WOLFVILLE

BY

ALFRED HENRY LEWIS(Dan Quin)

TOWILLIAM 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 EXPERIENCECHAPTER 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 adozen people. They have read, criticised, and advised. The advicewas good; the criticism just. Some suggested a sketch which might indetail set forth Toffville; there were those who wanted somethinglike a picture of the Old Cattleman; while others urged anelaboration of the personal characteristics of Old Man Enright, DocPeets, Cherokee Hall, Moore, Tutt, Boggs, Faro Nell, Old Monte, andTexas Thompson. I have, how-ever, concluded to leave all thesematters to the illustrations of Mr. Remington and the imaginationsof those who read. I think it the better way-certainly it is theeasier one for me. I shall therefore permit the Old Cattleman totell his stories in his own fashion. The style will be crude, abrupt, and meagre, but I trust it will prove as satisfactory to thereader 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 OldCattleman, "is the first real funeral Wolfville has. "

The old fellow had lighted a cob pipe and tilted his chair back in afashion which proclaimed a plan to be comfortable. He had begun totolerate--even encourage--my society, although it was clear that asa tenderfoot he regarded me with a species of gentle disdain. 

I had provoked the subject of funeral ceremonies by a recurrence tothe affair of the Yellowhouse Man, and a query as to what would havebeen the programme of the public-spirited hamlet of Wolfville ifthat invalid had died instead of yielding to the nursing of JackMoore and that tariff on draw-poker which the genius of Old ManEnright decreed. 

It came in easy illustration, as answer to my question, for the OldCattleman to recall the funeral of a former leading spirit ofSouthwestern society. The name of this worthy was Jack King; andwith a brief exposition of his more salient traits, my grizzledraconteur led down to his burial with the remark before quoted. 

"Of course, " continued the Old Cattleman, "of course while thar'ssome like this Yallerhouse gent who survives; thar's others of theboys who is downed one time an' another, an' goes shoutin' home toheaven by various trails. But ontil the event I now recalls, theremainders has been freighted east or west every time, an' the campgets left. It's hard luck, but at last it comes toward us; an' tharwe be one day with a corpse all our'n, an' no partnership withnobody 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 villagesthey 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 assech. Which prior tharto, Jack's been peevish, an' pesterin' an'pervadin' 'round for several days. The camp stands a heap o' troublewith 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 onlyhuman, an' when Jack starts in one night to make a flush beat a trayfull 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 DocPeets to deal the game unanimous. 

"'Gents, ' he says, as we-alls turns into the Red Light to berefreshed, 'in assoomin' the present pressure I feels thecompliments paid me in the seelection. I shall act for the credit ofthe camp, an' I needs your help. I desires that these rites be ahowlin' vict'ry. I don't want people comin' 'round next weekallowin' thar ain't been no funeral, an' I don't reckon much thatthey will. We've got the corpse, an' if we gets bucked off now it'sour 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 milefrom camp. In order to make a funeral a success, you needs distance. That's where deceased gets action. It gives the procession a chanceto spread an' show up. You can't make no funeral imposin' exceptyou're plumb liberal on distances. '

"It all goes smooth right off the reel. We gets a box an' graveready, an' Peets sticks up a notice on the stage-station door, settin' the excitement for third-drink time next day. Prompt at thedrop of the hat the camp lets go all holds an' turns loose in a bodyto put Jack through right. He's laid out in splendid shape in theNew York Store, with nothin' to complain of if he's asked to makethe kick himse'f. He has a new silk necktie, blue shirt an' pearlbuttons, trousers, an' boots. Some one--Benson Annie, I reckons--haspasted some co't plaster over the hole on his cheek-bone where thebullet gets in, an' all 'round Jack looks better than I ever seeshim. 

"'Let the congregation remove its hats, ' says Peets, a-settin' downon a box up at Jack's head, 'an' as many as can will please getsomethin' to camp on. Now, my friends, " he continues, "thar ain't noneed of my puttin' on any frills or gettin' in any scroll work. Theobjects of this convention is plain an' straight. Mister King, herepresent, is dead. Deceased is a very headstrong person, an' persistsyesterday in entertainin' views touchin' a club flush, queen at thehead, which results in life everlastin'. Now, gents, this is aracket full of solemnity. We wants nothin' but good words. Don'tmind about the trooth; which the same ain't in play at a funeral, nohow. We all knows Jack; we knows his record. Our information isample that a-way; how he steals a hoss at Tucson; how be robs a gentlast fall at Tombstone; how he downs a party at Cruces; how thatscar on his neck he gets from Wells-Fargo's people when he stands upthe stage over on the Lordsburg trail. But we lays it all aside to-day. We don't copper nary bet. Yesterday mornin', accompanied by thereport of a Colt's forty-five, Mister King, who lies yere so coolan' easy, leaves us to enter in behind the great white shinin' gatesof pearl an' gold, which swings inward to glory eternal. It's agreat 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 ourbest. At a time like this I hears that singin' is a good, safebreak, an' I tharfore calls on that little girl from Flagstaff togive 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 onthe 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 chapterouten these yere Testaments, ' he says. 'I ain't makin' no claim forit, except it's part of the game an' accordin' to Hoyle. If thar's apreacher yere he'd do it, but bein' thar's no sech brand on thisrange 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 toan inward impulse to say that this yere play weighs on me plumbheavy. 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 isvariable an' oncertain; an' it's cl'arly worth while to wear yourgun while he's hoverin' near, I loves him. He has his weaknesses, asdo we all. A disp'sition to make new rooles as he plays along forsech games of chance as enjoys his notice is perhaps his greatestfailin'. His givin' way to this habit is primar'ly the cause of hisbein' garnered in. I hopes he'll get along thar, an' offers a sidebet, even money, up to five hundred dollars, he will. He may alterhis system an' stand way up with the angels an' seraphs, an' ifwords from me could fix it, I'd shorely stack 'em in. I would sayfurther that after consultin' with Billy Burns, who keeps the RedLight, we has, in honor of the dead an' to mark the occasion of hiscashin' in, agreed upon a business departure of interest to all. This departure Mister Burns will state. I mournfully gives way tohim for said purpose. '

"'Mister Peets, an' ladies an' gents, ' says Burns, 'like MisterHamilton, who I'm proud to meet yere as gent, citizen, an' friend, Iknows deceased. He's a good man, an' a dead-game sport from 'wayback. A protracted wrastle with the remorseless drinks of thefrontier had begun to tell on him, an' for a year or so he's beenliable to have spells. Referrin' to the remarks of Mister Hamilton, I states that by agreement between us an' in honor to departed, thequotations on whiskey in this yere camp, from now on, will be twodrinks for two bits, instead of one as previous. We don't want toonsettle trade, an' we don't believe this will. We makes it as a rayof light in the darkness an' gloom of the hour. 

