him as 'Jonathan' without rebooke.'
+
+"Seein' it pains Billy, an' as thar ain't even a white chip in mere
+nomenclature that a-way, of course Doc Peets don't call 'em
+'Jonathan an' David' no more.
+
+"'Doby an' Billy's been around mighty likely six months. The camp
+gets used to 'em an' likes 'em. They digs an' blasts away in them
+badger-holes they calls shafts all day, an' then comes chargin' down
+to the Red Light at night. After the two is drunk successful, they
+mutually takes each other home. An' as they lines out for their camp
+upholdin' an' he'pin' of each other, an' both that dead soaked in
+nose-paint they long before abandons tryin' to he'p themse'fs, I
+tells you, son, their love is a picture an' a lesson.
+
+"'Which the way them pore, locoed sots,' says Old Man Enright one
+night, as 'Doby an' Billy falls outen the Red Light together, an'
+then turns in an' assists each other to rise,--'which the way them
+pore darkened drunkards rides herd on each other, an' is onse'fish
+an' generous that a-way, an' backs each other's play, is as good as
+sermons. You-all young men,' says Enright, turnin' on Jack Moore an'
+Boggs an' Tutt, 'you-all imatoor bucks whose character ain't really
+formed none yet, oughter profit plenty by their example.'
+
+"As I remarks, 'Doby an' Billy's been inhabitin' Wolfville for
+mighty hard on six months when the trouble between 'em first shows
+its teeth. As Billy walks out one mornin' to sniff the climate some,
+he remarks a Mexican--which his name is Jose Salazar, but don't cut
+no figger nohow--sorter 'propriatin' of a mule.
+
+"'The same,' as Billy says, in relatin' the casooalty later, 'bein'
+our star mule.'
+
+"Nacherally, on notin' the misdeeds of this yere Greaser, Billy
+reaches inside the cabin, an' sorts out a Winchester an' plugs said
+culprit in among his thoughts, an tharby brings his mule-rustlin'
+an' his reflections to a pause some.
+
+"It's two hours later, mebby, when the defunct's daughter--the
+outfit abides over in Chihuahua, which is the Mexican part of
+Wolfville--goes to a show-down with 'Doby an' Billy an wants to know
+does she get the corpse?
+
+"'Shore,' says 'Doby, 'which we-alls has no further use for your
+paw, an' his remainder is free an' welcome to you. You can bet me
+an' Billy ain't holdin' out no paternal corpses none on their
+weepin' offsprings.'
+
+"Followin' of his bluff, 'Doby goes over an' consoles with the
+Mexican's daughter, which her name's Manuela, an' she don't look so
+bad neither. Doc Peets, whose jedgement of females is a cinch,
+allows she's as pretty as a diamond flush, an' you can gamble Doc
+Peets ain't makin no blind leads when it's a question of squaws.
+
+"So 'Doby consoles this yere Manuela a whole lot, while Billy, who's
+makin' coffee an' bakin'. powder biscuit inside, don't really notice
+he's doin' it. Fact is, Billy's plumb busy. The New York Store
+havin' changed bakin'-powder onto us the week before--the same
+redoocin' biscuits to a conundrum for a month after--an' that
+bakin'-powder change sorter engagin' Billy's faculties wholly, he
+forgets about deceased an' his daughter complete; that is, complete
+temporary. Later, when the biscuits is done an' offen his mind,
+Billy recalls all about it ag'in.
+
+"'But 'Doby, who's a good talker an' a mighty tender gent that a-
+way, jumps in an' comforts Manuela, an' shows her how this mule her
+paw is stealin' is by way an' far the best mule in camp, an' at last
+she dries her tears an' allows in her language that she's growin'
+resigned. 'Doby winds up by he'pin' Manuela home with what's left of
+her paw.
+
+"'Which it's jest like that 'Doby,' says Billy, when he hears of his
+partner packin' home his prey that a-way, an' his tones shows he
+admires 'Doby no limit, `which it's shorely like him. Take folks in
+distress, an' you-alls can bet your last chip 'Doby can't do too
+much for 'em.' "Billy's disgust sets in like the rainy season,
+however, when about two months later 'Doby ups an' weds this Mexican
+girl Manuela. When Billy learns of said ceremony, he declines a seat
+in the game, an' won't go near them nuptials nohow.
+
+"'An' I declar's myse'f right yere,' says Billy. 'From now for'ard
+it's a case of lone hand with me. I don't want no more partners.
+When a gent with whom for ten years I've camped, trailed, an'
+prospected with, all the way from the Dalls to the Gila, quits me
+cold an' clammy for a squaw he don't know ten weeks, you can gamble
+that lets me plumb out. I've done got my med'cine. an' I'm ready to
+quit.'
+
+"But 'Doby an' Billy don't actooally make no assignment, nor go into
+what you-all Eastern sharps calls liquidation. The two goes on an'
+works their claims together, an' the firm name still waves as 'Doby
+Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd,' only Billy won't go into
+'Doby's new wickeyup where he's got Manuela,--not a foot.
+
+"'Which I might have conquered my native reluctance,' says Billy,
+'so to do, an' I even makes up my mind one night--it's after I've
+got my grub, an' you-alls knows how plumb soft an' forgivin' that a-
+way a gent is when his stomach's full of grub--to go up an' visit
+'em a lot. But as I gets to the door I hears a noise I don't savey;
+an' when I Injuns up to a crack an' surveys the scene, I'm a coyote
+if thar ain't 'Doby, with his wife in his lap, singin' to her.
+That's squar'; actooally singin'; which sech efforts reminds me of
+ballards by cinnamon b'ars.
+
+"'I ain't none shore,' goes on Billy, as he relates about it to me,
+'but I'd stood sech egreegious plays, chargin' it general to 'Doby's
+gettin' locoed an' mushy; but when this yere ingrate ends his war-
+song, what do you-all reckon now he does? Turns in an' begins
+'pologizin' for me downin' her dad. Which the old hold-up is on the
+mule an' goin' hell-bent when I curls him up. Well, that ends things
+with me. I turns on my heels an' goes down to the Red Light an' gets
+drunk plumb through. You recalls it; the time I'm drunk a month, an'
+Cherokee Hall bars me at faro-bank, allowin' I'm onconscious of my
+surroundin's.'
+
+"Billy goes on livin' at their old camp, an' 'Doby an' Manuela at
+the new one 'Doby built. This last is mebby four hundred yards more
+up the draw. Durin' the day 'Doby an' Billy turns in an' works an'
+digs an' drills an' blasts together as of yore. The main change is
+that at evenin' Billy gets drunk alone; an' as 'Doby ain't along to
+he'p Billy home an' need Billy's he'p to get home, lots of times
+Billy falls by the trail an' puts in the night among the mesquite-
+bushes an' the coyotes impartial.
+
+"This yere goes on for plumb a year, an' while things is cooler an'
+more distant between 'em, same as it's bound to be when two gents
+sleeps in different camps, still 'Doby an' Billy is trackin' along
+all right. One mornin', however, Billy goes down to the holes they's
+projectin' over, but no 'Doby shows up. It goes on ontil mighty
+likely fifth-drink time that forenoon, an' as Billy don't see no
+trace, sign, nor signal-smoke of his pard, he gets oneasy.
+
+"'It's a fact,' says Billy afterward, 'thar's hours when I more'n
+half allows this yere squaw of 'Doby's has done took a knife, or
+some sech weepon, an' gets even with 'Doby, while he sleeps, for me
+pluggin' her paw about the mule. It's this yere idee which takes me
+outen the shaft I'm sinkin', an' sends me cavortin' up to 'Doby's
+camp. I passes a resolution on my way that if she's cashed 'Doby's
+chips for him that a-way, I'll shorely sa'nter over an' lay waste
+all Chihuahua to play even for the blow.'
+
+"But as all turns out, them surmises of Billy's is idle. He gets
+mebby easy six-shooter distance from the door, when he discerns a
+small cry like a fox-cub's whine. Billy listens, an' the yelp comes
+as cl'ar on his years as the whistle of a curlew. Billy tumbles.
+
+"'I'm a Chinaman,' says Billy, 'if it ain't a kid!'
+
+"So he backs off quiet an' noiseless ontil he's dead safe, an' then
+he lifts the long yell for 'Doby. When 'Doby emerges he confirms
+them beliefs of Billy's; it's a kid shore-'nough.
+
+"'Boy or girl?' says Billy.
+
+"'Boy,' says 'Doby.'
+
+"'Which I shorely quits you cold if it's a girl; says Billy. 'As it
+is, I stands by you in your troubles. I ain't none s'prised at your
+luck, 'Doby,' goes on Billy. ` I half foresees some sech racket as
+this the minute you gets married. However, if it's a boy she goes. I
+ain't the gent to lay down on an old-time runnin'-mate while luck's
+ag'in him; an' I'll still be your partner an' play out my hand.'
+
+"Of course, 'Doby has to go back to lookout his game. An' as Billy's
+that rent an' shaken by them news he can't work none, he takes two
+or three drinks of nose-paint, an' then promulgates as how it's a
+holiday. Billy feels, too, that while this yere's a blow, still it's
+a great occasion; an' as he takes to feelin' his whiskey an'
+roominatin' on the tangled state of affairs, it suddenly strikes him
+he'll jest nacherally close up the trail by the house.
+
+"'Women is frail people an' can't abide noises that a-way,' says
+Billy, ` an' 'Doby's shore lookin' some faded himse'f. I reckons,
+tharfore, I'll sorter stop commerce along this yere thoroughfar'
+ontil further orders. What 'Doby an' his squaw needs now is quietood
+an' peace, an' you can wager all you-alls is worth they ain't goin'
+to suffer no disturbances.'
+
+"It ain't half an hour after this before Billy's got two signs, both
+down an' up the trail, warnin' of people to hunt another wagon-
+track. The signs is made outen pine boards, an' Billy has marked
+this yere motto onto 'em with a burnt stick
+
+"'DOBY'S GOT A PAPOOSE,
+ SO
+ PULL YOUR FREIGHT."
+
+"It ain't no time after Billy posts his warnin's, an' he's still
+musin' over 'em mighty reflective, when along projects a Mexican
+with a pair of burros he's packin' freight on. The Mexican's goin'
+by the notices witbout payin' the least heed tharto. But this don't
+do Billy, an' he stands him up.
+
+"'Can you read?' says Billy to the Mexican, at the same time
+p'intin' to the signs.
+
+"The Mexican allows in Spanish--which the same Billy saveys an'
+palavers liberal--that he can't read. Then he p'ints out to go by
+ag'in.
+
+"'No you don't none, onless in the smoke; says Billy, an' throws a
+gun on him. 'Pause where you be, my proud Castilian, an' I'll flood
+your darkened ignorance with light by nacherally readin' this yere
+inscription to you a whole lot.'
+
+"Tharupon Billy reads off the notice a heap impressive, an' winds up
+by commandin' of the Mexican to line out on the trail back.
+
+"'Vamos!' says Billy. 'Which if you insists on pushin' along through
+yere I'll turn in an' crawl your hump some.'
+
+"But the Mexican gets ugly as a t'ran'tler at this, an' with one
+motion he lugs out a six-shooter an' onbosoms the same.
+
+"Billy is a trifle previous with a gun himse'f, an' while the
+Mexican is mighty abrupt, he gets none the best of Billy. Which the
+outcome is the Mexican's shot plumb dead in his moccasins, while
+Billy takes a small crease on his cheek, the same not bein' deadly.
+Billy then confiscates the burros.
+
+"'Which I plays 'em in for funeral expenses,' says Billy, an' is
+turnin' of 'em into the corral by his camp jest as 'Doby comes
+prancin' out with a six-shooter to take part in whatever game is
+bein' rolled.
+
+"When 'Doby sees Billy's signs that a-way, he's 'fected so he weeps
+tears. He puts his hands on Billy's shoulder, an' lookin' at him,
+while his eyes is swimmin', he says:
+
+"'Billy, you-all is the thoughtfullest pard that ever lived.'
+
+"'Doby throws so much soul into it, an' him givin' 'way to emotions,
+it comes mighty near onhingin' Billy.
+
+"'I knows I be,' he says, shakin' 'Doby by the hand for a minute,
+'but, Old Man, you deserves it. It's comin' to you, an' you bet your
+life you're goin' to get it. With some folks this yere would be
+castin' pearls before swine, but not with you, 'Doby. You can
+'preciate a play, an' I'm proud to be your partner.'
+
+"The next few months goes on, an' 'Doby an' Billy keeps peggin' away
+at their claims, an' gettin' drunk an' rich about equal. Billy is
+still that reedic'lous he won't go up to 'Doby's camp; but 'Doby
+comes over an' sees him frequent. The first throw out of the box
+Billy takes a notion ag'in the kid an' allows he don't want no
+traffic with him,--none whatever.
+
+"But 'Doby won't have it that a-way, an' when it's about six months
+old he packs said infant over one mornin' while Billy's at
+breakfast.
+
+"'Ain't he hell!' says 'Doby, a heap gleeful, at the same time
+sawin' the infant onto Billy direct.
+
+"Of course Billy has to hold him then. Which he acts like he's a hot
+tamale, an' shifts him about in his arms. But it's plain he ain't so
+displeased neither. At last the kid reaches out swift an' cinches
+onto Billy's beard that a-way. This delights Billy, while 'Doby
+keeps trackin' 'round the room too tickled to set down. All he can
+remark--an' he does it frequent, like it tells the entire story--is:
+
+"'Billy, ain't he hell?'
+
+"An' Billy ain't none back'ard admittin' he is, an' allows on
+hesitatin' it's the hunkiest baby in Arizona.
+
+"'An' I've got dust into the thousands,' remarks Billy, 'which says
+he's the prize papoose of the reservation, an' says it ten to one.
+This yere offspring is a credit to you, 'Doby, an' I marvels you-all
+is that modest over it.'
+
+"'You can bet it ain't no Siwash,' says 'Doby. 'It's clean strain,
+that infant is, if I does say it.'
+
+"'That's whatever.' says Billy. looking the infant over an'
+beginnin' to feel as proud of it as 'Doby himse'f, 'that's whatever.
+An' I'm yere to remark, any gent who can up an' without no talk or
+boastin' have such a papoose as that, is licensed to plume himse'f
+tharon, an' put on dog over it, the same without restraint. If ever
+you calls the turn for the limit, pard, it's when you has this yere
+child.'
+
+"At this 'Doby an' Billy shakes hands like it's a ceremony, an' both
+is grave an' dignified about it. 'Doby puts it up that usual he's
+beyond flattery, but when a gent of jedgement like Billy looks over
+a play that a-way, an' indorses it, you can bet he's not insensible.
+Then they shakes hands ag'in, an' 'Doby says:
+
+"'Moreover, not meanin' no compliments, nor tossin' of no boquets,
+old pard, me an' Manuela names this young person "Willyum"; same as
+you-all.'
+
+"Billy comes mighty near droppin' the infant on the floor at this,
+an' the small victim of his onthoughtfulness that a-way yells like a
+coyote.
+
+"'That settles it,' says Billy. 'A gent who could come down to
+blastin' an' drillin'--mere menial tasks, as they shorely be--on the
+heels of honor like this, is a mighty sight more sordid than Copper
+Queen Billy Rudd. 'Doby, this yere is a remarkable occasion, an' we
+cel'brates.'
+
+"By this time the infant is grown plumb hostile, an' is howlin' to
+beat the band; so 'Doby puts it up he'll take him to his mother an'
+afterwards he's ready to join Billy in an orgy.
+
+"'I jest nacherally stampedes back to the agency with this yere
+Willyum child,' says 'Doby, an' then we-alls repairs to the Red
+Light an' relaxes.'
+
+"They shorely does-I don't recall no sech debauch--that is, none so
+extreme an' broadcast--since Wolfville and Red Dog engages in them
+Thanksgiviin' exercises.
+
+"Doby an' Billy, as time goes by, allers alloods to the infant as
+'Willyum,' so's not to get him an' Billy mixed; an' durin' the next
+two years, while Billy still goes shy so far as trackin' over to
+'Doby's ranch is concerned, as soon as he walks, Willyum comes down
+the canyon to see Billy every day.
+
+"Oh, no, Billy ain't none onforgivin' to Manuela for ropin' up 'Doby
+an' weddin' him that a-way; but you see downin' her paw for stealin'
+the mule that time gets so it makes him bashful an' reluctant.
+
+"'It ain't that I'm timorous neither, nor yet assoomin' airs,' this
+yere Billy says to me when he brings it up himse'f how he don't go
+over to 'Doby's, 'but I'm never no hand to set 'round an' visit free
+an' easy that a-way with the posterity of a gent which I has had
+cause to plant. This yere ain't roodness; it's scrooples,' says
+Billy, 'an' so it's plumb useless for me to go gettin' sociable with
+'Doby's wife.'
+
+"It's crowdin' close on two years after the infant's born when 'Doby
+an' Billy gets up their feud which I speaks of at the beginnin'.
+Yere's how it gets fulminated. Billy's loafin' over by the post-
+office door one evenin', talkin' to Tutt an' Boggs an' a passel of
+us, when who comes projectin' along, p'intin' for the New York
+Store, but 'Doby's wife an' Willyum. As they trails by, Willyum sees
+Billy--Willyum can make a small bluff at talkin' by now--an',
+p'intin' his finger at Billy, he sags back on his mother's dress
+like he aims to halt her, an' says:
+
+"'Pop-pa! Pop-pa!' meanin' Billy that a-way; although the same is
+erroneous entire, as every gent in Wolfville knows.
+
+"'Which if Willyum's forefinger he p'ints with
+
+is a Colt's forty-four, an' instead of sayin' `Poppa!' he onhooks
+the same at Billy direct, now I don't reckon Billy could have been
+more put out. 'Doby's wife drags Willyum along at the time like he's
+a calf goin' to be branded, an' she never halts or pauses. But Billy
+turns all kinds of hues, an' is that prostrated he surges across to
+the Red Light an' gets two drinks alone, never invitin' nobody,
+before he realizes. When he does invite us he admits frank he's
+plumb locoed for a moment by the shock.
+
+"'You bet!' says Billy, as he gets his third drink, the same bein'
+took in common with the pop'lace present, 'you bet! thar ain't a
+gent in camp I'd insult by no neglect; but when Willyum makes them
+charges an' does it publicly, it onhinges my reason, an' them two
+times I don't invite you-alls, I'm not responsible.'
+
+"We-alls sees Billy's wounded, an' tharfore it's a ha'r-line deal to
+say anythin'; but as well as we can we tells him that what Willyum
+says, that a-way, bein' less'n two year old, is the mere prattle of
+a child, an' he's not to be depressed by it.
+
+"'Sech breaks,' says Dan Boggs, 'is took jocose back in the States.'
+
+"'Shore!' says Texas Thompson, backin' Boggs's play; 'them little
+bluffs of infancy, gettin' tangled that a-way about their
+progenitors, is regarded joyous in Laredo. Which thar's not the
+slightest need of Billy bein' cast down tharat.'
+
+"'I ain't sayin' a word, gents,' remarks Billy, an' his tones is
+sad. You-alls means proper an friendly. But I warns the world at
+this time that I now embarks on the spree of my life. I'm goin to
+get drunk an' never hedge a bet; an my last requests, the same bein'
+addressed to the barkeep, personal, is to set every bottle of bug-
+juice in the shebang on the bar, thar to repose within the reach of
+all ontil further orders.'
+
+"It's about an hour later, an' Billy, who's filed away a quart of
+fire-water in his interior by now, is vibratin' between the Red
+Light an' the dance-hall, growin' drunk an' dejected even up. It's
+then he sees 'Doby headin' up the street. 'Doby hears of his son
+Willyum's wild play from his wife, an' it makes him hot that a-way.
+But he ain't no notion of blamin' Billy; none whatever.
+
+"However, 'Doby don't have entire charge of the round-up, an' he has
+to figger with Billy right along.
+
+"'Doby,' shouts Billy, as he notes his pard approachin', while he
+balances himse'f in his moccasins a heap difficult, ''Doby, your
+infant Willyum is a eediot. Which if I was the parent of a fool
+papoose like Willyum, I'd shorely drop him down a shaft a whole lot
+an' fill up the shaft. He won't assay two ounces of sense to the
+ton, Willyum won't; an' he ain't worth powder an' fuse to work him.
+Actooally, that pore imbecile baby Willyum, don't know his own
+father.'
+
+"Which the rage of 'Doby is beyond bounds complete. For about half a
+minute him an' Billy froths an' cusses each other out scand'lous,
+an' then comes the guns. The artillery is a case of s'prise, the
+most experienced gent in Wolfville not loekin' for no gun-play
+between folks who's been pards an' blanket-mates for years.
+
+"However, it don't last long; it looks like both gets sorter
+conscience-stricken that a-way, an' lets up. Still, while it's
+short, it's long enough for Billy to get his laig ousted with one of
+'Doby's bullets, an' it all lays Billy up for Doc Peets to fuss with
+for over three months.
+
+"While Billy's stretched out, an' Doe Peets is ridin' herd on his
+laig, 'Doby keeps as savage as an Apache an' don't come near Billy.
+The same, however, ain't full proof of coldness, neither; for
+Billy's done give it out he'll down 'Doby if he pokes his head in
+the door, an' arranges his guns where he can work 'em in on the
+enterprise easy.
+
+"But Willyum don't take no stand-off. The last thing Willyum's
+afraid of is Billy; so he comes waltzin' over each day, clumsy as a
+cub cinnamon on his short laigs, an' makes himse'f plumb abundant.
+He plays with Billy, an' he sleeps with Billy, Willyum does; an' he
+eats every time the nigger, who's come over from the corral to
+lookout Billy's domestic game while he's down, rustles some grub.
+
+"'Doby's disgusted with Willyum's herdin' 'round with Billy that a-
+way, bein' sociable an' visitin' of him, an' he lays for Willyum an'
+wallops him. When Billy learns of it--which he does from Willyum
+himse'f when that infant p'ints in for a visit the day after--he's
+as wild as a mountain lion. Billy can't get out none, for his laig
+is a heap fragmentary as yet,--'Doby's bullet gettin' all the
+results which is comin' that time,--but he sends 'Doby word by
+Peets, if he hears of any more punishments bein' meted to Willyum,
+he regards it as a speshul affront to him, an' holds 'Doby
+responsible personal as soon as he can hobble.
+
+"'Tell him,' says Billy, 'that if he commits any further atrocities
+ag'in this innocent Willyum child, I'll shore leave him too dead to
+skin.'
+
+"'This yere Billy's gettin' locoed entire,' says Enright, when he's
+told of Billy's bluff. 'The right to maul your immediate descendants
+that a-way is guaranteed by the constitootion, an' is one of them
+things we-alls fights for at Bunker Hill. However, I reckons Billy's
+merely blowin' his horn; bein' sick an' cantankerous with his game
+knee.'
+
+"Billy gets well after a while, an' him an' 'Doby sorter plans to
+avoid each other. Whatever work they puts in on the claim they holds
+in partnership, they hires other gents to do. Personal, each works
+the claim he holds himse'f, which keeps 'em asunder a whole lot, an'
+is frootful of peace.' "Deep inside their shirts I allers allows
+these yere persons deems high an' 'fectionate of one another right
+at the time they's hangin' up their hardest bluffs an' carryin' on
+most hostile. Which trivial incidents discloses this.
+
+"Once in the Red Light, when a party who's new from Tucson, turns in
+to tell some light story of Billy,--him not bein' present none,--
+'Doby goes all over this yere racontoor like a landslide, an'
+retires him from s'ciety for a week. An' 'Doby don't explain his
+game neither; jest reprimands this offensive Tucson gent, an' lets
+it go as it lays. Of course, we-alls onderstands it's 'cause 'Doby
+ain't puttin' up with no carpin' criticism of his old pard; which
+the same is nacheral enough.
+
+"Don't you-all ever notice, son, how once you takes to fightin' for
+a party an' indorsin' of his plays, it gets to be a habit,--same,
+mebby, as fire-water? Which you lays for his detractors an' pulls on
+war for him that a-way long after you ceases to have the slightest
+use for him yourse'f. It's that a-way with 'Doby about Billy.
+
+"An' this yere Billy's feelin's about 'Doby is heated an' sedulous
+all sim'lar. 'Doby gets laid out for a week by rheumatics, which he
+acquires years before--he shore don't rope onto them rheumatics none
+'round Wolfville, you can gamble! said camp bein' salooberous that
+a-way--over on the Nevada plateaus, an' while he's treed an' can't
+come down to his claim, a passel of sharps ups an' mavericks it;
+what miners calls 'jumps it.' Whatever does Billy do? Paints for war
+prompt an' enthoosiastic, takes his gun, an' the way he stampedes
+an' scatters them marauders don't bother him a bit.
+
+"But while, as I states, this yere trick of makin' war-med'cine
+which 'Doby an' Billy has, an' schedoolin' trouble for folks who
+comes projectin' 'round invadin' of the other's rights, mebby is a
+heap habit, I gleans from it the idee likewise that onder the
+surface they holds each other in esteem to a p'int which is
+romantic.
+
+"Doby an' Billy lives on for a year after 'Doby plugs Billy in the
+laig, keepin' wide apart an' not speakin'. Willyum is got so he puts
+in most of his nights an' all of his days with Billy; which the
+spectacle of Billy packin' Willyum about camp nights is frequent.
+'Doby never 'pears to file no protest; I reckons he looks on it as a
+fore-ordained an' hopeless play. However, Billy's a heap careful of
+Willyum's morals, an' is shorely linin' him up right.
+
+"Once a new barkeep in the dance-hall allows he'll promote Willyum's
+feelin's some with a spoonful of nose-paint.
+
+"'No, you don't,' says Billy, plenty savage; 'an' since the matter
+comes up I announces cold that, now or yereafter, the first gent who
+saws off nose-paint on Willyum, or lays for the morals of this
+innocent infant to corrupt 'em, I'll kill an' skelp him so shore as
+I packs gun or knife.'
+
+"'Which shows,' said Dan Boggs later, when he hears of Billy's
+blazer, 'that this yere Billy Rudd is a mighty high-minded gent, an'
+you-alls can play it to win he has my regards. He can count me in on
+this deal to keep Willyum from strong drinks.'
+
+"'I thinks myse'f he's right,' says Cherokee Hall. 'Willyum is now
+but three years old, which is shore not aged. My idee would be to
+raise Willyum, an' not let him drink a drop of nose-paint ever,
+merely to show the camp what comes of sech experiments.'
+
+"But Billy's that pos'tive an' self-reliant he don't need no
+encouragement about how he conducts Willyum's habits; an', followin'
+his remarks, Willyum allers gets ignored complete on invitations to
+licker. Packin' the kid 'round that a-way shortens up Billy's booze
+a lot, too. He don't feel so free to get tanked expansive with
+Willyum on his mind an' hands that a-way.
+
+"It's shorely a picture, the tenderness Billy lavishes on Willyum.
+Many a night when Billy's stayin' late, tryin' to win himse'f outen
+the hole, I beholds him playin' poker, or mebby it's farebank, with
+Willyum curled up on his lap an' shirt-front, snorin' away all sound
+an' genial, an' Billy makin' his raises an' callin' his draw to the
+dealer in whispers, for fear he wakes Willyum.
+
+"But thar comes a time when the feud is over, an' 'Doby an' Billy
+turns in better friends than before. For a month mebby thar's a
+Mexican girl--which she's a cousin that a-way or some kin to 'Doby's
+wife--who's been stayin' at 'Doby's house, sorter backin' their
+play.
+
+"It falls out frequent this Mexican girl, Marie, trails over to
+Billy's, roundin' up an' collectin' of Willyum to put another shirt
+onto him, or some sech benefit. Billy never acts like he's impressed
+by this yere girl, an', while he relinquishes Willyum every time, he
+growls an' puts it up he's malev'lent over it.
+
+"But the seniorita is game, an' don't put no store by Billy's
+growls. She ropes up Willyum an' drags him away mighty decisive.
+Willyum howls an' calls on Billy for aid, which most likely is pain
+to Billy's heart; but he don't get it none. The senorita harnesses
+Willyum into a clean shirt, an' then she throws Willyum loose on the
+range ag'in, an' he drifts back to Billy.
+
+"It's the general view that Billy never once thinks of wedlock with
+the senorita if he's let alone. But one day Doc Peets waxes
+facetious.
+
+"'In a month,' says Peets to Billy, while we-alls is renooin' our
+spcrits in the Red Light, 'this yere Marie'll quit comin' over for
+Willyum.'
+
+"'Why?' says Billy, glarin' at Peets s'picious.
+
+"'Cause,' replies Peets, all careless, ''cause you ups an' weds her
+by then. I sees it in your eye. Then, when she's thar for good, I
+reckons she nacherally quits comin' over.'
+
+"'Oh, I don't know,' says Texas Thompson, who's takin' in Doc Peets'
+remark; ' I don't allow Billy's got the nerve to marry this yere
+Marie. Not but what she's as pretty as an antelope. But think of
+'Doby. He jest never would quit chewin' Billy's mane if he goes
+pullin' off any nuptial ceremonies with his wife's relative that a-
+way.'
+
+"Billy looks hard as granite at this. He ain't sayin' nothin', but
+he gets outside of another drink in a way which shows his mind's
+made up, an' then he goes p'intin' off towards his camp, same as a
+gent who entertains designs.
+
+"'I offers three to one,' says Cherokee Hall, lookin' after Billy
+sorter thoughtful that a-way, 'that Billy weds this yere Mexican
+girl in a week; an' I'll go five hundred dollars even money he gets
+her before night.'
+
+"'An' no takers,' says Doc Peets, 'for I about thinks you calls the
+turn.'
+
+"An' that's what happens. In two hours after this impulsive Billy
+prances out of the Red Light on the heels of Texas Thompson's
+remarks about how hostile 'Doby would be if he ever gets Marie, he's
+done lured her before the padre over in Chihuahua, an' the padre
+marries 'em as quick as you could take a runnin'-iron an' burn a
+brand on a calf.
+
+"'Which this is not all. Like they was out to add to the excitement
+a whole lot, I'm a Mohave if 'Doby an' his wife don't turn loose an'
+have another infant that same day.
+
+"'I never sees a gent get so excited over another gent's game as
+Billy does over 'Doby's number two. He sends his new wife up to
+'Doby's on the run, while he takes Willyum an' comes pirootin' back
+to the Red Light to brace up. Billy's shore nervous an' needs it.
+
+"'My pore child,' says Billy to Willyum about the third drink--
+Willyum is settin' on a monte-table an' payin' heed to Billy a heap
+decorous an' respectful for a three-year-old--'my pore child,' says
+Billy that a-way, 'you-all is ag'in a hard game up at your paw's.
+This yere is playin' it plumb low on you, Willyum. It looks like
+they fills a hand ag'in you, son, an' you ain't in it no more at
+'Doby's; who, whatever is your fool claims on that p'int a year ago,
+is still your dad ondoubted. But you-all knows me, Willyum. You
+knows that talk in Holy Writ. If your father an' mother shakes you,
+your Uncle Billy takes you up. I'm powerful 'fraid, Willyum, you'll
+have to have action on them promises."
+
+"Willyum listens to Billy plenty grave an' owly, but he don't make
+no observations on his luck or communicate no views to Billy except
+that he's hungry. This yere ain't relevant none, but Billy at once
+pastures him out on a can of sardines an' some crackers, while he
+keeps on bein' liberal to himse'f about whiskey.
+
+"'I don't feel like denyin' myse'f nothin',' he says. 'Yere I gets
+married, an' in less'n an hour my wife is ravaged away at the whoop
+of dooty to ride herd on another gent's fam'ly,; leavin' me, her
+husband, with that other gent's abandoned progeny on my hands. This
+yere's gettin' to be a boggy ford for Billy Rudd, you bet.'
+
+"But while Billy takes on a heap, he don't impress me like he's hurt
+none after all. When Doc Peets trails in from 'Doby's, where he's
+been in the interests of science that a-way, Billy at once drug him
+aside for a pow-wow. They talks over in one corner of the Red Light
+awhile, then Billy looks up like one load's offen his mind, an'
+yells:
+
+" 'Barkeep, it's another boy. Use my name freely in urgin' drinks on
+the camp.'
+
+"Then Billy goes on whisperin' to Doc Peets an' layin' down
+somethin', like his heart's sot on it. At last Doc says:
+
+"'The best way, Billy, is for me to bring 'Doby over.' With this Doc
+Peets gets onto his pony at the door an' goes curvin' back to
+'Doby's.
+
+"'It's a boy,' says Billy to the rest of us after Doc Peets lines
+out, `an' child an' mother both on velvet an' winnin' right along.'
+
+"These yere events crowdin' each other that a-way--first a weddin'
+an' then an infant boy--has a brightenin' effect on public sperit.