"After this yere utterance, which is well received, we forms theprocession. Doc Peets, with two buglers from the Fort, takes thelead, 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 Moorecommandin' 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 turnthis trick. Which I only wishes Jack could see it himse'f. It's morecalculated to bring this outfit into fav'rable notice than alynchin'. '

"At the grave we turns in an' gives three cheers for King, an' threefor Doc Peets; an' last we gives three more an' a tiger for thecamp. The buglers cuts loose everythin' they knows, from the 'water-call' to the 'retreat, ' an' while the niggers is a-shovelin' in thesand we bangs away with our six-shooters for general resultsdelightful. You can gamble thar ain't been no funeral like it beforeor since. 

"At the last Peets hauls outen the stage we uses for Jack, aheadboard. 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 nighttill further orders. No; we ain't afraid Jack'll get out none, butthe coyotes is shore due to come an' dig for him, so the niggers hasto 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 longpause devoted to meditation, and finally to the refilling of his cobpipe, "thar ain't the slightest room for cavil but them ceremoniesover Jack King, deceased, is the most satisfactory pageant Wolfvilleever promotes. "

It was at this point I proved my cunning by saying nothing. I waspleased to hear the old man talk, and rightly theorized that thebetter method of invoking his reminiscences just at this time was tosay never a word. 

"However, " he continued, "I don't reckon it's many weeks after wefollows Jack to the tomb, when we comes a heap near schedoolin'another funeral, with the general public a-contributin' of thecorpse. To be speecific, I refers to a occasion when we-alls comespowerful close to lynchin' Cherokee Hall. 

"I don't mind on bosomin' myself about it. It's all amisonderstandin'; the same bein' Cherokee's fault complete. We don'tknow him more'n to merely drink with at that eepock, an' he's thatsly an' furtive in his plays, an' covers his trails so speshul, henacherally breeds sech suspicions that when the stage begins to bestood up reg'lar once a week, an' all onaccountable, Cherokee comesmighty close to culminatin' in a rope. Which goes to show that youcan't be too open an' free in your game, an' Cherokee would tell youso himse'f. 

"This yere tangle I'm thinkin' of ain't more'n a month afterCherokee takes to residin' in Wolfville. He comes trailin' in oneevenin' from Tucson, an' onfolds a layout an' goes to turnin' faro-bank in the Red Light. No one remarks this partic'lar, which saidspectacles is frequent. The general idee is that Cherokee's on thesquar' an' his game is straight, an' of course public interest don'tdelve no further into his affairs. 

"Cherokee, himse'f, is one of these yere slim, silent people whoain'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 intopublic notice. Thar's a felon whose name is Boone, but who callshimse'f the 'Stingin' Lizard, ' an' who's been pesterin' 'roundWolfville, mebby, it's a month. This yere Stingin' Lizard is tharwhen Cherokee comes into camp; an' it looks like the Stingin' Lizardtakes a notion ag'in Cherokee from the jump. 

"Not that this yere Lizard is likely to control public feelin' inthe matter; none whatever. He's some onpop'lar himself. He's tootoomultuous for one thing, an' he has a habit of molestin' toweristsan' folks he don't know at all, which palls on disinterested peoplewho has dooties to perform. About once a week this Lizard man goesan' gets the treemers, an' then the camp has to set up with him tillhis visions subsides. Fact is, he's what you-alls East calls 'adisturbin' 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 thirdnight after Cherokee gets in, an' he's ca'mly behind his box at theRed Light, when in peramb'lates this Lizard. Seems like Cherokee, bein' one of them quiet wolves, fools up the Lizard a lot. ThisLizard's been hostile an' blood-hungry all day, an' I reckons he allat once recalls Cherokee; an', deemin' of him easy, he allows he'llgo an' chew his mane some for relaxation. 

"If I was low an' ornery like this Lizard, I ain't none shore butI'd be fooled them days on Cherokee myse'f. He's been fretful abouthis 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 yereStingin' Lizard's due to stampede him if he tries; which makes whatfollows 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'slayout. 

"I don't buy no chips, " says the Lizard to Cherokee, as he gets inopposite. "I puts money in play; an' when I wins I wants moneysim'lar. Thar's fifty dollars on the king coppered; an' fiftydollars on the eight open. Turn your kyards, an' turn 'em squar'. Ifyou don't, I'll peel the ha'r an' hide plumb off the top of yourhead. "

"Cherokee looks at the Lizard sorter soopercillus an' indifferent;but he don't say nothin'. He goes on with the deal, an', the kyardscomin' that a-way, he takes in the Lizard's two bets. 

"Durin' the next deal the Lizard ain't sayin' much direct, but keepscussin' an' wranglin' to himse'f. But he's gettin' his money up allthe time; an' with the fifty dollars he lose on the turn, he's shymebby four hundred an' fifty at the close. 

"'Bein' in the hole about five hundred dollars, ' says the Lizard, ina 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 alimit do you put on this deadfall anyhow?'

"'The bridle's plumb off to you, amigo, ' says Cherokee, an' histones 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 caseon the game. `The bridle's plumb off for you, ' says Cherokee, 'soany notion you entertains in favor of bankruptin' of yourse'f quickmay riot right along. '

"'You're dead shore of that?' says the Lizard with a sneer. `Now Ireckons a thousand-dollar bet would scare this puerile game youdeals 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; `Idon't know what wads of wealth them pore old clothes of yoursconceals, but jest the same I tells you what I'll do. Climb rightonto the layout, body, soul, an' roll, an' put a figger on yourworthless 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'llvoylate my business principles an' take a night off to entertainyou. ' An' yere Cherokee lugs out a roll of bills big enough to chokea cow. 

"'I goes you if I lose, ' says the Stingin' Lizard. Then assoomin' asooperior air, he remarks: 'Mebby it's a drink back on the trailwhen I has misgivin's as to the rectitood of this yere brace you'redealin'. Bein' public-sperited that a-way, in my first frenzy Iallows I'll take my gun an' abate it a whole lot. But a ca'mer moodcomes 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 timedumpin' a large wad on the layout, 'thar's even four thousanddollars. Roll your game for that jest as it lays. '

"'Straighten up your dust, ' says Cherokee, his eyes gettin' a kindof 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 readyenough, but we ain't goin' to argue none as to where it lays afterthe kyard falls. '

"The rest of us who's been buckin' the game moderate an' rightcashes in at this, an' leaves an onobstructed cloth to the Stingin'Lizard. This yere's more caution than good nacher. As long as folksis bettin' along in limits, say onder fifty dollars, thar ain't noshootin' likely to ensoo. But whenever a game gets immoderate thata-way, an' the limit's off, an' things is goin' that locoed theybegins 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' thedeal begins. It ain't thirty seconds till the bank wins, an' theStingin' Lizard is the wrong side of the layout from his money. Hetakes it onusual ugly, only he ain't sayin' much. He sa'nters overto the bar, an' gets a big drink. Cherokee is rifflin' the deck, butI notes he's got his gray eye on the Stingin' Lizard, an' my respectfor him increases rapid. I sees he ain't goin' to get the worst ofno deal, an' is organized to protect his game plumb through if thisLizard makes a break. "'Do you--all know where I hails from?' asksthe Stingin' Lizard, comin' back to Cherokee after he's done hid hisdrink. 

"'Which I shorely don't;' says Cherokee. 'I has from time to timemuch worthless information thrust upon me, but so far I escapes allnews of you complete. '

"'Where I comes from, which is Texas, ' says the Lizard, ignorin' ofCherokee's manner, the same bein' some insultin', `they teaches thebabies two things, -never eat your own beef, an' never let no kyard-thief down you:

"'Which is highly thrillin', ' says Cherokee, 'as reminiscences ofyour 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, Ireturns a-shootin':

"It's at this p'int we-alls who represents the public kicks back ourchairs an' stampedes outen range. As the Lizard makes his bluff hishand goes to his artillery like a flash. 

"The Lizard's some quick, but Cherokee's too soon for him. With thefirst move of the Lizard's hand, he searches out a bowie fromsom'ers back of his neck. I'm some employed placin' myse'f at thetime, an' don't decern it none till Cherokee brings it over hisshoulder like a stream of white light. 

"It's shore great knife-work. Cherokee gives the Lizard aige anp'int, an' all in one motion. Before the Lizard more'n lifts hisweepon, 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 inthe Territory. I tries to keep outen this, but that Lizard gentwould 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 theforbearin', law-abiding temper of the Wolfville public. ThisLizard's a mighty oppressive person, an' a heap obnoxious; an' whileI don't like a knife none myse'f as a trail out, an' inclines todistrust a gent who does, I s'pose it's after all a heap a matter oftaste an' the way your folks brings you up. I leans to the view, gents, that this yere corpse is constructed on the squar'. What doyou-all think, Peets?'

"'I entertains ideas sim'lar, ' says Doc Peets. 'Of course I takes itthis kyard-sharp, Cherokee, aims to bury his dead. He nacherallyain't look. In' for the camp to go 'round cleanin' up after himnone. ' "That's about how it stands. Nobody finds fault withCherokee, an' as he ups an' plants the Stingin' Lizard's remainderthe next day, makin' the deal with a stained box, crape, an' thefull regalia, it all leaves the camp with a mighty decentimpression. By first-drink time in the evenin' of the second day, weain't thinkin' no more about it. 

"Now you-all begins to marvel where do we get to the hangin' ofCherokee Hall? We're workin' in towards it now. 

"You sees, followin' the Stingin' Lizard's jump into the mistybeyond--which it's that sudden I offers two to one them angels notesa look of s'prise on the Stingin' Lizard's face as to how he comesto make the trip-Cherokee goes on dealin' faro same as usual. As Isays 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'sgot 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 hesays he's due over in Tucson. These yere vacations of Cherokee's isall in the month after the Stingin' Lizard gets downed. "It's aboutthis time, too, the stage gets held up sech a scand'lous number oftimes it gives people a tired feelin'. All by one party, too. Hemerely prances out in onexpected places with a Winchester; stands upthe stage in an onconcerned way, an' then goes through everythin'an' everybody, from mail-bags to passengers, like the grace ofheaven through a camp-meetin'. Nacheral, it all creates a heap ofdisgust. "'If this yere industrious hold-up keeps up his lick, ' saysTexas 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 wifeback in Laredo ain't goin' to onderstand it none. She ain't lottin'much on me nohow, an' if the correspondence between us gets muchmore fitful, she's goin' p'intin' out for a divorce. This deal'sliable to turn a split for me in my domestic affairs. ' An' that'sthe way we-alls feels. This stage agent is shorely in disrepoot somein Wolfville. If he'd been shakin' up Red Dog's letter-bags, wewouldn't have minded so much. 

"I never does know who's the first to think of Cherokee Hall, butall at once it's all over camp Talkin' it over, it's noticed mightysoon that, come right to cases, no one knows his record, where he'sbeen or why he's yere. Then his stampedin' out of camp like he'sbeen doin' for a month is too many for us. 

"'I puts no trust in them Tucson lies he tells, neither, ' says DocPeets. 'Whatever would he be shakin' up over in Tucson? His game'syere, an' this theery that he's got to go scatterin' over thar oncea week is some gauzy. '

"'That's whatever, ' says Dan Boggs, who allers trails in after DocPeets, an' plays the same system emphatic. An' I says myse'f, notfindin' no fault with Boggs tharfor, that this yere Peets is thefinest-eddicated an' levelest-headed sharp in Arizona. 

"'Well, ' says Jack Moore, who as I says before does the rope workfor the Stranglers, 'if you-alls gets it settled that this farogent's turnin' them tricks with the stage an' mail-bags, the soonerhe's swingin' to the windmill, the sooner we hears from our lovedones at home. What do you say, Enright?'

"'Why, ' says Enright, all thoughtful, 'I reckons it's a case. S'poseyou 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 asour 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 thecorral at the same time. '

"It don't take Moore no time to throw a gun on Cherokee where he'sconsoomin' flapjacks at the O. K. House, an' tell him the committeeneeds him at the New York Store. Cherokee don't buck none, but comesalong, passive as a tabby cat. 

"'Whatever's the hock kyard to all this?' he says to Jack Moore. 'Isit this Stingin' Lizard play a month ago?'

"'No, ' says Moore, "t'ain't quite sech ancient hist'ry. It's stagecoaches. Thar's a passel of people down yere as allows you've beenrustlin' the mails. '

"Old Man Rucker, who keeps the O. K. House, is away when Moorerounds up his party. But Missis Rucker's thar, an' the way that oldlady talks to Enright an' the committee is a shame. She comes overto 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 theonly decent man in town?'