+It makes us feel like the camp's shorely gettin' a start. While we-
+alls is givin' way to Billy's desire to buy whiskey, Peets comes
+back, bringin' 'Doby.
+
+"Thar's nothin' what you-alls calls dramatic about 'Doby an' Billy
+comin' together. They meets an' shakes, that's all. They takes a
+drink together, which shows they's out to be friends for good, an'
+then Billy says:
+
+"'But what I wants partic'lar, 'Doby, is that you makes over to me
+your son Willyum. He's shore the finest young-one in Arizona, an'
+Marie an' me needs him to sorter organize on.'
+
+"'Billy,' says 'Doby, 'you-all an' me is partners for years, an'
+we're partners yet. We has our storm cloud, an' we has also our eras
+of peace. Standin' as we do on the brink of one of said eras, an' as
+showin' sincerity, I yereby commits to you my son Willyum.
+Yereafter, when he calls you "Pop," it goes, an' the same will not
+be took invidious.'
+
+"''Doby,' replies Billy, takin' him by the hand, 'this yere day
+'lustrates the prophet when he says: "In the midst of life we're in
+luck." If you-all notes tears in my eyes I'm responsible for 'em.
+Willyum's mine. As I r'ars him it will be with you as a model. Now
+you go back where dooty calls you. When you ceases to need my wife,
+Marie, send her back to camp, an' notify me tharof. Pendin' of which
+said notice, however,' concloods Billy, turnin' to us after 'Doby
+starts back, 'Willyum an' me entertains.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF.
+
+
+"And so you think the trouble lies with the man and not with the
+whiskey?" I said.
+
+The Old Cattleman and I were discussing "temperance."
+
+"Right you be. This yere whiskey-drinkin'," continued the old
+gentleman as he toyed with his empty glass, "is a mighty cur'ous
+play. I knows gents as can tamper with their little old forty drops
+frequent an' reg'lar. As far as hurtin' of 'em is concerned, it
+don't come to throwin' water on a drowned rat. Then, ag'in, I've cut
+gents's trails as drinkin' whiskey is like playin' a harp with a
+hammer. Which we-alls ain't all upholstered alike; that's whatever.
+We don't all show the same brands an' y'earmarks nohow: What's
+med'cine for one is p'isen for t'other; an' thar you be.
+
+"Bein' a reg'lar, reliable drunkard that a-way comes mighty near
+bein' a disease. It ain't no question of nerve, neither. Some dead-
+game gents I knows--an' who's that obstinate they wouldn't move camp
+for a prairie-fire--couldn't pester a little bit with whiskey.
+
+"Thar's my friend, Mace Bowman. Mace is clean strain cl'ar through,
+an' yet I don't reckon he ever gets to a show-down with whiskey once
+which he ain't outheld. But for grim nerve as'll never shiver, this
+yere Bowman is at par every time.
+
+"Bowman dies a prey to his ambition. He starts in once to drink all
+the whiskey in Wolfville. By his partic'lar request most of the
+white male people of the camp stands in on the deal, a-backin' his
+play for to make Wolfville a dry camp. At the close of them two
+lurid weeks Mace lasts, good jedges, like Enright an' Doc Peets,
+allows he's shorely made it scarce some.
+
+"But Wolfville's too big for him. Any other gent but Mace would have
+roped at a smaller outfit, but that wouldn't be Mace nohow. If
+thar's a bigger camp than Wolfville anywhere about, that's where
+he'd been. He's mighty high-hearted an' ambitious that a-way, an'
+it's kill a bull or nothin' when he lines out for buffalo.
+
+"But the thirteenth day, he strikes in on the big trail, where you
+never meets no outfits comin' back, an' that settles it. The boys,
+not havin' no leader, with Mace petered, gives up the game, an' the
+big raid on nose-paint in Wolfville is only hist'ry now.
+
+"When I knows Bowman first he's sheriff over in northeast New
+Mexico. A good sheriff Mace is, too. Thar ain't nothin' gets run off
+while he's sheriff, you bet. When he allows anythin's his dooty, he
+lays for it permiscus. He's a plumb sincere offishul that a-way.
+
+"One time I recalls as how a wagon-train with households of folks
+into it camps two or three days where Mace is sheriff. These yere
+people's headin' for some'ers down on the Rio Grande, aimin' to
+settle a whole lot. Mebby it's the third mornin' along of sun-up
+when they strings out on the trail, an' we-alls thinks no more of
+'em. It's gettin' about third-drink time when back rides a gent,
+sorter fretful like, an' allows he's done shy a boy.
+
+"'When do you-all see this yere infant last?' says Mace.
+
+"'Why,' says the gent, 'I shorely has him yesterday, 'cause my old
+woman done rounds 'em up an' counts.'
+
+"'What time is that yesterday?'
+
+"'Bout first-drink time,' says the bereaved party.
+
+"'How many of these yere offsprings, corral count, do you-all lay
+claim to anyway?' asks Mace.
+
+"'Which I've got my brand onto 'leven of 'em,' says the pore parent,
+beginnin' to sob a whole lot. 'Of course this yere young-one gettin'
+strayed this a-way leaves me short one. It makes it a mighty rough
+crossin', stranger, after bringin' that boy so far. The old woman,
+she bogs right down when she knows, an' I don't reckon she'll be the
+same he'pmeet to me onless I finds him ag'in.'
+
+"'Oh, well,' says Mace, tryin' to cheer this bereft person up, 'we
+lose kyards in the shuffle which the same turns up all right in the
+deal; an' I reckons we-alls walks down this yearlin' of yours ag'in,
+too. What for brands or y'earmarks, does he show, so I'll know him.'
+
+"'As to brands an' y'earmarks,' says the party, a-wipin' of his eye,
+'he's shy a couple of teeth, bein' milk-teeth as he's shed; an'
+thar's a mark on his for'ard where his mother swipes him with a
+dipper, that a-way, bringin' him up proper. That's all I remembers
+quick.'
+
+"Mace tells the party to take a cinch on his feelin's, an' stampedes
+over to the Mexican part of camp, which is called Chilili, on a
+scout for the boy. Whatever do you-all reckon's become of him, son?
+I'm a wolf if a Mexican ain't somehow cut him out of the herd an'
+stole him. Takes him in, same as you mavericks a calf. Why in the
+name of hoss-stealin' he ever yearns for that young-one is allers
+too many for me.
+
+"When the abductor hears how Mace is on his trail, which he does
+from other Mexicans, he swings onto his bronco an' begins p'intin'
+out, takin' boy an' all. But Mace has got too far up on him, an'
+stops him mighty handy with a rifle. Mace could work a Winchester
+like you'd whirl a rope, an' the way he gets a bullet onder that
+black-an'-tan's left wing don't worry him a little bit. The bullet
+tears a hole through his lungs, an' the same bein' no further use
+for him to breathe with, he comes tumblin' like a shot pigeon,
+bringin' the party's offspring with him.
+
+"Which this yere is almighty flatterin' to Mace as a shot, an' it
+plumb tickles the boy's sire. He allows he's lived in Arkansaw, an'
+shorely knows good shootin', an' this yere's speshul good. An' then
+he corrals the Greaser's skelp to take back with him.
+
+"'It'll come handy to humor up the old woman with, when I gets back
+to camp,' he says; so he tucks the skelp into his war-bags an'
+thanks Mace for the interest he takes in his household.
+
+"'That's all right,' says Mace; 'no trouble to curry a little short
+hoss like that.'
+
+"He shakes hands with the Arkansaw gent, an' we-alls rounds up to
+Bob Step's an' gets a drink.
+
+"But the cat has quite a tail jest the same. A Mexican that a-way is
+plenty oncertain. For instance: You're settin' in on a little game
+of monte all free an' sociable, an' one of 'em comes crowdin' 'round
+for trouble, an' you downs him. All good enough, says you. No other
+Mexican seems like he wants to assoome no pressure personal; no one
+goes browsin' 'round to no sheriff; an' thar you be deluded into
+theeries that said killin's quit bein' a question. That's where you-
+all is the victim of error.
+
+"Which in this case the Mexican Mace stretches has uncles or
+somethin' down off Chaperita. Them relatives is rich. In a week--no
+one never saveys how--everybody knows that thar's five thousand
+dollars up for the first party who kills Mace. I speaks to him about
+it myse'f, allowin' he'd oughter be careful how he goes spraddlin'
+about permiscus. Mebby, when he's lookin' north some time, somebody
+gets him from the south.
+
+"'I ain't worryin' none,' says Mace; 'I ain't got no friends as
+would down me, nohow; an' my enemies ain't likely none to think it's
+enough dinero. Killin' me is liable to come mighty high.'
+
+"After which announcements he goes romancin' along in his cheerful,
+light-hearted way, drinkin' his whiskey an' bein' sheriff, mingled,
+an' in a week or so we-alls begins to forget about them rewards. One
+day a little Mexican girl who Mace calls Bonita--she'd shorely give
+a hoss for a smile from him any time--scouts over an' whispers to
+Mace as how three Greasers from down around Anton Chico is in camp
+on a hunt for his ha'r. Them murderers is out for the five thousand;
+they's over in Chilili right then.
+
+"'Whereabouts in Chilili be them Mexicans?' asks Mace, kinder
+interested.
+
+"'Over camped in old Santa Anna's dance. hall, a-drinkin' of mescal
+an' waitin' for dark,' says the girl.
+
+"'All right,' says Mace; 'I'll prance over poco tiempo, an' it's
+mighty likely them aliens from Anton Chico is goin' to have a fitful
+time.'
+
+"Mace kisses the little Bonita girl, an' tells her not to chirp
+nothin' to no Mexican; an' with the caress that a-way her black eyes
+gets blacker an' brighter, an' the red comes in her cheek, an' bats
+could see she'd swap the whole Mexican outfit for a word from Mace,
+an' throw herse'f in for laniyap.
+
+"Mace p'ints out to get another gun; which is proper enough, for
+he's only one in his belt, an' in a case like this yere he's mighty
+likely to need two a lot.
+
+"'Some of us oughter go over with Mace, I reckons,' says a party
+named Benson, sorter general to the crowd. 'What do you-alls think
+yourse'fs?'
+
+"'Go nothin'!' retorts a gent who's called Driscoll, an' who's up to
+the hocks into a game of poker, an' don't like to see it break up
+an' him behind. 'The hand Mace holds don't need no he'p. If Mace is
+out after two or three of the boys now, it would be plenty
+different; but whoever hears of a white man's wantin' he'p that a-
+way to down three Greasers, an' him to open the game? Mace could
+bring back all the skelps in Chilili if he's that f'rocious an'
+wants to, an' not half try.'
+
+"This seems to be the general idee, an', aside of some bets which is
+made, no one takes no interest. Bob Short puts it up he'd bet a
+hundred dollars even Mace gets one of 'em; a hundred to two hundred
+he gets two, an' a hundred to five hundred he gets 'em all; an' some
+short-kyard sharp who's up from Socorro, after figgerin' it all
+silent to himse'f, takes 'em all.
+
+"'Now I don't reckon, stranger,' says Benson, sorter reproachful, to
+the short-kyard party, 'you knows Mace Bowman mighty well? If you-
+all did you wouldn't go up ag'in a shore thing like that.'
+
+"We never gets anythin' but Mace's story for it. He tells later how
+he sa'nters into Santa Anna's an' finds his three Anton Chico felons
+all settin' alone at a table. They knows him, he says, an' he camps
+down over opp'site an' calls for a drink. They's watchin' Mace, an'
+him doin' sim'lar by them. Final, he says, one of 'em makes a play
+for his gun, an', seein' thar's nothin' to be made waitin', Mace
+jumps up with a six-shooter in each hand, an' thar's some noise an'
+a heap of smoke, an' them three Mexicans is eliminated in a bunch.
+
+"When he plays his hand out Mace comes back over to us--no other
+Mexicans allowin' for to call him--an' relates how it is, an'
+nacheral we says it's all right, which it shorely is. I asks old
+Santa Anna for the details of the shake-up later, but he spreads his
+hands, an' shrugs his shoulders, an' whines
+
+"'No quien sabe.'
+
+"An', of course, as I can't tell, an' as Santa Anna don't, I gives'
+up askin'."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING.
+
+
+It was in the earlier days of autumn. Summer had gone, and there was
+already a crisp sentiment of coming cold in the air. The Old
+Cattleman and I had given way to a taste for pedestrianism that had
+lain dormant through the hot months. It was at the close of our
+walk, and we were slowly making our way homeward.
+
+"An' now the year's got into what hoss-folks calls the last
+quarter," remarked the old gentleman musingly. "You can feel the
+frost in the atmosphere; you can see where it's bit the leaves a
+lot, an' some of 'em's pale with the pain, an' others is blood-red
+from the wound. "Which I don't regard winter much, say twenty years
+ago. Thar's many a night when I spreads my blankets in the Colorado
+hills, flakes of snow a-fallin' as soft an' big an' white as a
+woman's hand, an' never heeds 'em a little bit. But them days is
+gone. Thar's no roof needed in my destinies then. An' as for bed, a
+slicker an' a pair of hobbles is sumptuous.
+
+"When a gent rounds up seventy years he's mighty likely to get a
+heap interested in weather. It's the heel of the hunt with him then,
+an' he's worn an' tired, and turns nacherally to rest an' fire."
+
+We plodded forward as he talked. To his sage comments on the
+seasons, and as well the old age of men, I offered nothing. My
+silence, however, seemed always to meet with his tacit approval; nor
+did he allow it to impede his conversational flow.
+
+"Well," observed the old fellow, after a pause, "I reckons I'll see
+the winter through all right; likewise the fall. I'm a mighty sight
+like that old longhorn who allows he's allers noticed if he lives
+through the month of March he lives through the rest of the year; so
+I figgers I'll hold together that a-way ontil shorely March comin'.
+Anyhow I regards it as an even break I does.
+
+"Thar's one thing about fall an' winter which removes the dreariness
+some. I alloods to them festivals sech as Thanksgivin' an' Christmas
+an' New Year. Do we-alls cel'brate these yere events in Wolfville?
+Which we shorely does. Take Christmas: You-all couldn't find a sober
+gent in Wolfville on that holy occasion with a search-warrant; the
+feelin' to cel'brate is that wide-spread an' fervid.
+
+"Thanksgivin' ain't so much lotted on; which for one thing we
+frequent forgets it arrives that a-way. Thar's once, though, when we
+takes note of its approach, an' nacherally, bein' organized, we
+ketches it squar' in the door. Them Thanksgivin' doin's is shorely
+great festivities that time. It's certainly a whirl.
+
+"Old Man Enright makes the first break; he sorter arranges the game.
+But before all is over, the food we eats, the whiskey we drinks, an'
+the lies we tells an' listens to, is a shock an' a shame to Arizona.
+
+"Thar's a passel of us prowlin' 'round in the Red Light one day,
+when along comes Enright. He's got a paper in his hand, an' from the
+air he assooms it's shore plain he's on the brink of somethin'.
+
+"'What I'm thinkin' of, gents, is this,' says Enright, final. 'I
+observes to-morrow to be Thanksgivin' by this yere paper Old Monte
+packs in from Tucson. The Great Father sets to-morrow for a national
+blow-out, a-puttin' of it in his message on the broad ground that
+everybody's lucky who escapes death. Now, the question is, be we in
+this? an' if so, what form the saturnalia takes?'
+
+What's the matter of us hoppin' over an' shootin' up Red Dog?" says
+Dan Boggs. 'That bunch of tarrapins ain't been shook up none for
+three months.'
+
+"'Technical speakin',' says Doc Peets--which Peets, he shorely is
+the longest-headed sharp I ever sees, an' the galiest--'shootin' up
+Red Dog, while it's all right as a prop'sition an' highly creditable
+to Boggs, is not a Thanksgivin' play. The game, turned strict,
+confines itse'f to eatin', drinkin', an' lyin'.'
+
+"'Thar's plenty of whiskey in camp,' says Jack Moore, meditative-
+like, 'whereby that drinkin' part comes easy.'
+
+"'I assooms it's the will of all to pull off a proper Thanksgivin'
+caper,' says Enright, 'an' tharfore I su'gests that Doc Peets and
+Boggs waits on Missis Rucker at the O. K. restauraw an' learns what
+for a banquet she can rustle an' go the limit. Pendin' the return of
+Peets an' Boggs I allows the balance of this devoted band better
+imbibe some. Barkeep, sort out some bottles.'
+
+"The committee comes back after a little, an' allows Missis Rucker
+reports herse'f shy on viands on account of the freighters bein'
+back'ard comin' in.
+
+"'But,' says Peets, 'she's upholstered to make a strong play on salt
+hoss an' baked beans, with coffee an' biscuits for games on the
+side.'
+
+"'That's good enough for a dog,' says Jack Moore, 'to say nothin' of
+mere people. Any gent who thinks he wants more is the effect victim
+of whims.'
+
+"While we-alls is discussin' the ground plans for this yere feast,
+thar's a clatter of pony-hoofs an' a wild yell outside, an' next
+thar's a big, shaggy-lookin' vagrant, a-settin' on his hoss in front
+of the Red Light's door.
+
+"'Get an axe, somebody,' he shouts, 'an' widen this yere portal
+some. I aims to come in on my hoss.'
+
+"`Hands up, thar!' says Jack Moore, reachin' for his six-shooter.
+'Hands up! I'll jest fool you up about comin' in on your hoss. You
+work in one wink too many now, an' I puts a hole in your face right
+over the eye.'
+
+"'Go slow, Jack,' says Enright. 'Who may you-all be?' he goes on to
+the locoed man on the hoss.
+
+"'Me?' says the locoed man. 'I'm Red Dog Bill. Tell that sot,' he
+continues, p'intin' at Jack, ' to put down his gun an' not offer it
+at me no more. He's a heap too vivid with that weepon. Only I'm a
+white-winged harbinger of peace, I shore ups an' makes him eat the
+muzzle offen it.'
+
+"'Well, whatever be you thirstin' for, anyhow?' says Enright. 'You
+comes ridin' in yere like you ain't got no regards for nothin'. Is
+this a friendly call, or be you present on a theery that you runs
+the town?'
+
+"'I'm the Red Dog committee on invitations,' he says. 'Red Dog sends
+its comps, an' asks Wolfville to bury the hatchet for one day in
+honor of to-morrow bein' Thanksgivin', an' come feed with us.'
+
+"'Let's go him,' says Dan Boggs.
+
+"'Now stand your hand a second,' says Enright, 'don't let's overlook
+no bets. Whatever has you Red Dog hold-ups got to eat, anyhow?'
+
+"'Ain't got nothin' to eat much--maybe some can stuff--what you-alls
+calls air-tights,' says the Red Dog man. 'But we has liquid, no
+limit.'
+
+"'Got any can tomatters?' says Boggs.
+
+"'Can tomatters we-alls is 'speshul strong on,' says the Red Dog
+man. 'It's where we-alls lives at; can tomatters is.'
+
+"'I tells you what you-all do,' says Enright, 'an' when I speaks, I
+represents for this yere camp.'
+
+"'Which he shore does,' says Jack. 'He's the Big Gray Wolf yere, you
+can gamble. If he don't say "go slow" when you comes a-yellin' up,
+your remains would a-been coverin' half an acre right now. It would
+look like it's beef-day at this yere agency, shore.'
+
+"'You-all go back to Red Dog,' says Enright, payin' no notice to
+Jack's interruptions, 'an' tell 'em we plants the war-axe for one
+day, an' to come over an' smoke ponies with us, instead of we-alls
+come thar. We're goin' to have baked beans an' salt hoss, an' we
+looks for Red Dog in a body. Next Thanksgivin' we eats in Red Dog.
+Does this yere go?'
+
+"`It goes,' says the Red Dog gent; 'but be you-alls shore thar's
+s'fficient whiskey in your camp? Red Dog folks is a dry an' burnin'
+outfit an' is due to need a heap.'
+
+"'The liquid's all right,' says Boggs. 'If you alls wants to do
+yourse'f proud, freight in a hundred-weight of them can tomatters.
+Which we runs out entire.'
+
+The next day Missis Rucker sets tables all over her dinin'-room an'
+brings on her beans. Eighteen Red Dog gents is thar, each totin' of
+a can of tomatters. An' let me impart right yere, son, we never has
+a more free an' peacefuller day than said Thanksgivin'.
+
+"'Them beans is a little hard, ain't they?' says Doc Peets, while
+we-alls is eatin', bein' p'lite an' elegant like. 'Mebby they don't
+get b'iled s'fficient?'
+
+"'Them beans is all right,' says the War Chief of the Red Dogs.
+'They be some hard, but you can't he'p it none. It's the altitood;
+the higher up you gets, the lower heat it takes to b'ile water. So
+it don't mush up beans like it should.'
+
+"'That's c'rrect every time,' says Enright; 'I mind bein' over back
+of Prescott once, an' up near timber-line, an' I can't b'ile no
+beans at all. I'm up that high the water is so cold when it b'iles
+that ice forms on it some. I b'iles an' b'iles on some beans four
+days, an' it don't have no more effect than throwin' water on a
+drowned rat. After persistent b'ilin', I skims out a hand. ful an'
+drops 'em onto a tin plate to test 'em, an' it sounds like buckshot.
+As you says, it's the altitood.'
+
+"'Gents,' says the boss of Red Dog, all of a sudden, an' standin' up
+by Enright, 'I offers the toast: "Wolfville an' Red Dog, now an'
+yereafter."'
+
+"Of course we-alls drinks, an' Doc Peets makes a talk. He speaks
+mighty high of every gent present; which compliments gets big action
+in sech a game. The Red Dog chief--an' he's a mighty civilized-
+lookin' gent--he talks back, an' calls Wolfville an' Red Dog great
+commercial centers, which they sore be. He says, 'We-alls is
+friendly to-day, an' fights the rest of the year,' which we-alls
+agrees to cordial. He says fightin'. or, as he calls it, 'a generous
+rivalry,' does camps good, an' I reckons he's right, too, 'cause it
+shore results in the cashin' in of some mighty bad an' disturbin'
+elements. When he sets down, thar's thunders of applause.
+
+"It's by this time that the drinkin' becomes frequent an' common.
+The talk gets general, an' the lies them people evolves an' saws off
+on each other would stampede stock.
+
+"Any day but Thanksgivin' sech tales would shore lead to
+reecriminations an' blood; but as it is, every gent seems relaxed
+an' onbuckled that a-way in honor of the hour, an' it looks like
+lyin' is expected.
+
+"How mendacious be them people? If I recalls them scenes c'rrectly,
+it's Texas Thompson begins the campaign ag'in trooth.
+
+"This yere Texas Thompson tells, all careless-like, how 'way back in
+the forties, when he's a boy, he puts in a Thanksgivin' in the Great
+Salt Lake valley with Old Jim Bridger. This is before the Mormons
+opens their little game thar.
+
+"'An' the snow falls to that extent, mebby it's six foot deep,' says
+Texas. 'Bridger an' me makes snow-shoes an' goes slidin' an'
+pesterin' 'round all fine enough. But the pore animals in the valley
+gets a rough time.
+
+"'It's a fact; Bridger an' me finds a drove of buffalos bogged down
+in the snow,--I reckons now thar's twenty thousand of 'em,--and
+never a buffalo can move a wheel or turn a kyard. Thar they be
+planted in the snow, an' only can jest wag their y'ears an' bat
+their eyes.
+
+"'Well, to cut it brief, Bridger an' me goes projectin' 'round an'
+cuts the throats of them twenty-thousand buffalo; which we-alls is
+out for them robes a whole lot. Of course we don't skin 'em none
+while they's stuck in the snow; but when the snow melts in the
+spring, we capers forth an' peels off the hides like shuckin' peas.
+They's froze stiff at the time, for the sun ain't got 'round to thaw
+the beef none yet; an' so the meat's as good as the day we downs
+'em.
+
+"'An' that brings us to the cur'ous part. As fast as we-alls peels a
+buffalo, we rolls his carcass down hill into Salt Lake, an' what do
+you-alls reckons takes place? The water's that briny, it pickles
+said buffalo-meat plumb through, an' every year after, when Bridger
+an' me is back thar--we're trappin' an' huntin' them times,--all we
+has to do is haul one of them twenty thousand pickled buffalos
+ashore an' eat him.
+
+"'When the Mormons comes wanderin' along, bein' short on grub that
+a-way, they nacherally jumps in an' consooms up the whole outfit in
+one season, which is why you-alls don't find pickled buffalo in Salt
+Lake no more.
+
+"'Bridger an' me starts in, when we learns about it, to fuss with
+them polygamists that a-way for gettin' away with our salt buffalos.
+But they's too noomerous for us, an' we done quits 'em at last an'
+lets it go.'
+
+"Nobody says much when Texas Thompson is through. We merely sets
+'round an' drinks. But I sees the Red Dog folks feels mortified.
+After a minute they calls on their leadin' prevaricator for a yarn.
+His name's Lyin' Jim Riley, which the people who baptizes him
+shorely tumbles to his talents.
+
+"This yere Lyin' Jim fills a tin cup with nose-paint, an' leans back
+listless-like an' looks at Enright.
+
+"'I never tells you-alls,' he says, 'about how the Ratons gets afire
+mighty pecooliar, an' comes near a-roastin' of me up some, do I?
+It's this a-way: I'm pervadin' 'round one afternoon tryin' to
+compass a wild turkey, which thar's bands of 'em that Fall in the
+Ratons a-eatin' of the pinyon-nuts. I've got a Sharp's with me,
+which the same, as you-alls knows, is a single-shot, but I don't see
+no turks, none whatever. Now an' then I hears some little old
+gobbler, 'cross a canyon, a-makin' of sland'rous remarks about other
+gobblers to some hen he's deloodin', but I never manages a shot. As
+I'm comin' back to camp--I'm strollin' down a draw at the time where
+thar's no trees nor nothin'--thar emanates a black-tail buck from
+over among the bushes on the hill, an' starts to headin' my way a
+whole lot. His horns is jest gettin' over bein' velvet, an' he's
+feelin' plenty good an' sassy. I sees that buck--his horns eetches
+is what makes him--jump eighteen feet into the air an' comb them
+antlers of his'n through the hangin' pine limbs. Does it to stop the
+eetchin' an' rub the velvet off. Of course I cuts down on him with
+the Sharp's. It's a new gun that a-way, an' the sights is too
+coarse--you drags a dog through the hind sights easy--an' I holds
+high. The bullet goes plumb through the base of his horn, close into
+the ha'r, an' all nacheral fetches him sprawlin'. I ain't waitin' to
+load my gun none, which not waitin' to load, I'm yere to mention, is
+erroneous. I'm yere to say thar oughter be an act of Congress ag'in
+not loadin' your gun. They oughter teach it to the yearlin's in the
+schools, an' likewise in the class on the Sabbath. Allers load your
+gun. Who is that sharp, Mister Peets, who says, "Be shore you're
+right, then go ahead"? He once ranches some'ers down on the
+Glorieta. But what he oughter say is: "Be shore your gun's loaded,
+then go ahead."'
+
+"'That's whatever!' says Dan Boggs, he'pin' himse'f an' startin' the
+bottle; 'an' if he has a lick of sense, that's what he would say.'
+
+"'Which I lays down my empty gun,' goes on this Lyin' Jim, ' an'
+starts for my buck to bootcher his neck a lot. When I gets within
+ten feet he springs to his hoofs an' stands glarin'. You can gamble,
+I ain't tamperin' 'round no wounded buck. I'd sooner go pesterin'
+'round a widow woman.'
+
+"'I gets mingled up with a wounded buck once,' says Dave Tutt,
+takin' a dab of paint, 'an' I nacherally wrastles him down an' lops
+one of his front laigs over his antlers, an' thar I has him; no more
+harm left in him than a chamber-maid. Mine's a white-tailed deer
+over on the Careese.'
+
+"'This yere's a black-tail, which is different; says Lyin' Jim;
+'it's exactly them front laigs you talks of so lightly I'm 'fraid
+of.
+
+"`The buck he stands thar sorter dazed an' battin' of his eyes. I
+ain't no time to go back for my Sharp's, an' my six-shooter is left
+in camp. Right near is a high rock with a steep face about fifteen
+feet straight up an' down. I scrambles on to this an' breathes
+ag'in, 'cause I knows no deer is ever compiled yet who makes the
+trip. The buck's come to complete by now, an' when he observes me on
+the rock, his rage is as boundless as the glory of Texas.'
+
+"'Gents, we-alls takes another cow-swaller, right yere,' shouts
+Texas Thompson. 'It's a rool with me to drink every time I hears the
+sacred name of Texas.'
+
+"When we-alls conceals our forty drops in the usual place, Lyin' Jim
+proceeds:
+
+"'When this buck notes me, he's that frenzied he backs off an' jumps
+ag'in the face of the rock stiff-laiged, an' strikes it with them
+hoofs of him. Which he does this noomerous times, an' every hoof
+cuts like a cold-chisel. It makes the sparks go spittin' an' flyin'
+like it's a blacksmith-shop.
+
+"'I'm takin' it ca'm enough, only I'm wonderin' how I'm goin' to
+fetch loose, when I notices them sparks from his hoofs sets the pine
+twigs an' needles a-blazin' down by the base of the rock.
+
+"'That's what comes to my relief. In two minutes this yere spreads
+to a general conflagration, and the last I sees of my deer he's
+flyin' over the Divide into the next canyon with his tail a-blazin'
+an' him utterin' shrieks. I has only time to make camp, saddle up,
+an' line out of thar, to keep from bein' burned before my time.
+
+"'This yere fire rages for two months, an' burns up a billion
+dollars worth of mountains, I'm a coyote if some folks don't talk of
+lawin' me about it.'
+
+"'That's a yarn which has the year-marks of trooth, but all the same
+it's deer as saves my life once,' says Doc Peets, sorter trailin' in
+innocent-like when this Lyin' Jim gets through; 'leastwise their
+meat saves it. I'm out huntin' same as you is, this time to which I
+alloods.
+
+"'I'm camped on upper Red River; up where the river is only about
+twelve feet wide. It ain't deep none, only a few inches, but it's
+dug its banks down about four feet. The river runs along the center
+of a mile-wide valley, which they ain't no trees in it, but all
+cl'ar an' open. It's snowin' powerful hard one, evenin' about 3
+o'clock when I comes back along the ridge towards my camp onder the
+pines. While I'm ridin' along I crosses the trail of nineteen deer.
+I takes it too quick, 'cause I needs deer in my business, an' I
+knows these is close or their tracks would be covered, the way it
+snows.
+
+"'I runs the trail out into the open, headin' for the other ridge.
+The snow is plenty deep out from onder the pines, but I keeps on.
+Final, jest in the mouth of a canyon, over the other side where the
+pines begins ag'in, up jumps a black. tail from behind a yaller-pine
+log, and I drops him.
+
+"'My pony's plumb broke down by now, so I makes up my mind to camp.
+It's a 'way good site. Thar's water comin' down the canyon; thar's a
+big, flat floor of rocks--big as the dance-hall floor--an' all
+protected by a high rock-faced bluff, so no snow don't get thar
+none; an' out in front, some twelve feet, is a big pitch-pine log.
+Which I couldn't a-fixed things better if I works a year.
+
+"'I sets fire to the log, cuts up my deer, an' sorter camps over
+between the log an' bluff, an' takes things as ba'my as summer. I
+has my saddle-blanket an' a slicker, an' that's all I needs.
+
+"'Thar ain't no grass none for the little hoss, but I peels him
+about a bushel of quakin'-ash bark, an' he's doin' well 'nough.
+Lord! how it snows outside! When I peers out in the mornin' it
+scares me. I saddles up, 'cause my proper camp is in the pines
+t'other side of this yere open stretch, an' I've got to make it.
+
+"'My pony is weak, an' can only push through the snow, which is five
+feet deep. I'm walkin' along all comfortable, a-holdin' of his tail,
+when "swish" he goes plumb outen sight. I peers into the orifice
+which ketches him, an' finds he's done slumped off that four-foot
+bank into Red River, kerslop! Which he's at once swept from view;
+the river runnin' in ondcr the snow like a tunnel.
+
+"That settles it; I goes pirootin' back. I lives in that canyon two
+months. It snows a heap after I gets back, an' makes things deeper'n
+ever. I has my deer to eat, not loadin' my pony with it when I
+starts, an' I peels some sugar-pines, like I sees Injuns, an'
+scrapes off the white skin next the trees, an' makes a pasty kind of
+bread of it, an' I'm all right.
+
+"'One mornin', jest before I gets out of meat, I sees trouble out in
+the snow. Them eighteen deer--thar's nineteen, but I c'llects one,
+as I says--comes sa'nterin' down my canyon while I'm asleep, an'
+goes out an' gets stuck in the snow. I allows mebby they dresses
+about sixty pounds each, an' wallers after 'em with my knife an'
+kills six.