"'Ma'am, ' says Enright, 'this yere sharp is 'cused of standin' upthe 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 itnone, do you? I says this, though; it's a heap sight more likelysome drunkard a-settin' right yere on this committee stops themstages 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 ofcreated things, still sech is the infirmities of her intellects, that gov'ment would bog down in its most important functions, ifleft to woman. '

"'Bog down or not, ' says Missis Rucker, gettin' red an' heated, 'youfools settin' up thar like a band of prairie-dogs don't hang thisyere Cherokee Hall. 'Nother thing, you ain't goin' to hang nobody tothe windmill ag'in nohow. I has my work to do, an' thar's enough onmy hands, feedin' sech swine as you-alls three times a day, withouthavin' to cut down dead folks outen my way every time I goes for abucket 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 stoppedno more stages than I be. '

"'But you sees yourse'f, ma'am, you hasn't the slightest evidencetharof, ' says Enright, tryin' to soothe her down. 

"'I has, however, what's a mighty sight better than evidence, ' saysMissis 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'mentitled to a look at your hand for my money. '

"Enright goes on an' lays it off for Cherokee; how he's outen campevery 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 reckonthar'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'mbound 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 standsup no stage. '

"'That's what they all says, ' puts in Boggs, who's a mightyimpatient man. 'I shorely notes no reason why we-alls can't proceedwith this yere lynchin' at once. S'pose this Cherokee ain't stood upno stage; he's done plenty of other things as merits death. Itstrikes 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'poseyou 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 thata-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' orother in Tucson this Stingin' Lizard sends money to an' makes goodfor, which he finds the same to be fact on caperin' over. It's anephy or some sech play. An' the Stingin' Lizard has the young onestaked out over thar, an' is puttin' up for his raiment an' grub allreg'lar enough. 

"'Which I yereafter backs this infant's play myse'f, ' says Cherokeeto the barkeep of the Oriental Saloon over in Tucson, which is theparty the Stingin' Lizard pastures the young one on. 'You're allright, Bill, ' goes on this Cherokee to the barkeep, ' but now I goesback of the box for this infant boy, I reckons I'll saw him off ontoa preacher, or some sharp sim'lar, where he gets a Christianexample. 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'sseven years comin' grass--on the only pulpit-sharp in Tucson. Thisgospel-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 nowpesterin' 'round in a co't tryin' to get the young one counter-branded from the Stingin' Lizard's outfit into his, an' given thename of Cherokee Hall. That's what takes him over to Tucson themtimes, an' not stage-robbin'. 

"Two days later, in fact, to make shore all doubts is over, Cherokeeeven rings in said divine on us; which the divine tells the samestory. I don't reckon now he's much of a preacher neither; for hegives Wolfville one whirl for luck over in the warehouse back of theNew York Store, an' I shore hears 'em as makes a mighty sight morenoise, an' bangs the Bible twice as hard, back in the States. I saysso to Cherokee; but he puts it up he don't bank none on hispreachin'. 

"'What I aims at, ' says Cherokee, 'is someone who rides herd on theboy all right, an' don't let him stampede off none into viciousways. '

"'Why don't you keep the camp informed of this yere orphan an' theplay you makes?' says Enright, at the time it's explained to thecommittee, --the time they trees Cherokee about them stages. 

"'It's that benev'lent an' mushy, ' says Cherokee, 'I'm plumb ashamedof the deal, an' don't allow to go postin' no notices tharof. Butalong comes this yere hold-up business, an', all inadvertent, tipsmy hand; which the same I stands, however, jest the same. '

"'It's all right, ' says Enright, some disgusted though; 'but thenext time you makes them foundlin' asylum trips, don't walk in thewater so much. Leave your trail so Wolfville sees it, an' then folksain'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 thedrinks. Jack Moore is yereby instructed to present the complimentsof the committee to Rucker, when he trails in from Tucson; which healso notifies him to hobble his wife yereafter durin' sessions ofthis 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 tobusiness by the Stranglers. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE STORY OF WILKINS

"No; I don't reckon I ever cuts the trail of this yere Wilson youmentions, 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, soregiven to liquor, had drifted to Arizona many years before anddisappeared. Suggesting "Wilson" to the Old Cattleman, I asked if hehad met with such a name and character in his Wolfville rambles. 

As often chanced, however, the question bore fruit in a story. Itfrequently 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; "butspeakin' 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 stayup nights to hear, I don't reckon. It's Wilkins's daughter who isthe only redeemin' thing about the old Cimmaron; an' it's a heaplikely 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 isherdin' 'round Wolfville when I first trails in. I never does knowwhere he hails from. I don't reckon' though, he ever grades no wayshigh, 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 onefrom which. They gets along entirely sim'lar. 

"'But how you goin' to live?' says Dave Tutt, when he makes thisremark, 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-allpass no restless nights on my account. Go read your Scriptures; readthat bluff about feedin' the young ravens an' sparrers. Well, that'sme 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' yourAmerican jedgement goes soopreme as to how you plays it. '

"This Wilkins lives in a wickeyup out on the aige of the town, an' agirl, which she's his daughter, about 19 years old, keeps camp forhim. No one knows her well. She stays on her reservation mightyclose, an' never seems visible much. I notices her in the New YorkStore once, buyin' some salt hoss, an'she ain't no dream ofloveliness neither as to looks. 

"Her face makes you feel she's good people though, with her big softeyes. They has a tired, broke-down look, like somehow she's beenpacked more'n she can carry, an' has two or three notions aboutlayin' down with the load. 

"It's mebby two weeks after Dave Tutt's talk with Wilkins, whenwe're all in the Red Light takin' our forty drops, an' Sam Enrightbrings up this yere Wilkins. 

"'It has been a question with me, ' he says, 'how this old shorthornand his girl manages for to make out; an' while I care none whateverfor Wilkins, it ain't no credit to a live camp like this to permit ayoung female to suffer, an' I pauses yere to add, it ain't goin' tooccur no more. Yesterday, allowin' to bushwhack some trooth about'em, I waits till old Wilkins drifts over to the corral, an' then Igoes 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 youdo?"'