+
+"'This yere gives me meat for seventy-two days--five pounds a day,
+which with the pine bark is shore enough, The other twelve I turns
+'round an' he'ps out into the canyon ag'in, an' do you know, them
+deer's that grateful they won't leave none? It's a fact, they simply
+hangs 'round all the time I'm snowed in.
+
+"'In two months the snow melts down, an' I says adios to my twelve
+deer an' starts for camp. Which you-alls mebby imagines my s'prise
+when I beholds my pony a-grazin' out in the open, saddle on an'
+right. Yere's how it is: He's been paradin' up an' down the bed of
+Red River onder that snow tunnel for two months. Oh! he feeds easy
+enough. Jest bites the yerbage along the banks. This snow tunnel is
+four feet high, an' he's got plenty of room.
+
+"'I'm some glad to meet up with my pony that a-way, you bet! an'
+ketches him up an' rides over to my camp. An' I'm followed by my
+twelve deer, which comes cavortin' along all genial an' cordial an'
+never leaves me. No, my hoss is sound, only his feet is a little
+water-soaked an' tender; an' his eyes, bein' so long in that half.
+dark place onder the snow, is some weak an' sore.'
+
+"As no one seems desirous to lie no more after Doc Peets gets
+through, we-alls eats an' drinks all we can, an' then goes over to
+the dance-hall an' whoops her up in honor of Red Dog. Nothin' could
+go smoother.
+
+"When it comes time to quit, we has a little trouble gettin'
+sep'rate from 'em, but not much. We-alls starts out to 'scort 'em to
+Red Dog as a guard of honor, an' then they, bustin' with p'liteness,
+'scorts us back to Wolfville. Then we-alls, not to be raised out,
+sees 'em to Red Dog ag'in, an' not to have the odd hoss onto 'em in
+the matter, back they comes with us.
+
+"I don't know how often we makes this yere round trip from one camp
+to t'other, cause my mem'ry is some dark on the later events of that
+Thanksgivin'. My pony gets tired of it about the third time back,
+an' humps himse'f an' bucks me off a whole lot, whereupon I don't go
+with them Red Dog folks no further, but nacherally camps down back
+of the mesquite I lights into, an, sleeps till mornin'. You bet!
+it's a great Thanksgivin'.'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXL.
+
+BILL HOSKINS'S COON.
+
+
+"Now I thoroughly saveys," remarked the Old Cattleman reflectively,
+at a crisis in our conversation when the talk turned on men of small
+and cowardly measure, "I thoroughly saveys that taste for battle
+that lurks in the deefiles of folk's nacher like a wolf in the hills
+Which I reckons now that I, myse'f, is one of the peacefullest
+people as ever belts on a weepon; but in my instincts--while I never
+jestifies or follows his example--I cl'arly apprehends the emotions
+of a gent who convenes with another gent all sim'lar, an' expresses
+his views with his gun. Sech is human nacher onrestrained, an' the
+same, while deplorable, is not s'prisin'.
+
+"But this yere Olson I has in my mem'ry don't have no sech manly
+feelin's as goes with a gun play. Olson is that cowardly he's even
+furtive; an' for a low-flung measly game let me tell you-all what
+Olson does. It's shorely ornery.
+
+"It all arises years ago, back in Tennessee, an' gets its first
+start out of a hawg which is owned by Olson an' is downed by a gent
+named Hoskins--Bill Hoskins. It's this a-way.
+
+"Back in Tennessee in my dream-wreathed yooth, when livestock goes
+projectin' about permiscus, a party has to build his fences 'bull
+strong, hawg tight, an' hoss high,' or he takes results. Which
+Hoskins don't make his fences to conform to this yere rool none;
+leastwise they ain't hawg tight as is shown by one of Olson's hawgs.
+
+"The hawg comes pirootin' about Hoskins's fence, an' he goes through
+easy; an' the way that invadin' animal turns Bill's potatoes bottom
+up don't hinder him a bit. He shorely loots Bill's lot; that's
+whatever.
+
+"But Bill, perceivin' of Olson's hawg layin' waste his crop, reaches
+down a 8-squar' rifle, 30 to the pound, an' stretches the hawg.
+Which this is where Bill falls into error. Layin' aside them
+deeficiencies in Bill's fence, it's cl'ar at a glance a hawg can't
+be held responsible. Hawgs is ignorant an' tharfore innocent; an'
+while hawgs can be what Doc Peets calls a' CASUS BELLI,' they can't
+be regarded as a foe legitimate.
+
+"Now what Bill oughter done, if he feels like this yore hawg's done
+put it all over him, is to go an' lay for Olson. Sech action by Bill
+would have been some excessive,--some high so to speak; but it would
+have been a line shot. Whereas killin' the hawg is 'way to one side
+of the mark; an' onder.
+
+"However, as I states, Bill bein' hasty that a-way, an' oncapable of
+perhaps refined reasonin', downs the pig, an' stands pat, waitin'
+for Olson to fill his hand, if he feels so moved.
+
+"It's at this pinch where the cowardly nacher of this yere Olson
+begins to shine. He's ugly as a wolf about Bill copperin' his hawg
+that a-way, but he don't pack the nerve to go after Bill an' make a
+round-up of them grievances. An' he ain't allowin' to pass it up
+none onrevenged neither. Now yere's what Olson does; he 'sassinates
+Bill's pet raccoon.
+
+"That's right, son, jest massacres a pore, confidin' raccoon, who
+don't no more stand in on that hawg-killin' of Bill's, than me an'
+you,--don't even advise it.
+
+"Which I shorely allows you saveys all thar is to know about a
+raccoon. No? Well, a raccoon's like this: In the first place he's
+plumb easy, an' ain't lookin' for no gent to hold out kyards or ring
+a cold deck on him. That's straight; a raccoon is simple-minded that
+a-way; an' his impressive trait is, he's meditative. Besides bein'
+nacherally thoughtful, a raccoon is a heap melancholy,--he jest sets
+thar an' absorbs melancholy from merely bein' alive.
+
+"But if a raccoon is melancholy or gets wropped in thought that a-
+way, it's after all his own play. It's to his credit that once when
+he's tamed, he's got mountainous confidence in men, an' will curl up
+to sleep where you be an' shet both eyes. He's plumb trustful; an'
+moreover, no matter how mournful a raccoon feels, or how plumb
+melancholy he gets, he don't pester you with no yarns.
+
+"I reckons I converses with this yere identical raccoon of Bill's
+plenty frequent; when he feels blue, an' ag'in when he's at his
+gailiest, an' he never remarks nothin' to me except p'lite
+general'ties.
+
+"If this yere Olson was a dead game party who regards himse'f
+wronged, he'd searched out a gun, or a knife, or mebby a club, an'
+pranced over an' rectified Bill a whole lot. But he's too timid an'
+too cowardly, an' afraid of Bill. So to play even, he lines out to
+bushwhack this he'pless, oninstructed raccoon. Olson figgers to take
+advantage of what's cl'arly a loop-hole in a raccoon's
+constitootion.
+
+"Mebby you never notices it about a raccoon, but once he gets
+interested in a pursoot, he's rigged so he can't quit none ontil the
+project's a success. Thar's herds an' bands of folks an' animals
+who's fixed sim'lar. They can start, an' they can't let up. Thar's
+bull-dogs: They begins a war too easy; but the c'pacity to quit is
+left out of bull-dogs entire. Same about nose-paint with gents I
+knows. They capers up to whiskey at the beginnin' like a kitten to
+warm milk; an' they never does cease no more. An' that's how the
+kyards falls to raccoons.
+
+"Knowin these yere deefects in raccoons, this Olson plots to take
+advantage tharof; an' by playin' it low on Bill's raccoon, get even
+with Bill about that dead hawg. Which Bill wouldn't have took a
+drove of hawgs; no indeed! not the whole Fall round-up of hawgs in
+all of West Tennessee, an' lose that raccoon.
+
+"It's when Bill's over to Pine Knot layin' in tobacker, an' nose-
+paint an' corn meal, an' sech necessaries, when Olson stands in to
+down Bill's pet. He goes injunnin' over to Bill's an' finds the camp
+all deserted, except the raccoon's thar, settin', battin' his eyes
+mournful an' lonesome on the doorstep. This Olson camps down by the
+door an' fondles the raccoon, an' strokes his coat, an' lets him
+search his pockets with his black hands ontil he gets that friendly
+an' confident about Olson he'd told him anythin'. It's then this
+yere miscreant, Olson, springs his game. "H's got a couple of
+crawfish which he's fresh caught at the Branch. Now raccoons regards
+crawfish as onusual good eatin'. For myse'f, I can't say I deems
+none high of crawfish as viands, but raccoons is different; an' the
+way they looks at it, crawfish is pie.
+
+"This Olson brings out his two crawfish an' fetchin' ajar of water
+from the spring, he drops in a crawfish an' incites an' aggravates
+Zekiel--that's the name of Bill's raccoon--to feel in an' get him a
+whole lot.
+
+"Zekiel ain't none shy on the play. He knows crawfish like a gambler
+does a red chip; so turnin' his eyes up to the sky, like a raccoon
+does who's wropped in pleasant anticipations that a-way, he plunges
+in his paw an' gets it.
+
+"Once Zekiel acquires him, the pore crawfish don't last as long as
+two-bits at faro-bank. When Zekiel has him plumb devoured he turns
+his eyes on Olson, sorter thankful, an' 'waits developments.
+
+"Olson puts in the second crawfish, an' Zekiel takes him into camp
+same as t'other. It's now that Olson onfurls his plot on Zekiel.
+Olson drops a dozen buckshot into the jar of water. Nacherally,
+Zekiel, who's got his mind all framed up touchin' crawfish, goes
+after the buckshot with his fore foot. But it's different with buck-
+shot; Zekiel can't pick 'em up. He tries an' tries with his honest,
+simple face turned up to heaven, but he can't make it. All Zekiel
+can do is feel 'em with his foot, an' roll 'em about on the bottom
+of the jar.
+
+"Now as I remarks prior, when a raccoon gets embarked that a-way, he
+can't quit. He ain't arranged so he can cease. Olson, who's plumb
+aware tharof, no sooner gets Zekiel started on them buckshot, than
+knowin' that nacher can be relied on to play her hand out, he
+sa'nters off to his wickeyup, leavin' Zekiel to his fate. Bill won't
+be home till Monday, an' Olson knows that before then, onless Zekiel
+is interrupted, he'll be even for that hawg Bill drops. As Olson
+cones to a place in the trail where he's goin' to lose sight of
+Bill's camp, he turns an' looks back. The picture is all his revenge
+can ask. Thar sets Zekiel on the doorstep, with his happy
+countenance turned up to the dome above, an' his right paw elbow
+deep in the jar, still rollin' an' feelin' them buckshot 'round, an'
+allowin' he's due to ketch a crawfish every moment.
+
+"Which it works out exactly as the wretched Olson figgers. The sun
+goes down, an' the Sunday sun comes up an' sets again; an' still
+pore Zekiel is planted by the jar, with his hopeful eyes on high,
+still feelin' of them buckshot. He can't quit no more'n if he's
+loser in a poker game; Zekiel can't. When Bill rides up to his door
+about second-drink time Monday afternoon, Olson is shorely even on
+that hawg. Thar lays Zekiel, dead. He's jest set thar with them
+buck-shot an' felt himse'f to death.
+
+"But speakin' of the sapiency of Bill Hoskins's Zekiel," continued
+the old gentleman as we lighted pipes and lapsed into desultory
+puffing, "while Zekiel for a raccoon is some deep, after all you-all
+is jest amazed at Zekiel 'cause I calls your attention to him a
+whole lot. If you was to go into camp with 'em, an' set down an'
+watch 'em, you'd shorely be s'prised to note how level-headed all
+animals be.
+
+"Now if thar's anythin' in Arizona for whose jedgement I don't have
+respect nacheral, it's birds. Arizona for sech folks as you an' me,
+an' coyotes an' jack-rabbits, is a good range. Sech as we-alls
+sorter fits into the general play an' gets action for our stacks.
+But whatever a bird can find entrancin' in some of them Southwestern
+deserts is allers too many for me.
+
+"As I su'gests, I former holds fowls, who of free choice continues a
+residence in Arizona, as imbeciles. Yet now an' then I observes
+things that makes me oncertain if I'm onto a bird's system; an' if
+after all Arizona is sech a dead kyard for birds. It's possible a
+gent might be way off on birds an' the views they holds of life. He
+might watch the play an' esteem 'em loser, when from a bird's p'int
+of view they's makin' a killin', an' even callin' the turn every
+deal.
+
+"What he'ps to open my eyes a lot on birds is two Road Runners Doc
+Peets an' me meets up with one afternoon comin' down from Lordsburg.
+These yere Road Runners is a lanky kind of prop'sition, jest a shade
+off from spring chickens for size. Which their arrangements as to
+neck an' laigs is onrestricted an' liberal, an' their long suit is
+runnin' up an' down the sun-baked trails of Arizona with no object.
+Where he's partic'lar strong, this yere Road Runner, is in waitin'
+ontil some gent comes along, same as Doc Peets an' me that time, an'
+then attachin' of himse'f said cavalcade an' racin' along ahead. A
+Road Runner keeps up this exercise for miles, an' be about the
+length of a lariat ahead of your pony's nose all the time. When you-
+all lets out a link or two an' stiffens your pony with the spur, the
+Road Runner onbuckles sim'lar an' exults tharat. You ain't goin' to
+run up on him while he can wave a laig, you can gamble your last
+chip, an' you confers favors on him by sendin' your pony at him.
+Thar he stays, rackin' along ahead of you ontil satiated. Usual
+thar's two Road Run. ners, an' they clips it along side by side as
+if thar's somethin' in it for 'em; an' I reckons, rightly saveyed,
+thar is. However, the profits to Road Runners of them excursions
+ain't obvious, none whatever; so I won't try to set 'em forth. Them
+journeys they makes up an' down the trail shorely seems aimless to
+me.
+
+"But about Doc Peets an' me pullin' out from Lordsburg for Wolfville
+that evenin': Our ponies is puttin' the landscape behind 'em at a
+good road-gait when we notes a brace of them Road Runners with wings
+half lifted, pacin' to match our speed along the trail in front. As
+Road Runners is frequent with us, our minds don't bother with 'em
+none. Now an' then Doc an' me can see they converses as they goes
+speedin' along a level or down a slope. It's as if one says to
+t'other, somethin' like this yere
+
+"'How's your wind, Bill? Is it comin' easy?'
+
+"'Shore,' it would seem like Bill answers. 'Valves never is in sech
+shape. I'm on velvet; how's your laigs standin' the pace, Jim?'
+
+"'Laigs is workin' like they's new oiled,' Jim replies back; 'it's a
+plumb easy game. I reckons, Bill, me an' you could keep ahead of
+them mavericks a year if we-alls feels like it.'
+
+"'Bet a blue stack on it,' Bill answers. ' I deems these yere gents
+soft. Before I'd ride sech ponies as them, I'd go projectin' 'round
+some night an' steal one.'
+
+"'Them ponies is shorely a heap slothful,' Jim answers.
+
+"'At this mebby them Road Runners ruffles their feathers an' runs on
+swifter, jest to show what a slow racket keepin' ahead of me an'
+Peets is. An' these yere locoed birds keeps up sech conversations
+for hours.
+
+"Mind I ain't sayin' that what I tells you is what them Road Runners
+really remarks; but I turns it over to you-all the way it strikes me
+an' Doc at the time. What I aims to relate, how-ever, is an incident
+as sheds light on how wise an' foxy Road Runners be.
+
+"Doc Peets an' me, as I states, ain't lavishin' no onreasonable
+notice on these yere birds, an' they've been scatterin' along the
+trail for mebby it's an hour, when one of 'em comes to a plumb halt,
+sharp. The other stops likewise an' rounds up ag'inst his mate; an'
+bein' cur'ous to note what's pesterin 'em, Peets an' me curbs to a
+stand-still. The Road Runner who stops first--the same bein' Bill--
+is lookin' sharp an' interested-like over across the plains.
+
+"'Rattlesnake,' he imparts to his side partner.
+
+"'Where's he at?' says the side partner, which is Jim, 'where's this
+yere snake at, Bill? I don't note no rattlesnake.'
+
+"'Come round yere by me,' Bill says. 'Now on a line with the top of
+yonder mesa an' a leetle to the left of that soap-weed; don't you-
+all see him quiled up thar asleep?'
+
+"'Which I shorely does,' says Jim, locatin' the rattlesnake with his
+beady eye, 'an' he's some sunk in slumber. Bill, that serpent is our
+meat.'
+
+"'Move your moccasins easy,' says Bill, 'so's not to turn him out.
+Let's rustle up some flat cactuses an' corral him.'
+
+"Tharupon these yere Road Runners turns in mighty diligent; an' not
+makin' no more noise than shadows, they goes pokin' out on the
+plains ontil they finds a flat cactus which is dead; so they can
+tear off the leaves with their bills. Doc Peets an' me sets in our
+saddles surveyin' their play; an' the way them Road Runners goes
+about the labors of their snake killin' impresses us it ain't the
+first bootchery of the kind they appears in. They shorely don't need
+no soopervisin'.
+
+"One after the other, Jim an' Bill teeters up, all silent, with a
+flat cactus leaf in their beaks, an' starts to fence in the
+rattlesnake with 'em. They builds a corral of cactus all about him,
+which the same is mebby six-foot across. Them engineerin' feats
+takes Jim an' Bill twenty minutes. But they completes 'em; an'
+thar's the rattlesnake, plumb surrounded.
+
+"These yere cactuses, as you most likely saveys, is thorny no limit;
+an' the spikes is that sharp, needles is futile to 'em. Jim an' Bill
+knows the rattlesnake can't cross this thorny corral.
+
+"He don't look it none, but from the way he plays his hand, I takes
+it a rattlesnake is sensitive an' easy hurt onder the chin.
+
+"An' it's plain to me an' Peets them Road Runners is aware of said
+weaknesses of rattlesnakes, an' is bankin' their play tharon. We-
+alls figgers, lookin' on, that Jim an' Bill aims to put the
+rattlesnake in prison; leave him captive that a-way in a cactus
+calaboose. But we don't size up Jim an' Bill accurate at all. Them
+two fowls is shorely profound.
+
+"No sooner is the corral made, than Jim an' Bill, without a word of
+warnin', opens up a warjig 'round the outside; flappin' their
+pinions an' screechin' like squaws. Nacherally the rattlesnake wakes
+up. The sight of them two Road Runners, Jim an' Bill, cussin' an'
+swearin' at him, an' carryin' on that a-way scares him.
+
+"It's trooth to say Bill an' Jim certainly conducts themse'fs
+scand'lous. The epithets they heaps on that pore ignorant
+rattlesnake, the taunts they flings at him, would have done Apaches
+proud.
+
+The rattlesnake buzzes an' quils up, an' onsheaths his fangs, an'
+makes bluffs to strike Bill an' Jim, but they only hops an' dances
+about, thinkin' up more ornery things to say. Every time the
+rattlesnake goes to crawl away--which he does frequent--he strikes
+the cactus thorns an' pulls back. By an' by he sees he's elected,
+an' he gets that enraged he swells up till he's big as two snakes;
+Bill an' Jim maintainin' their sass. Them Road Runners is abreast of
+the play every minute, you can see that.
+
+"At last comes the finish, an' matters gets dealt down to the turn.
+The rattlesnake suddenly crooks his neck, he's so plumb locoed with
+rage an' fear, an' socks his fangs into himse'f. That's the fact;
+bites himse'f, an' never lets up till he's dead.
+
+"It don't seem to astound Jim an' Bill none when the rattlesnake
+'sassinates himse'f that a-way, an' I reckons they has this yere
+sooicide in view. They keeps pesterin' an' projectin' about ontil
+the rattlesnake is plumb defunct, an' then they emits a whirlwind of
+new whoops, an' goes over to one side an' pulls off a skelp dance.
+Jim an' Bill is shorely cel'bratin' a vic'try.
+
+"After the skelp dance is over, Bill an' Jim tiptoes over mighty
+quiet an' sedate, an' Jim takes their prey by the tail an' yanks it.
+After the rattlesnake's drug out straight, him an' Bill runs their
+eyes along him like they's sizin' him up. With this yere last,
+however, it's cl'ar the Road Runners regards the deal as closed.
+They sa'nters off down the trail, arm in arm like, conversin' in low
+tones so Peets an' me never does hear what they says. When they's in
+what they takes to be the c'rrect p'sition, they stops an' looks
+back at me an' Peets. Bill turns to Jim like he's sayin':
+
+"'Thar's them two short-horns ag'in. I wonders if they ever aims to
+pull their freight, or do they reckon they'll pitch camp right
+yere?"'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE."
+
+
+"It mebby is, that romances comes to pass on the range when I'm
+thar," remarked the Old Cattleman, meditatively, "but if so be, I
+never notes 'em. They shorely gets plumb by me in the night."
+
+The old gentleman had just thrown down a daily paper, and even as he
+spoke I read on the upturned page the glaring headline: "Romance in
+Real Life." His recent literature was the evident cause of his
+reflections.
+
+"Of course," continued the Old Cattleman, turning for comfort to his
+inevitable tobacco pipe, "of course, at sech epocks as some degraded
+sharp takes to dealin' double in a poker game, or the kyards begins
+to come two at a clatter at faro-bank, the proceedin's frequent
+takes on what you-all might call a hue of romance; an' I admits they
+was likely to get some hectic, myse'f. But as I states, for what
+you-all would brand as clean. strain romance, I ain't recallin'
+none."
+
+"How about those love affairs of your youth?" I ventured.
+
+"Which I don't deny," replied the old gentleman, between puffs,
+"that back in Tennessee, as I onfolds before, I has my flower-
+scented days. But I don't wed nothin', as you-all knows, an' even
+while I'm ridin' an' ropin' at them young female persons, thar's
+never no romance to it, onless it's in the fact that they all
+escapes.
+
+"But speakin' of love-tangles, Old Man Enright once recounts a
+story; which the same shows how female fancy is rootless an'
+onstable that a-way.
+
+"'Allers copper a female.' says Cherokee Hall, one day, when Texas
+Thompson is relatin' how his wife maltreats him, an' rounds up a
+divorce from him down at Laredo. 'Allers play 'em to lose. Nell,
+yere,' goes on Cherokee, as he runs his hand over the curls of Faro
+Nell, who's lookout for Cherokee, 'Nelly, yere, is the only one I
+ever meets who can be depended on to come winner every trip.'
+
+"'Which females,' says Old Man Enright, who's settin' thar at the
+time, ' an' partic'lar, young females, is a heap frivolous,
+nacheral. A rainbow will stampede most of 'em. For myse'f, I'd
+shorely prefer to try an' hold a bunch of five hundred ponies on a
+bad night, than ride herd on the heart of one lady. Between gent an'
+gent that a-way, I more'n half figger the 'ffections of a female is
+migratory, same as buffaloes was before they was killed, an' sorter
+goes north like in the spring, an' south ag'in in the winter.'
+
+"'As for me; says Texas Thompson, who's moody touchin' them divorce
+plays his wife is makin', 'you-alls can gamble I passes all females
+up. No matter how strong I holds, it looks like on the showdowns
+they outlucks me every time. Wherefore I quits 'em cold, an' any
+gent who wants my chance with females can shorely have the same.'
+
+"'Oh, I don't know!' remarks Doc Peets, gettin' in on what's a
+general play, 'I've been all through the herd, an' I must say I
+deems women good people every time; a heap finer folks than men, an'
+faithfuller.'
+
+"'Which I don't deny females is fine folks,' says Texas, 'but what
+I'm allowin' is, they's fitful. They don't stay none. You-alls can
+hobble an'sideline'em both at night; an' when you rolls out in the
+mornin', they's gone.'
+
+"'What do you-all think, Nell?' says Doc Peets to Faro Nell, who's
+perched up on her stool by Cherokee's shoulder. 'What do you-all
+reckon now of Texas yere, a-malignin' of your sex? Why don't you
+p'int him to Dave Tutt an' Tucson Jennie? Which they gets married,
+an' thar they be, gettin' along as peaceful as two six-shooters on
+the same belt.'
+
+"'I don't mind what Texas says, none,' replies Faro Nell. 'Texas is
+all right, an' on the square". I shouldn't wonder none if this yere
+Missis Thompson does saw it off on him some shabby, gettin' that
+sep'ration, an' I don't marvel at his remarks. But as long as
+Cherokee yere thinks I'm right, I don't let nobody's views pester me
+a little bit, so thar.'
+
+"'It's what I says awhile back,' interrupts Enright. 'Texas
+Thompson's wife's motives mighty likely ain't invidious none. It's a
+heap probable if the trooth is known, that she ain't aimin' nothin'
+speshul at Texas; she only changes her mind. About the earliest
+event I remembers,' goes on Enright, 'is concernin' a woman who
+changes her mind. It's years ago when I'm a yearlin'. Our company is
+makin' a round-up at a camp called Warwhoop Crossin', in Tennessee,
+organizin' to embark in the Mexican war a whole lot, an' thin out
+the Greasers. No one ever does know why I, personal, declar's myse'f
+in on this yere imbroglio. I ain't bigger 'n a charge of powder, an'
+that limited as to laigs I has to clamber onto a log to mount my
+pony.
+
+"'But as I'm tellin', we-alls comes together at Warwhoop to make the
+start. I reckons now thar's five hundred people thar. `'Which the
+occasion, an' the interest the public takes in the business, jest
+combs the region of folks for miles about.
+
+"'Thar's a heap of hand-shakin' an' well-wishin' goin' on; mothers
+an' sisters, an' sweethearts is kissin' us good-bye; an' while
+thar's some hilarity thar's more sobs. It's not, as I looks
+back'ard, what you-alls would call a gay affair.
+
+"'While all this yere love an' tears is flowin', thar's a gent--he's
+our Captain--who's settin' off alone in his saddle, an' ain't takin'
+no hand. Thar's no sweetheart, no mother, no sister for him.
+
+"'No one about Warwhoop knows this yere party much; more'n his name
+is Bent. He's captain with the Gov'nor's commission, an' comes from
+'way-off yonder some'ers. An' so he sets thar, grim an' solid in his
+saddle, lookin' vague-like off at where the trees meets the sky,
+while the rest of us is goin' about permiscus, finishin' up our
+kissin'.
+
+"'"Ain't he got no sweetheart to wish goodbye to him?" asks a girl
+of me. "Ain't thar no one to kiss him for good luck as he rides
+away?"
+
+"'This yere maiden's name is Sanders, an' it's a shore fact she's
+the prettiest young female to ever make a moccasin track in West
+Tennessee. I'd a-killed my pony an' gone afoot to bring sech a look
+into her eyes, as shines thar when she gazes at the Captain where
+he's silent an' sol'tary on his hoss.
+
+"'No," I replies, "he's a orphan, I reckons. He's plumb abandoned
+that a-way, an' so thar's nobody yere to kiss him, or shake his
+hand."
+
+"'This yere pretty Sanders girl--an' I'm pausin' ag'in to state
+she's a human sunflower, that a-way--this Sanders beauty, I'm
+sayin', looks at this party by himse'f for a moment, an' then the
+big tears begins to well in her blue eyes. She blushes like a
+sunset, an' walks over to this yere lone gent.
+
+"'Mister Captain," she says, raisin' her face to him like a rose,
+"I'm shore sorry you ain't got no sweetheart to say 'good-bye;' an'
+bein' you're lonesome, that a-way, I'll kiss you an' say adios
+myse'f."
+
+"'Will you, my little lady?" says the lonesome Captain, as he swings
+from his saddle to the ground by her side; an' thar's sunshine in
+his eyes.
+
+"'I'll think of you every day for that,"he says, when he kisses her,
+"an' if I gets back when the war's done, I'll shorely look for you
+yere."
+
+"'The little Sanders girl--she is shorely as handsome as a ace full
+on kings--blushes a heap vivid at what she's done, an' looks warm
+an' tender. Which, while the play is some onusual an' out of line,
+everybody agrees it's all right; bein' that we-alls is goin' to a
+war, that a-way.
+
+"'Now yere,' goes on Enright, at the same time callin' for red-eye
+all 'round, ' is what youalls agrees is a mighty romantic deal.
+Yere's a love affair gets launched.'
+
+"'Does this yere lone-hand gent who gets kissed by the Sanders lady
+outlive the war?' asks Texas Thompson, who has braced up an' gets
+mighty vivacious listenin' to the story.
+
+"'Which he shorely outlives that conflict,' replies Enright. 'An'
+you can gamble he's in the thick of the stampede, too, every time. I
+will say for this yere Captain, that while I ain't with him plumb
+through, he's as game a sport as ever fought up hill. He's the sort
+which fights an goes for'ard to his man at the same time. Thar's no
+white feathers on that kind; they's game as badgers. An' bad.'
+
+"'Which if he don't get downed none,' says Texas Thompson, 'an' hits
+Tennessee alive, I offers ten to one he leads this yere Sanders
+female to the altar.'
+
+"'Which you'd lose, a whole lot,' says Enright, at the same time
+raisin' his whiskey glass.
+
+"'That's what I states when I trails out on this yere romance.
+Females is frivolous an' plumb light of fancy. This Captain party
+comes back to Warwhoop, say, it's two years an' a half later, an'
+what do you-alls reckon? That Sanders girl's been married mighty
+nigh two yzars, an' has an infant child as big as a b'ar cub, which
+is beginnin' to make a bluff at walkin.'
+
+"'Now, on the squar', an' I'm as s'prised about it as you be--I'm
+more'n s'prised, I'm pained--I don't allow, lookin' over results an'
+recallin' the fact of that b'ar-cub infant child, that for all her
+blushin', an' all her tears, an' kissin' that Captain party good-by
+that a-way, that the Sanders girl cares a hoss-h'ar rope for him in
+a week. An' it all proves what I remarks, that while females ain't
+malev'lent malicious, an' don't do these yere things to pierce a
+gent with grief, their 'ffections is always honin' for the trail,
+an' is shorely prone to move camp. But, bless 'em! they can't he'p
+it none if their hearts be quicksands, an' I libates to 'em ag'in.'
+
+"Whereat we-alls drinks with Enright; feelin' a heap sim'lar.
+
+"'Whatever becomes of this yerc pore Captain party?' asks Faro Nell.
+
+"'Well, the fact about that Captain,' replies Enright, settin' down
+his glass, 'while the same is mere incident, an' don't have no
+direct bearin' on what I relates; the fact in his case is he's
+wedded already. Nacherally after sayin' "howdy!" to the little
+Sanders girl, an' applaudin' of her progeny--which it looks like he
+fully endorses that a-way--this yere Captain gent hits the trail for
+Nashville, where his wife's been keepin' camp an' waitin' for him
+all the time."'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+PINON BILL'S BLUFF.
+
+
+"This narrative is what you-all might call some widespread," said
+the Old Cattleman, as he beamed upon me, evidently in the best of
+humors. "It tells how Pinon Bill gets a hoss on Jack Moore; leaves
+the camp bogged up to the saddle-girths in doubt about who downs
+Burke; an' stakes the Deef Woman so she pulls her freight for the
+States.
+
+"Pinon Bill is reckoned a hard game. He's only in Wolfville now an'
+then, an' ain't cuttin' no figger in public calc'lations more'n it's
+regarded as sagacious to pack your gun while Pinon Bill's about.
+
+"No; he don't down no white men no one ever hears of, but thar's
+stories about how he smuggles freight an' plunder various from
+Mexico, an' drives off Mexican cattle, an' once in awhile stretches
+a Mexican himse'f who objects to them enterprises of Pinon Bill's;
+but thar's nothin' in sech tales to interest Americans, more'n to
+hear 'em an' comment on 'em as plays.
+
+"But while Pinon Bill never turns his talents to American, them
+liberties he takes with Greasers gives him a heap of bad repoote, as
+a mighty ornery an' oneasy person; an' most of us sorter keeps tab
+on him whenever he favors Wolfville with his presence.
+
+"'This time he collides with Jack Moore, an' so to speak, leaves the
+drinks on Jack, he's been trackin' 'round camp mebby it's six weeks.
+
+"'Likewise thar's an old longhorn they calls the 'Major'; he's been
+hangin' about for even longer yet. Don't go to figgerin' on no
+hostilities between this Pinon Bill an' the Major, for their trails
+never does cross once. Another thing' Pinon Bill ain't nacheraliy
+hostile neither; ain't what you-all calls trailin' trouble; whereas
+the Major's also a heap too drunk to give way to war, bein' tanked
+that a-way continuous.
+
+"Which I don't reckon thar's the slightest doubt but the Major's a
+bigger sot than Old Monte, though the same is in dispoote; Cherokee
+Hall an' Boggs a-holdin' he is; an' Doc Peets an' Tutt playin' the
+other end; Enright an' Jack Moore, ondecided.