"'"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 onher shaker an' goes stampedin' off; an' while she's gone I injunsan' spies 'round a whole lot; an', comin' down to the turn, Wilkinsan' that girl ain't got nothin' to eat. The question now is, whataction does Wolfville 'naugerate at a juncture sech as this?'"'What's the matter with takin' up a donation like they does for apreacher, 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; buta young female a-hoidin' of herse'f high spurns your money. Thar'snothin' ketches me like a female of my species in distress, an' Irecalls offerin' to stake a lady, who's lost her money somehow, backin St. Looey once. This yere female was strange to me entire, but ifshe'd knowed me from 'way back she couldn't a-blazed up morefrightful. 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 theagency to hear me 'pologize, an' even then she glares an' snortslike 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 findsomethin' for this yere lady to do. Any gent with a notion on thesubject can't speak too quick. '

"'No party need take my remarks as personal, ' says Burns, who runsthe Red Light, 'as nothin' invidjous is intended; but I rises to saythat 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, allright; 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. Thisbein' troo, onder present exigences what for a scheme would it befor 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 awhole lot? I throws this out as a su'gestion. '

"'I ain't meanin' nothin' ag'inst Burns's su'gestion, ' says TexasThompson, 'but in my opinion this camp ain't ripe for keepin' booksas yet. Things like that has to be come to by degrees. I've knowed aheap of trouble arise from keepin' books, an' as long as this yere'sa peaceful camp let's keep it that a-way. '

"'That settles it, ' says Burns, 'thar's enough said, an' I don'tkeep no books. '

"'You-alls present knows me, ' says Cherokee Hall, who, as I saysprevious, is turnin' faro in the Red Light, 'an' most of you has metme frequent in a business way. Thar's my game goin' every nightreg'lar. Thar's nothin' tin-horn about it. It ain't no skin gameneither. Any gent with doubts can step over an' test my box, whichhe'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' Ionly does it now as bein' preliminary to the statement that my gameain't no deadfall, an' is one as a respectable an' virchus femaleperson could set in on with perfect safetytood to her reputation. This yere lady in question needs light, reg'lar employment, an' Ilets it fly that if she wants in on any sech deal I'll go her a bluestack 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 froma squar' man. Women, however, is partic'lar, an' like hosses theyshies at things thar ain't no danger in. You sees how that is; awoman don't reason nothin', she feels an' mighty likely this youngperson is loaded to the gyards with sech notions ag'in gamblin' aswould send her flyin' at the bare mention. The fact is, I thinks ofsomethin' sim'lar, but has to give it up. I figgers, first dash outo' the box, that a safe, easy trail to high ground is to give her atable an' let her deal a little stud for the boys. This yerewouldn't be no resk, an' the rake is a shore thing for nine or tendollars a night. Bein' a benev'lence, I knows the boys would set inmighty free, an' the trouble would be corraled right thar. With thisyere in my mind I taps her gently about our various games when Icalls for her paw; an' to put it straight, she takes it reluctantan' disgusted at the mere hint. Of course we-alls has to stand thesethings 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 pokergoin', same as about that Yallerhouse gent, might be an ondefeasibleway to get at the neck of this business?' says Dave Tutt. 'I merelyasks it as a question. '

"'That wouldn't do, ' says Doc Peets, 'but anyhow yere comes Wilkinshow, an' if, as Enright says, the're out of chuck up his way, Ireckons I'll lose a small bet to the old shorthorn ontil sech timesas we devises some scheme all reg'lar. '

"'Howdy, Wilkins?' says Doc, mighty gay an' genial, 'how's thingsstackin' 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 gambleat. S'pose I goes you ten dollars's worth of grub the Lordsburgbuckboard don't show up none to-day?'

"'If I had ten dollars I'd about call you a lot on that, ' saysWilkins, '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 yourwar-bags an' sees. I'm needin' of a drink mighty bad. '

"Old Wilkins looks some queer about the eyes, an' more'n usualshaky, 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 peevishan' fretful. 'What for do you want to bet grub? Why don't you betmoney, 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. Youain't no sport, Doc, to tie up a play with a string like that. Gimmeanother drink some one, I'm most dyin' for some. '

"The old man 'pears like he's mighty sick that a-way, so thar'snothin' for it but to give him another hooker, which we doesaccordin'. 

"'I'm feelin' like I was shot hard by somethin', ' he says, 'an' Idon't like for to go home till I'm better, an' scare Sue. I reckonI'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 abouttwenty minutes, when along comes rattlin' up the Lordsburg mail. 

"'You win, Wilkins, ' says Peets; 'come over to the New York Storean' cut out your stuff. ' "The old man acts like he don't hear, soDoc 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 histhumb in his belt, an' whistles. 

"'What's up?' says Cherokee Hall. 'He ain't tryin' to work us foranother drink I hopes. '

"Well, this is a deal, ' says Doc, 'an' no humbug neither. Gents, I'mblessed 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 theturn. Shore enough the old man has cashed in. 

"`This is a hoss on us, an' no doubt about it, ' says Enright. 'Iain'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'sgoin' 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 Suegirl out, an' Enright begins tellin' her mighty soft as how her pawis took bad down to the Red Light. But the girl seems to get it asright as if she's scouted for it a month. 

"'He's dead!' she says; an' then cripples down alongside of the dooran' begins to sob. 

"'Thar ain't no use denyin' it, Miss, ' says Enright, 'your pawstruck 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 yousympathy. What you do now is stay right yere, an' the camp'll tendto 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 weburies Jack King, obsequies is our long suit. '

"The little Sue girl struggles through somehow, an' has her nervewith her. The funeral, you bet, is right. This time we ropes in apreacher belongin' to some deep-water outfit over in Tucson. Hesomehow is strayed, an' happens along our way, an' we gets himsquar' in the door. He jumps in an' gives them ceremonies ascientific whirl as ain't possible nohow to amatures. All 'round wewouldn't have put on more dog if we'd been plantin' Enright; all ofcourse on the little Sue girl's account. Next day the outfit goesover to find out whatever she allows to do. 

"'You sees, Miss; says Enright, 'anythin' you says, goes. Notwaitin' to learn its name, even, I'm directed to state as how thecamp backs your play an' makes good. '

"'I'm allowin' to go to the States, ' says the girl, 'an' I'mobleeged to you. '

"'We was hopin', ' says Enright, 'as you'd stay yere. We-alls sorterfiggers you'd teach us a school. Of course thar ain't no papoosesyet, but as a forced play we arranges to borrow a small herd fromTombstone, an' can do it too easy. Then, ag'in, a night-school wouldhit our needs right; say one night a week. Thar's a heap ofignorance in this yere camp, an' we needs a night-school bad. Itwould 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 toopen this yere academy the first kyards off the deck. You needs timeto line up your affairs, an' am likewise wrung with grief. You takesyour leesure as to that; meanwhile of course your stipend goes onfrom now. '

"But the little Sue girl couldn't listen. Her paw is dead, an' nowshe's due in the States. She says things is all right thar. She hasfriends 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 itlays, I reckons you'll go, so thar's nothin' for us to do but settleup 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 beentoo sick to work, ' she says. 