+
+"Peets confides in me of an' concernin' the Major that thar's a
+time--an' no further up the trail than five years--when the Major is
+shore-'nough a Major; bein' quartermaster or some sech bluff in the
+army.
+
+"But one day Uncle Sam comes along an' wants to cash in; an' thar
+this yere crazy-hoss Major is with ten times as many chips out as
+he's got bank-roll to meet, an' it all fatigues the gov'ment to that
+extent the Major's cashiered, an' told to vamos the army for good.
+
+"I allers allows it's whiskey an' kyards gets the Major's roll that
+time. Peets says he sees him 'way back once over some'ers near the
+Mohave Desert--Wingate, mebby--an' whiskey an' poker has the Major
+roped; one by the horns, the other by the hoofs; an' they jest
+throws him an' drug him, an' drug him an' throws him, alternate. The
+Major never shakes loose from the loops of them vices; none
+whatever.
+
+"An' that's mighty likely, jest as I says, how the Major finds
+himse'f cashiered an' afoot; an' nothin' but disgrace to get rid of
+an' whiskey to get, to fill the future with.
+
+"So it comes when I trails up on the Major he's a drunkard complete,
+hangin' 'round with a tin-horn an' a handful of dice, tryin' to get
+Mexicans or Chinamen to go ag'in 'em for any small thing they names.
+
+"It's on account of this yere drunkard the Major that the Deef Woman
+comes stagin' it in with Old Monte one day. Got a papoose with her,
+the Deef Woman has, a boy comin' three, an' it's my firm belief,
+which this view is common an' frequent with all Wolfville, as how
+the Deef Woman's the Major's wife.
+
+"It ain't no cinch play that this female's deef, neither; which it's
+allers plain she hears the most feeblesome yelp of that infant, all
+the way from the dance-hall to the O. K. House, an' that means
+across the camp complete.
+
+"Boggs puts it up she merely gives it out she's deef that a-way to
+cut off debate with the camp, an' decline all confidences goin' an'
+comin'.
+
+"Thar's no reason to say the Deef Woman's the Major's wife, more'n
+she tumbles into camp as onlooked for as Old Monte sober, an' it's
+easy to note she s'prises an' dismays the Major a lot, even drunk
+an' soaked with nose paint as he shorely is.
+
+"The Deef Woman has a brief pow-wow with him alone over at the O. K.
+House, followin' of which the Major appears the whitiest an' the
+shakiest I ever beholds him--the last bein' some strong as a
+statement--an' after beggin' a drink at the Red Light, p'ints out
+afoot for Red Dog, an' is seen no more.
+
+"What the Deef Woman says to the Major, or him to her; or what makes
+him hit the trail for Red Dog that a-way no one learns. The Deef
+Woman ain't seemin' to regard the Major's jumpin' the outfit as no
+loss, however. Wherein she's plenty accurate, for that Major shorely
+ain't worth ropin' to brand.
+
+"After he's gone--an' the Major's moccasin track ain't never seen in
+Wolfville no more, he's gone that good--the next we-alls hears of
+the deal, this yere Deef Woman's playin' the piano at the dance-
+hall.
+
+"Doc Peets an' Enright, likewise the rest, don't like this none
+whatever, for she don't show dance-hall y'ear marks, an' ain't the
+dance-hall brand; but it looks like they's powerless to interfere.
+
+"Peets tries to talk to her, but she blushes an' can't hear him;
+while Enright an' Missis Rucker--which the last bein' a female
+herse'f is rung in on the play--don't win out nothin' more. Looks
+like all the Deef Woman wants is to be let alone, while she makes a
+play the best she can for a home-stake.
+
+"I pauses to mention, however, that durin' the week the Deef Woman
+turns her game at the piano--for she don't stay only a week as the
+play runs out--she comes mighty near killin' the dance-hall
+business. The fact is this were Deef Woman plays that remarkable
+sweet no one dances at all; jest nacherally sets'round hungerin' for
+them melodies, an' cadences to that extent they actooally overlooks
+drinks.
+
+"That's right; an' you can gamble your deepest chip when folks
+begins to overlook drinks, an' a glass of whiskey lasts energetic
+people half an hour, they's shorely some rapt.
+
+"Even the coyotes cashes in an' quits their howls whenever the Deef
+Woman drug her chair up to that piano an' throws loose. An' them
+coyotes afterward, when she turns up her box an' stops dealin', gets
+that bashful an' taciturn they ain't sayin' a word; but jest
+withholds all yells entire the rest of the night.
+
+"But thar's no use talkin' hours about the Deef Woman's music. It
+only lasts a week; even if Wolfville does brag of it yet.
+
+"It's this a-way: It's while Pinon Bill is romancin' round the time
+I mentions, that we-alls rolls outen our blankets one mornin' an'
+picks up a party whose name's Burke. This yere Burke is shot in the
+back; plumb dead, an' is camped when we finds him all cold an' stiff
+out back of the New York store.
+
+"The day before, Burke, who's a miner, diggin' an' projectin' 'round
+over in the Floridas, is in camp layin' in powder an' fuse a whole
+lot, with which he means to keep on shootin' up the he'pless bosoms
+of the hills like them locoed miner people does.
+
+"At night he's drunk; an' while thar's gents as sees Burke as late,
+mebby it's two hours after the last walse at the dance-hall, thar's
+nobody who ups an' imparts how Burke gets plugged. All Wolfville
+knows is that at first-drink time in the mornin', thar this Burke is
+plumb petered that a-way.
+
+"An' the worst feature shorely is that the bullet goes in his back,
+which makes it murder plain. Thar ain't a moccasin track to he'p
+tell who drops this yere Burke. Nacrerally, everybody's deeply taken
+to know who does it; for if thar's a party in camp who's out to
+shoot when your back's turned, findin' of him an' hangin' him can't
+be too pop'lar an' needful as a play. But, as I remarks, we're
+baffled, an' up ag'inst it absoloote. No one has the least notion
+who gets this yere Burke. It's money as is the object of the murder,
+for Burke's war-bags don't disclose not a single centouse when the
+committee goes through 'em prior to the obsequies.
+
+"It's two days the camp is talkin' over who does this crime, when
+Texas Thompson begins to shed a beam of light. This last was
+onlooked for, an' tharfore all the more interestin'.
+
+"Texas Thompson is a jedge of whiskey sech as any gent might tie to.
+He's a middlin' shot with a Colt's .44 an' can protect himse'f at
+poker. But nobody ever reckons before that Texas can think. Which I
+even yet deems this partic'lar time a inspiration, in which event
+Texas Thompson don't have to think.
+
+"It's over in the Red Light the second after. noon when Texas turns
+loose a whole lot.
+
+"'Enright,' he says, 'I shore has a preemonition this yere Burke
+gets plugged by Pinon Bill.'
+
+"'How does the kyards run so as to deal s'picions on Pinon Bill?'
+says Enright.
+
+"'This a-way,' says Texas, some confident an' cl'ar; 'somebody downs
+Burke; that's dead certain. Burke don't put that hole in the middle
+of his back himse'f; no matter how much he reckons it improves him.
+Then, when it's someone else who is it? Now,' goes on Texas, as glib
+as wolves, 'yere's how I argues: You-all don't do it; Peets don't do
+it; Boggs don't do it; thar's not one of us who does it. An' thar
+you be plumb down to Pinon Bill. In the very nacher of the deal,
+when no one else does it an' it's done, Pinon Bill's got to do it. I
+tells you as shore as my former wife at Laredo's writin' insultin'
+letters to me right now, this yere Pinon Bill's the party who shoots
+up that miner gent Burke.'
+
+"What Texas Thompson says makes an impression; which it's about the
+first thoughtful remark he ever makes, an' tharfore we're prone to
+give it more'n usual attention.
+
+"We imbibes on it an' talks it up an' down, mebby it's half an hour;
+an' the more we drinks an' the harder we thinks, the cl'arer it
+keeps gettin' that mighty likely this yere Texas has struck the
+trail. At last Jack Moore, who's, as I often says, prompt an'
+vig'lant that a-way, lines out to hunt this yere Pinon Bill.
+
+"Whyever do they call him Pinon Bill? Nothin' much; only once he
+comes into camp drunk an' locoed; an' bein' in the dark an' him
+hawg-hungry, he b'iles a kettle of pinon-nuts, a-holdin' of 'em
+erroneous to be beans, an' as sech aimin' to get some food outen 'em
+a whole lot. He goes to sleep while he's pesterin' with 'em, an'
+when the others tumbles to his game in the mornin', he's branded as
+'Pinon Bill' ever more.
+
+"When Jack hops out to round-up Pinon Bill, all he does is go into
+the street. The first thing he notes is this yere Pinon Bill's pony
+standin' saddled over by the O. K. House, like he plans to pull his
+freight.
+
+"'Which that bronco standin' thar,' says Jack to Enright, 'makes it
+look like Texas calls the turn with them surmises.' An' it shorely
+does.
+
+"This pony makes Jack's play plenty simple; all he does now is to
+sa'nter 'round the pony casooal like an' lay for Pinon Bill.
+
+"Jack's too well brought up to go surgin' into rooms lookin' for
+Pinon Bill, where Jack's eyes comin' in outen the sun that a-way,
+can't see for a minute nohow, an' where Pinon Bill has advantages.
+It's better to wait for him outside.
+
+"You-all saveys how it's done in the West. When a gent's needed you
+allers opens the game with a gun-play.
+
+"'Hold up your hands!' says you, sorter indicatin' a whole lot at
+your prey with a gun.
+
+"Which, by the way, if he don't enter into the sperit of the thing
+prompt an' p'int his paws heavenward an' no delay, you-all mustn't
+fall into no abstractions an' forget to shoot some. When you
+observes to a fellow-bein' that a-way
+
+'Hold up your hands!' you must be partic'lar an' see he does it.
+Which if you grows lax on this p'int he's mighty likely to put your
+light out right thar.
+
+"An' jest as Jack Moore tells me once when we're puttin' in some
+leesure hours an' whiskey mingled, you don't want to go too close to
+standup your gent. Over in the Gunnison country, Jack says, a
+marshal he knows gets inadvertent that a-way, an' thoughtless, an'
+goes up close.
+
+"'Throw up your hands' says this yere marshal.
+
+"His tone shows he's ennuied; he has so many of these yere blazers
+to run; that's why he's careless, mebby. When the party throws up
+his hands, he is careful an knocks the marshal's gun one side with
+his left hand, bein' he's too close as I says, at the same time
+pullin' his own wherewith he then sends that marshal to the happy
+huntin' grounds in one motion. Before ever that Gunnison offishul
+gets it outen his head that that sport's holdin' up his hands, he's
+receivin' notice on high to hustle 'round an' find his harp an'
+stand in on the eternal chorus for all he's worth.
+
+"'Which the public,' says Jack Moore, the time he relates about this
+yere Gunnison marshal bein over-played that time, 'takes an' hangs
+the killer in a minute. An' he's shorely a bad man.
+
+"'Does you-all want to pray?" says one of the gents who's stringin'
+of him.
+
+"'No, Ed," he says that a-way, "prayin's a blind trail to my eyes
+an' I can't run it a inch."
+
+"'"What for a racket," says this yere Ed, "would it be to pick out a
+sport to pray for you a whole lot; sorter play your hand?"
+
+"'"That's all right," says this culprit. "Nominate your sharp an'
+tell him to wade in an' roll his game. I reckons it's a good hedge,
+an' a little prayin' mebby does me good."
+
+"'Tharupon the committee puts for'ard a gent who's a good talker;
+but not takin' an interest much, he makes a mighty weak orison, that
+a-way. Thar's nohody likes it, from the culprit, who's standin' thar
+with the lariat 'round his neck, to the last gent who's come up.
+This party blunders along, mebby it's a minute, when the culprit,
+who's plumb disgusted, breaks in.
+
+"'"That's a hell of a pra'r," he says, "an' I don't want no more of
+it in mine. Gimme a drink of whiskey, gents, an' swing me off."
+
+"'The committee, whose sympathies is all with this yere party who's
+to hang, calls down the gent a heap who's prayin', gives the other
+his forty drops, an' cinches him up some free of the ground; which
+the same bein' ample for strang'lation.
+
+"'But,' concloods Jack, 'while they hangs him all right an' proper,
+that don't put off the funeral of the marshal none, who gets
+careless an' goes too close.' An' you bet Jack's right.
+
+"But goin' back: As I remarks, Jack stands round loose an'
+indifferent with his eye on the pony of Pinon Bill's, which it looks
+now like this yere Bill is aware of Jack's little game. He comes out
+shore-'nough, but he's organized. He's got his gun in his hand; an'
+also he's packin' the Deef Woman's yearlin' in front of his breast
+an' face.
+
+"Jack gives him the word, but Pinon Bill only laughs. Then Jack
+makes a bluff with his gun like he's goin' to shoot Pinon Bill, the
+infant, an' all involved tharin. This yere last move rattles Pinon
+Bill, an' he ups an' slams loose at Jack. But the baby's in his way
+as much mebby as it is in Jack's, an' he only grazes Jack's frame a
+whole lot, which amounts to some blood an' no deep harm.
+
+"'Down his pony, Jack!' shouts Dave Tutt, jumpin' outen the Red
+Light like he aims to get in on the deal.
+
+"But this yere Pinon Bill shifts the cut on 'em.
+
+"'If one of you-alls so much as cracks a cap,' he says, 'I blows the
+head offen this yere blessed child.'
+
+"An' tharupon he shoves his gun up agin that baby's left y'ear that
+a-way, so it shore curdles your blood. He does it as readily as if
+it's grown-up folks. It shore sends a chill through me; an' Dan
+Boggs is that 'fected he turns plumb sick. Boggs ain't eatin' a
+thing, leastwise nothin' but whiskey, for two days after he sees
+Pinon Bill do it.
+
+"'That's on the level,' says this Pinon Bill ag'in.--The first
+vestich of a gun-play I witnesses, or if any gent starts to follow
+me ontil I'm a mile away, I'll send this yearlin' scoutin' after
+Burke. An' you-alls hears me say it.'
+
+"Thar it is; a squar' case of stand-off. Thar ain't a gent who's
+game to make a move. Seein' we ain't got a kyard left to play, this
+yere Pinon Bill grins wide an' satisfactory, an' swings into the
+saddle.
+
+"All this time--which, after all, it ain't so long--the baby ain't
+sayin' nothin', and takes the deal in plumb silence. But jest as
+Pinon Bill lands in the saddle it onfurls a yell like a wronged
+panther. That's what brings the Deef Woman stampedin' to the scene.
+She don't hear a morsel of all this riot Jack an' Tutt an' Pinon
+Bill kicks up; never even gets a hint of Pinon Bill's six-shooter.
+But with the earliest squeak of that infant that a-way, you bet! she
+comes a-runnin'.
+
+"The second she sees where her baby's at, up in the saddle along
+with Pinon Bill, she makes a spring for the whole outfit. We-alls
+stands lookin' on. Thar ain't one of us dares crook a finger, for
+this Pinon Bill is cool an' ca'm plumb through. He's still got the
+drop on the kid, while he's holdin' baby an' bridle both with the
+other arm an' hand. His sharp eyes is on the Deef Woman, too.
+
+"She springs, but she never makes it. Pinon Bill jumps his pony
+sideways out of her reach, an' at that the Deef Woman c'lapses on
+her face an' shoulder in a dead swoon.
+
+"'Adios!' says Pinon Bill, to the rest of us, backin' an' sidlin'
+his pony up the street so he don't lose sight of the play. 'Ten
+minutes from now you-alls finds this yere infant a mile from camp as
+safe an' solid as a sod house.'
+
+"'Bill,' says Enright, all at once, 'I makes you a prop'sition.
+Restore the baby to me, an' thar ain't a gent in camp who follows
+you a foot. I gives you the word of Wolfville.'
+
+"'Does that go?' demands Pinon Bill, turnin to Jack, who's shakin'
+the blood offen his fingers where it runs down his arm.
+
+"'It goes,' says Jack; 'goes wherever Enright sets it. I makes good
+his bluffs at all times on foot or in the stirrups.'
+
+"'An' I takes your promise,' says Pinon Bill with a laugh, 'an'
+yere's the baby. Which now I'm goin', I don't mind confidin' in you-
+alls,' goes on this Pinon Bill, 'that I never intends to hurt that
+infant nohow.'
+
+"Enright gets the child, an' in no time later that Pinon Bill is
+fled from sight. You can believe it; it takes a load offen the
+public mind about that infant when the kyards comes that a-way.