"'We owes him all the same, ' says Enright, mighty ferocious. 'Weonderstands 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 theytries to clean out the corral. '

"'That's it, ' says Enright, 'for ketchin' of some rustlers who laysfor 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 earthas 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, withoutstampedin' 'round makin' presents of things. '

"'That's whatever, ' says Enright; 'so Miss, me an Doc'll vamos overto the Red Light an' get the dust, an' I reckons we'll be back in anhour. 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 seesthe little Sue girl archin' for another buck, he pulls out a paperan' makes a bluff. 'Yere it is, --four hundred an' ninety-threedollars an' seventy-four cents. I puts it down all accurate, 'causeI 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 Iever 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 onthe bills none, but if you-all could manage to kiss this yere outfitonce apiece, Miss, it would be regarded. You needn't be afraid. Someof '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, Cherokeesorter shoves back an' allows he'll pass. 

"'Not any pass!' says Enright. 'Any gent who throws off on that tharlittle Sue girl, she willin', needn't look for any luck butlynchin'. '

"'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 theplay. 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, allrespectful. 

"'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 itgoes ag'in you, raise the long yell for a sharp called CherokeeHall; 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 nightclothed all in half obscurity. But I knew the way; I could havetravelled the little path at midnight. There he was, the OldCattleman, under a favorite tree, the better to avoid the heavy dew. He sat motionless and seemed to be soaking himself, as one mightsay, in the balmy weather of that hour. 

My wisdom had ordered Jim, my black man, to attend my steps. Thelaconic, half-sad salutation of my old friend at once gave Black Jima mission. He was dispatched in quest of stimulants. After certainexact and almost elaborate commands to Black Jim, and that usefulAfrican'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 thecoming of Black Jim, however, who brought a lusty toddy, he yieldedto 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 orrecent about that. Which now it often happens to me, like it does toold folks general, that jest when it begins to grow night, I getsmoody an' bad. Looks like my thoughts has been out on some mentalfeed-ground all day, an' they comes stringin' in like cattle to getbedded down for the night. Nacheral, I s'pose they sorter mills an'stands 'round oneasy like for a while before they lies down allcomfortable. Old people partic'lar gets dissatisfied. If they'ssingle-footers like me an' ain't wedded none; campin' 'round attaverns an' findin' of 'em mockeries; they wishes they has a wife awhole 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 nevermarries nothin'. I reckons too, I'm in love one round-up an' anothermighty 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, --backforty years it is, --an' the way I adores her plumb tires people. Ireckons 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 mybrand onto her; but she learns that Bill Jenks marks 150 calves thelast spring round-up, an' me only forty, an' that settles it; shetakes Jenks. 

"It's astonishin' how little I deems of this yere maiden after Billgets her. Two months before, I'd rode my pony to death to look oncein her eyes. She's like sunshine in the woods to me, an' I dotes onevery word she utters like it's a roast apple. But after she gets tobe 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' hostilenacheral. But lettin' that go in the discard, I shore don't carenothin' about her nohow when she's Bill's. 

"I recalls that prior to them nuptials with Bill I gets that locoedlovin' this girl I goes bulgin' out to make some poetry over her. Icompiles one stanza; an' I'm yere to remark it's harder work than aJune day in a brandin' pen. Ropin' an' flankin' calves an' standin'off an old cow with one hand while you irons up her offspring witht'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'tforgot it none. 

"'A beautiful woman is shorely a moon, The nights of your life toilloomine; 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 alay-off. Before I gathers strength to tackle it ag'in, Jenks getsher; so bein' thar's no longer nothin' tharin I never makes afinish. I allers allowed it would have been a powerful good poem ifI'd stampeded along cl'ar through. 

"Yes, son; women that a-way is shorely rangy cattle an' allers onthe move. Thar's a time once when two of 'em comes mighty nearsplittin' Wolfville wide open an' leavin' it on both sides of thetrail. 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 isgettin' along all peaceful an' serene an' man-fashion. Thar's thepost-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 topull on us as too pastoral, an' we thirsts for the meetropolitangayety of Tucson. 

"As I says we alls has all that heart can hunger for; that is hungeron the squar'. 

"Among other things, thar's a Chink runnin' a laundry an' a-doin' ofour 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'sa Chinaman in town, run him out. 

And obleege, yours, Dick. 

"'Whatever do you think, Enright?' says Doc Peets after readin' usthe 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 sechdebasin' exhibitions, an' Lung must vamos. Jack, ' he says, turnin'to Jack Moore, 'take your gun an' sa'nter over an' stampede thisyere opium-slave. Tell him if he's visible to the naked eye in thescenery yere-abouts to-morrow when this lady jumps into camp, he'sshore asked the price of soap the last time he ever will in thisvale 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 secondthought, Jack, I don't reckon I'd run him out neither. It dignifieshim too much. S'pose you canter up to his tub-camp an' bring himover, an' we'll reveal this upheaval in his shirt-burnin' destiniesby word of mouth. If he grows reluctant jest rope him 'round theneck with his queue, an' yank him. It impresses 'em an' shows 'emthey're up ag'in the law. I s'pose, Peets, I voices your sentimentsin this?'

"'Shore, '" says Doc Peets--which this Peets is the finest-eddicatedman I ever meets. 'This Chinaman must pull his freight. We-alls owesit not only to this Tucson lady, but to the lovely sex sherepresents. Woman, woman, what has she not done for man! As Johannaof Arc she frees the sensuous vine-clad hills of far-offSwitzerland. As Grace Darling she smooths the fever-heated pillow ofthe Crimea. In reecompense she asks one little, puny boon--to firefrom our midst a heathen from the Orient. Gents, thar's but oneanswer: We plays the return game with woman. This Chinaman must go. '

"When Jack comes back with Lung, which he does prompt, Enrightstarts 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 droponto 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 findyou yere to-morrow. By third-drink time we'll be a-scoutin' for youwith somethin' besides an op'ry glass, an' if you're noticed as partof the landscape you're goin' to have a heap of bad luck. I'd adviseyou to p'int for Red Dog, but as to that you plays your handyourse'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 womanalong. 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. Sheallows she is, an' heads for the O. K. House. 

"It floats over pretty soon that her name's Annie, an' as none of uswants 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 herBenson Annie, an' let it go at that. 

"'The same bein' musical an' expressive, ' says Doc Peets, as we alllines 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' BensonAnnie has the game to herse'f. Two days later she raises the tariffto fifty cents on shirts, instead of twenty-five, as previous withthe 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 Orientmust be plumb locoed. Wolfville pays fifty cents for shirts an' isproud tharof. '

"Things goes along for mighty like a month, an' then this yereBenson Annie allows she'll have a visitor. 

"'I'm plumb, clean sick, ' she says, 'of seein' nothin' but a lot ofdrunken, good-for-nothin' sots a-pesterin' 'round, an' I donereckons I'll have my friend Sal come over from Tombstone an' see mea 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, whileBenson Annie an' Sal works the wire aige offen their visit. 

"`A gent as would begretch two pore, hard-workin' girls a lay-off ofa week, ' says Enright, 'ain't clean strain, an' I don't want to knowsech a hoss-thief nohow'; an' we-alls feels likewise. 

"But slap on the heels of all this yere gregar'ousness on the partof Benson Annie an' Sal, the deal begins to come queer. At the endof the week the two girls has a row, an' in the turn Sal goes tot'other end of camp an' opens a laundry. That does settle it. BensonAnnie gives Sal fits, an' Sal shorely sends 'em back. Then theyquits speakin', an when they meets on the street they concoctssnoots at each other. This scares Enright, but he does his levelbest an' tries to keep the boys from takin' sides. 

"'In a play like this yere, ' he says, 'this camp don't take nokyards. For the first time Wolfville passes out, an' offers to makeit a jack'

"But as one day an' the next trails by, the boys sorter gets linedup 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, upsan' names his place the 'Sal Saloon, ' an' Burns takes down the signon the Red Light an' calls it the 'Benson Annie House. ' Finallythings sorter culminates. 

"Dan Boggs, who's a open, voylent Annie man, comes a-prancin' intothe 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 forthe shirt; an' while he an' Dan's allers been friends an' crossedthe plains together, still he don't allow he'll stand 'round muchan' see a pore ondefended female, like Sal, maligned. So Tutt outswith his gun an' gets Boggs in the laig. 

"This yere brings things down to cases. Enright is worried sick atit. But he's been thinkin' mighty arduous for quite a spell, an'when Boggs gets creased, he sees somethin' must be done, an' beginsto line himse'f for a play for out. 

"It's the next day after Boggs gets ag'in Tutt, an' Doc Peets hasplugged up the hole, when Enright rounds up the whole passel of usin the Red Light. He looks that dignified an' what you-alls callsimpressive, that the barkeep, yieldin' to the gravity of thesituation, allows the drinks is on the house. We-alls gets our fortydrops, an' sorter stands pat tharon in silence, waitin' for Enrightto 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' hurtthat a-way, --'I'll not drift into them harrowin' differences whichhas rent asunder what was aforetimes the peacefullest camp inArizona. I wants you-alls, however, to take note of my remarks, forwhat I says is shorely goin' to go. '

"Yere Enright pauses to take a small drink by himse'f, while we-allstarries 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 hiseye some hard an' delib'rate on a young tenderfoot named French, who's been lost from the States somethin' like six months--'it iswith pain an' mortification, I says, that I notes for a week pastour young friend an' townsman, Willyum French, payin' marked an'ondiscreet attentions to Benson Annie, a female person whom we allrespects. At all times, day an' night, when he could escape hisdooties as book-keep for the stage company, he has pitched camp inher s'ciety. Wolfville has been shocked, an' a pure ladycompromised. Standin' as we-alls does in the light of a parent tothis pore young female, we have determined the wrong must be maderight, an' Mister French must marry the girl. I have submitted theseyere views to Benson Annie, an' she concurs. I've took the troubleto 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-outin the dance-hall at my expense. We will, of course, yereby loseBenson Annie in them industrial walks she now adorns, for I pausesto give Mister French a p'inter; the sentiments of this camp isag'in a married female takin' in washin'. Not to play it too lowdown on Mister French, who, while performin' a private dooty, isalso workin' for a public good, I heads a subscription with fiftydollars for a present for the bride. I'd say in closin' that if Iwas Mister French I wouldn't care to object to this union. The ladyis good-lookin', the subscription is cash, an' in the present heatedcondition of the public mind, an' with the heart of the camp set onthis weddin', I wouldn't be responsible if he does. Now, gents, who'll follow my fifty dollars with fifty more? Barkeep, do yourdooty while the subscription-paper goes 'round. '

"The biddin' is mighty lively, an' in ten minutes seven hundreddollars is raised for a dowry. Then French, who has been settin' ina sort of daze, gets up:

"'Mister Enright an' gents, ' he says, `this yere is a s'prise-partyto me, but it goes. It's a hoss on me, but I stands it. I sees howit is, an' as a forced play I marries Benson Annie in the interestsof 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 ofmilk from a top shelf, an' put an end to this onhealthfulexcitement. 

"We-alls applauds French an' is proud to note he's game. 

"`An' to be free an' open with you, French, ' says Texas Thompson, soas to make him feel he's ahead on the deal; which he shore is, forthis yere Benson Annie is corn-fed, 'if it ain't for a high-speritedlady back in Laredo who relies on me, I'd be playin' your handmyse'f. '

"Well, no one delays the game. Enright brings over Benson Annie, who's blushin' some, but ain't holdin' back; an' she an' Frenchfronts up for business. This yere preacher-sharp Enright's roped upis jest shufflin' for the deal, when, whatever do you reckon takesplace? 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 dearfriend Annie's goin' to get married she wants in on the game asbridesmaid. 

"'Which you-all shorely gets a hand as sech, ' says Doc Peets, who'sactin' lookout for the deal; an' so he stakes out Sal over by thenigh side of Benson Annie, who kisses her quite frantic, an' unitesher wails to Sal's. Both of 'em weepin' that a-way shorely makes theoccasion mighty sympathetic an' damp. But Peets says it's thereg'lar caper, an' you can gamble Peets knows. "'Thar, ' saysEnright, when the last kyard's out an' the French fam'ly isreceivin' congratulations, 'I reckons that now, with only onelaundry, Wolfville sees a season of peace. It's all right, but I'myere to remark that the next lady as dazzles this camp with herdeebut, an' onfurls a purpose to plunge into work, ain't goin' tokeep a laundry none. Gents, the bridle's plumb off the hoss. We'llnow repair to the dance-hall, if so be meets your tastes, an' takethe first steps in a debauch from which, when it's over, this yerecamp 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 overin the foot-hills of, the Floridas when Enright vouchsafes why hehates Mexicans. "

The morning was drowsy. Conversation between us had in a sleepy wayranged a wide field. As had grown to be our habit we at last settledon Wolfville and its volatile inhabitants. I asked to be enlightenedas to the sage Enright, and was informed that, aside from hiscourage and love of strict justice, the prominent characteristic ofour Wolfville Lycurgus was his wrath against Mexicans. 