+
+"Which the story's soon told now. It's three days later, an', seein'
+it's refreshed in our thoughts, Enright an' the rest of us is
+resoomed op'rations touchin' this Deef Woman, about gettin' her
+outen camp, an' she's beginnin' to recover her obduracy about not
+sayin' or hearin' nothin', when in comes a package by Old Monte an'
+the stage. It's for Enright from that hoss. thief, Pinon Bill.
+Thar's a letter an'
+Soo for the baby.
+
+"'Tell that Decf Woman,' says this yere Pinon Bill, 'that I has an
+even thousand dollars in my war-bags, when I stacks in her offspring
+ag'inst the camp to win; an' I deems it only squar' to divide the
+pot with the baby. The kid an' me's partners in the play that a-way,
+an' the enclosed is the kid's share. Saw this yere dinero off on her
+somehow; an' make her pull her freight. Wolfville's no good place to
+raise that baby.'
+
+"'Which this Pinon Bill ain't so bad neither,' says Dan Boggs, when
+he hears it. 'Gents, I proposes the health of this outlaw. Barkeep,
+see what they takes in behalf of Pinon Bill.'
+
+"The letter an' the money's dead straight, an' the Deef Woman can't
+dodge or go 'round. All of which Missis Rucker takes a day off an'
+beats it into her by makin' signs. It's like two Injuns talkin'. It
+all winds up by the Deef Woman p'intin' out on her way some'ers
+East, an' thar ain't one of us ever sees the Major, the Deef Woman,
+the kid, nor yet this Pinon Bill, no more. Which this last, however,
+is not regarded as food for deep regrets,"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+CRAWFISH JIM.
+
+
+"Don't I never tell you the story of the death of Crawfish Jim?"
+
+The Old Cattleman bent upon me an eye of benevolent inquiry. I
+assured him that the details of the taking off of Crawfish Jim were
+as a sealed book to me. But I would blithely listen.
+
+"What was the fate of Crawfish Jim?"I asked. The name seemed a
+promise in itself.
+
+"Nothin' much for a fate, Crawfish's ain't," rejoined the Old
+Cattleman. "Nothin' whatever compared to some fates I keeps tabs
+onto. It was this a-way: Crawfish Jim was a sheep-man, an' has a
+camp out in the foothills of the Tres Hermanas, mebby it's thirty
+miles back from Wolfville. This yere Crawfish Jim was a pecooliar
+person; plumb locoed, like all sheep-men. They has to be crazy or
+they wouldn't pester 'round in no sech disrepootable pursoots as
+sheep.
+
+You-all has seen these yere gents as makes pets of snakes. Mebby
+it's once in a thousand times you cuts the trail of sech a party.
+Snakes is kittens to him, an' he's likely to be packin' specimens
+'round in his clothes any time.
+
+"That's the way with this Crawfish Jim. I minds talkin' to him at
+his camp one day when I'm huntin' a bunch of cattle. The first I
+notes, snake sticks his head outen Crawfish's shirt, an' looks at me
+malev'lent and distrustful. Another protroods its nose out up by
+Crawfish's collar.
+
+"'Which you shore seems ha'nted of snakes?' I says, steppin' back
+an' p'intin' at the reptiles.
+
+"'Them's my dumb companions,' says Crawfish Jim. 'They shares my
+solitood.'
+
+"'You-all do seem some pop'lar with 'em,' I observes, for I saveys
+at once he's plumb off his mental reservation; an' when a party's
+locoed that a-way it makes him hostile if you derides his little
+game or bucks his notions.
+
+"I takes grub with Crawfish that same day; good chuck, too; mainly
+sheep-meat, salt-hoss, an' bakin'-powder biscuit. I watches him some
+narrow about them snakes he's infested with; I loathin' of 'em, an'
+not wantin' 'em to transfer no love to me, nor take to enlivenin' my
+secloosion none.
+
+"Well, son, this yere Crwafish Jim is as a den of serpents. I
+reckons now he has a plumb dozen mowed away in his raiment. Thar's
+no harm in 'em; bein' all bull-snakes, which is innocuous an'
+without p'ison, fangs, or convictions.
+
+"When Crawfish goes to cook, he dumps these folks oaten his clothes,
+an' lets 'em hustle an'play'round while grub's gettin'.
+
+"'These yere little animals,' he says, 'likes their reecreations
+same as humans, so I allers gives 'em a play-spell while I'm busy
+round camp.'
+
+'"Don't they ever stampede off none?' I asks.
+
+"'Shorely not,' says Crawfish. 'Bull-snakes is the most domestical
+snake thar is. If I'd leave one of these yere tender creatures ere
+over night he'd die of homesickness.'
+
+"When Crawfish gets ready to bile the coffee, he tumbles the biggest
+bullsnake I'd seen yet outen the coffee-pot onto the grass. Then he
+fills the kettle with water, dumps in the coffee, an' sets her on
+the coals to stew.
+
+"'This yere partic'lar snake,' says Crawfish, 'which I calls him
+Julius Caesar, is too big to tote 'round in my shirt, an' so he
+lives in the coffee-pot while I'm away, an' keeps camp for me.'
+
+"'Don't you yearn for no rattlesnakes to fondle?' I inquires, jest
+to see what kyard he'd play.
+
+"'No,' he says, 'rattlesnakes is all right--good, sociable, moral
+snakes enough; but in a sperit of humor they may bite you or some
+play like that, an' thar you'd be. No; bull-snakes is as 'fectionate
+as rattles, an' don't run to p'ison. You don't have no
+inadvertencies with 'em.'
+
+"'Can't you bust the fangs outen rattlesnakes?' I asks.
+
+"'They grows right in ag'in,' says Crawfish, same as your finger-
+nails. I ain't got no time to go scoutin' a rattlesnake's mouth
+every day, lookin' up teeth, so I don't worry with 'em, but plays
+bull-snakes straight. This bein' dentist for rattlesnakes has resks,
+which the same would be foolish to assoom.'
+
+"While grub's cookin' an' Crawfish an' me's pow-wowin', a little old
+dog Crawfish has--one of them no-account nce-dogs--comes up an'
+makes a small uprisin' off to one side with Julius Caesar. The dog
+yelps an' snaps, an' Julius Caesar blows an' strikes at him, same as
+a rattle. snake. However, they ain't doin' no harm, an' Crawfish
+don't pay no heed.
+
+"'They's runnin' blazers on each other,' says Crawfish, 'an' don't
+mean nothin'. Bimeby Caribou Pete--which the same is the dog--will
+go lie down an' sleep; an' Julius Caesar will quile up ag'in him to
+be warm. Caribou, bein' a dog that a-way, is a warm-blood animal,
+while pore Julius has got cold blood like a fish. So he goes over
+an' camps on Caribou, an' all the same puts his feet on him for to
+be comfortable.'
+
+"Of course, I'm a heap interested in this yere snake knowledge, an'
+tells Crawfish so. But it sorter coppers my appetite, an' Crawfish
+saves on sheep-meat an' sow-belly by his discourse powerful.
+Thinkin' an' a-lookin' at them blessed snakes, speshul at Julius
+Cmsar, I shore ain't hungry much. But as you says: how about
+Crawfish Jim gettin' killed?
+
+"One day Crawfish allows all alone by himse'f he'll hop into
+Wolfville an' buy some stuff for his camp,--flour, whiskey,
+tobacker, air-tights, an' sech.
+
+"What's air-tights? Which you Eastern shorthorns is shore ignorant.
+Air-tights is can peaches, can tomatters, an' sim'lar bluffs.
+
+"As I was sayin', along comes pore old Crawfish over to Wolfville;
+rides in on a burro. That's right, son; comes loafin' along on a
+burro like a Mexican. These yere sheep-men is that abandoned an'
+vulgar they ain't got pride to ride a hoss.
+
+"Along comes Crawfish on a burro, an' it's his first visit to
+Wolfville. Yeretofore the old Cimmaron goes over to Red Dog for his
+plunder, the same bein' a busted low-down camp on the Lordsburg
+trail, which once holds it's a rival to Wolfville. It ain't,
+however; the same not bein' of the same importance, commercial, as a
+prairie-dog town.
+
+"This time, however, Crawfish pints up for Wolfville. An' to make
+himse'f loved, I reckons, whatever does he do but bring along Julius
+Caesar.
+
+"I don't reckon now he ever plays Julius Caesar none on Red Dog.
+Mighty likely this yere was the bull-snake's first engagement. I
+clings to this notion that Red Dog never sees Julius Caesar; for if
+she had, them drunkards which inhabits said camp wouldn't have quit
+yellin' yet. Which Julius Caesar, with that Red Dog whiskey they was
+soaked in, would have shore given 'em some mighty heenous visions.
+Fact is, Crawfish told Jack Moore later he never takes Julius Caesar
+nowhere before.
+
+"But all the same Crawfish prances into camp on this yere occasion
+with Julius bushwacked 'way 'round back in his shirt, an' sech
+vacant spaces about his person as ain't otherwise occupied a-
+nourishin' of minor bull-snakes plenty profuse.
+
+"Of course them snakes is all holdin' back, bein', after all, timid
+cattle; an' so none of us s'spects Crawfish is packin' any sech
+s'prises. None of the boys about town knows of Crawfish havin' this
+bull-snake habit but me, nohow. So the old man stampedes'round an'
+buys what he's after, an' all goes well. Nobody ain't even dreamin'
+of reptiles.
+
+"At last Crawfish, havin' turned his little game for flour, air-
+tights, an' jig-juice, as I says, gets into the Red Light, an'
+braces up ag'in the bar an' calls for nose-paint all 'round. This
+yere is proper an' p'lite, an' everybody within hearin' of the yell
+lines up.
+
+"It's at this crisis Crawfish Jim starts in to make himse'f a
+general fav'ritc. Everybody's slopped out his perfoomcry, an' Dan
+Boggs is jest sayin': 'Yere's lookin' at you, Crawfish,' when that
+crazy-boss shepherd sorter swarms 'round inside his shirt with his
+hand, an' lugs out Julius Cesar be the scruff of his neck, a-
+squirmin' an' a-blowin', an' madder'n a drunken squaw. Once he gets
+Julius out, he spreads him 'round profuse on the Red Light bar an'
+sorter herds him with his hand to keep him from chargin' off among
+the bottles.
+
+"'Gents,' says this locoed Crawfish, 'I ain't no boaster, but I
+offers a hundred to fifty, an' stands to make it up to a thousand
+dollars in wool or sheep, Julius Caesar is the fattest an' finest
+serpent in Arizona; also the best behaved.'
+
+"Thar ain't no one takin' Crawfish's bet. The moment he slams Julius
+on the bar, more'n ten of our leadin' citizens falls to the floor in
+fits, an' emerges outen one par'xysm only to slump into another.
+Which we shorely has a general round-up of all sorts of spells.
+
+"'Whatever's the matter of you-all people?' says Crawfish, lookin'
+mighty aghast. 'Thar's no more harm in Julius Caesar than if he's a
+fullblown rose.'
+
+"Jack Moore, bein' marshal, of course stands his hand. It's his
+offishul dooty to play a pat hand on bull-snakes an' danger in all
+an' any forms. An' Jack does it.
+
+"While Crawfish is busy recountin' the attainments of Julius Caesar,
+a-holdin' of his pet with one hand, Jack Moore takes a snap shot at
+him along the bar with his six-shooter, an' away goes Julius
+Caesar's head like a puff of smoke. Then Moore rounds up Crawfish,
+an', perceivin' of the other bull-snakes, he searches 'em out one by
+one an' massacres 'em.
+
+"'Call over Doc Peets,' says Jack Moore final, 'an' bring Boggs an'
+Tutt an' the rest of these yere invalids to.'
+
+"Doc Peets an' Enright both trails in on the lope from the New York
+Store. They hears Moore's gun-play an' is cur'ous, nacheral 'nough,
+to know who calls it. Well, they turns in an' brings the other
+inhabitants outen their fits; pendin' which Moore kills off the last
+remainin' bull-snake in Crawfish's herd.
+
+"Son, I've seen people mad, an' I've seen 'em gay, an' I've seen 'em
+bit by grief. But I'm yere to remark I never runs up on a gent who
+goes plumb mad with sadness ontil I sees Crawfish that day Jack
+Moore immolates his bull-snake pets. He stands thar, white, an'
+ain't sayin' a word. Looks for a minute like he can't move. Crawfish
+don't pack no gun, or I allers allowed we'd had notice of him some,
+while them bullsnakes is cashin' in.
+
+"But at last he sorter comes to, an' walks out without sayin'
+nothin'. They ain't none of us regardin' of him much at the time;
+bein' busy drinkin' an' recoverin' from the shock.
+
+"Now, what do you s'pose this old Navajo does? Lopes straight over
+to the New York Store--is ca'm as a June day about it, too--an' gets
+a six-shooter.
+
+"The next information we gets of Crawfish, 'bang!' goes his new gun,
+an' the bullet cuts along over Jack Moore's head too high for
+results. New gun that a-way, an' Crawfish not up on his practice; of
+course he overshoots.
+
+"Well, the pore old murderer never does get a second crack. I
+reckons eight people he has interested shoots all at once, an'
+Crawfish Jim quits this earthly deal unanimous. He stops every
+bullet; eight of 'em, like I says.
+
+"'Thar ain't a man of us who don't feel regrets; but what's the use?
+Thar we be, up ag'inst the deal, with Crawfish clean locoed. It's
+the only wagon-track out.
+
+"'I shore hopes he's on the hot trail of them bull-snakes of his'n,'
+says Dan Boggs, as we lays Crawfish out on a monte-table. 'Seems
+like he thought monstrous well of 'em, an' it would mighty likely
+please him to run up on 'em where he's gone.'
+
+"Whatever did we do? Why, we digs a grave out back of the dance-hall
+an' plants Crawfish an' his pets tharin.
+
+"'I reckons we better bury them reptiles, too,' says Doc Peets, as
+we gets Crawfish stretched out all comfortable in the bottom. 'If
+he's lookin' down on these yere ceremonies it'll make him feel
+easier.'
+
+"Doc Peets is mighty sentimental an' romantic that a-way, an' allers
+thinks of the touchin' things to do, which I more'n once notices
+likewise, that a gent bein' dead that a-way allers brings out the
+soft side of Peets's nacher. You bet! he's plumb sympathetic.
+
+"We counts in the snakes. Thar's 'leven of 'em besides Julius
+Caesar; which we lays him on Crawfish's breast. You can find the
+grave to-day.
+
+"Shore! we sticks up a headboard. It says on it, the same bein'
+furnished by Doc Peets--an' I wants to say Doc Peets is the best
+eddicated gent in Arizona-as follows
+
+     SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
+     CRAWFISH JIM, JULIUS CAESAR
+     AND
+     ELEVEN OTHER BULL SNAKES,
+     THEY MEANT WELL,
+     BUT THEY MISUNDERSTOOD EXISTENCE
+     AND DIED.
+
+     THIS BOARD WAS REARED BY AN
+     ADMIRING CIRELE OF FRIENDS
+     WHO WAS WITH DECEASED
+     TO THE LAST.
+
+"An' don't you-all know, son, this yere onfortunate weedin' out of
+pore Crawfish that a-way, sorter settles down on the camp an' preys
+on us for mighty likely it's a week. It shorely is a source of
+gloom. Moreover, it done gives Dan Boggs the fan-tods. As I relates
+prior, Boggs is emotional a whole lot, an' once let him get what
+you-all calls a shock--same, for instance, as them bull-snakes--its
+shore due to set Boggs's intellects to millin'. An' that's what
+happens now. We-alls don't get Boggs; bedded down none for ten days,
+his visions is that acoote.
+
+"'Which of course,' says Boggs, while we-all s settin' up
+administerin' things to him, 'which of course I'm plumb aware these
+yere is mere illoosions; but all the same, as cl'ar as ever I notes
+an ace, no matter where I looks at, I discerns that Julius Caesar
+serpent a-regardin' me reproachful outen the atmospher. An' gents,
+sech spectacles lets me out a heap every time. You-alls can gamble,
+I ain't slumberin' none with no snake-spook that a-way a-gyardin' of
+my dreams.'
+
+"That's all thar is to the death of Crawfish Jim. Thar ain't no harm
+in him, nor yet, I reckons, in Julius Caesar an' the rest of
+Crawfish's fam'ly. But the way they gets tangled up with Wolfville,
+an' takes to runnin' counter to public sentiment an' them eight six-
+shooters, Crawfish an' his live-stock has to go."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Wolfville, by Alfred Henry Lewis
+