"Not that Enright loathes so much as he deplores 'em, "continued theold gentleman. "However, I don't aim to be held as sayin' heindorses their existence a little bit; none whatever. 

"Enright's tellin' of this tale arises outen a trivial incidentwhich 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 springsan' the Floridas, when one night a Mexican runs off a passel of ourponies. The hoss-hustler is asleep, I reckons, at the time thisMexican stacks in. He says himse'f he's lyin' along the back of hisbronco gazin' at the stars when this robber jumps at the ponies an'flaps a blanket or somethin', an' away patters every hoof in theband. 

"This yere Mexican don't run off with only about a handful; I takesit he can't round up no more in the dark. When you-all stampedes abunch of ponies that a-way they don't hold together like cattle, butplunges off diffusive. It's every bronco for himse'f, disdainful ofall else, an' when it's sun-up you finds 'em spattered all over thescene an' not regardin' of each other much. 

"But this yere Mexican, after he stampedes 'em, huddles what he cantogether--as I says mebby it's a dozen--an' p'ints off into thehills. 

"Of course it ain't no time after the sun shows the tracks whenEnright, Jack Moore, an' myse'f is on the trail. Tutt an' Dan Boggswants 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 thesecond day, an' we-alls loses the trail for mebby it's fifteenminutes. We're smellin' along a canyon to find it ag'in, when fromover a p'int of rocks we hears a bronco nicker. He gets the scent ofan acquaintance which Moore's ridin' on, an' says 'How!' pony-fashion. 

"Thar's no need goin' into wearyin' details. Followin' the nicker wecomes surgin' in on our prey, an' it's over in a minute. Thar's twoMexicans, --our criminal trackin' up with a pard that mornin'. But ofcourse we-alls knows he's thar long hours back by the tracks, so itain't no s'prise. 

"This yere second Mexican is downed on the run-in. He shows a heapof interest in our comin', an' takes to shootin' us up mighty vividwith a Winchester at the time; an' so Enright, who's close in, jumpssome 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 yerehoss is amazin' low-sperited, an' as bein' burnt that a-way with abullet sorter livens him up a heap, I don't complain none. StillEnright's all-wise enough to copper the Greaser, for thar ain't nosayin' what luck the felon has with that little old gun of his if hekeeps on shootin'. Which, as I observes, Enright downs him, an' hispowder-burnin' an' hoss-rustlin' stops immediate. 

"As for the other Mexican, which he's the party who jumps our poniesin the first place, he throws up his hands an' allows he cashes inhis 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 weruns up on our game. 

"Jack Moore drops the loop of his lariat over the off moccasin ofthe 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 thata-way dead. This yere's thoughtful of Jack, an' shows he'snacherally refined an' objects to remainders lyin' 'round loose. 

"'No, it ain't so much I'm refined, ' says Jack, when I complimentshim that he exhibits his bringin' up, an' him bein' too modest thata-way to accept; 'it ain't that I'm refined none--which my nacher isshore coarse--I jest sorter protests in my bosom ag'in havin' acorpse idlin' 'round that a-way where I'm camped. Tharfore I takesmy rope an' snatches deceased off where he ain't noticeable on thescenery. '

"Jack does it that gentle an' considerate, too, that when we passesthe 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'pednone, 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 ofours?' 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 usa 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, ' Jackremarks at the close, lookin' wistful at Enright, 'as would beef himright yere an' leave him as a companion piece to that compadre ofhis 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 itbein' done but once. It's Mexicans who does it then; which is whythey 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 thecommittee. 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'lltell you. Thar ain't no harm mountin' this marauder on a slow ponythat a-way; an' bein' humane s'fficient to leave his hands an' feetontied. Of course if he takes advantage of our leniency an' goesstampedin' off to make his escape some'ers along the trail, Ireckons you'll shorely have to shoot. Thar's no pass-out then butdown him, an' we sadly treads tharin. An', ' goes on Enright, somethoughtful, if this yere Mexican, after we-alls is that patient an'liberal with him, abuses our confidences an' escapes, we leaves it alone-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 theardor of competition some of us might shoot the pony. So if thisyere captive runs--which he looks tame, an' I don't expect none hewill--we leaves the detainin' of him, Jack, to you entire. "

"In spite of Enright's faith it shore turns out this Mexican isornery enough, where the trail skirts the river, to wheel sudden an'go plungin' across. But Jack gets him in midstream. As he goes overthe bronco's shoulder, hat first, he swings on the bridle longenough with his dyin' hand to turn the pony so it comes out ag'in onour side. 

"Which I'm glad he lives s'fficient to head that hoss our way, ' saysjack. "It saves splashin' across after him an' wettin' your legginsa lot. "

"It's that night in camp when jack brings up what Enright says aboutthe time the Mexicans downs a pris'ner, an' tharby fixes his viewsof 'em. 

"'It's a long trail back, ' says Enright, ' an' I don't like this yarnenough to find myse'f relatin' it to any excessive degrees. It drawsthe cinch some tight an' painful, an' I don't teach my mind to dwellon it no more'n is necessary. 

"'This is all when I'm a boy; mebby I ain't twenty years yet. It'sdurin' the Mexican war. I gets a stack of white chips an' stands inon the deal in a boyish way. All I saveys of the war is it's ag'inthe Mexicans, which, while I ain't got no feud with 'em personal atthe time, makes it plenty satisfactory to me. 

"'It's down off two days to the west of Chihuahua, an' seven of usis projectin' 'round seein' whatever can we tie down an' brand, whensome Mexicans gets us out on a limb. It ain't a squar' deal; still Ireckons it's squar' enough, too; only bein' what you-alls callsstrategic, it's offensive an' sneakin' as a play. 

"'This yere lieutenant who's leadin' us 'round permiscus, looks likehe's some romantic about a young Mexican female, who's called thePrincess of Casa Grande. Which the repoote of this yere Princesswoman is bad, an' I strikes a story several times of how she's thatincensed ag'in Americans she once saws off a thimbleful of loco on acaptain in some whiskey he's allowin' to drink, an' he goes plumbcrazy an' dies. 

"'But loco or no loco, this yere Princess person is shore that goodlookin' a pinto pony don't compare tharwith; an' when she gets herblack 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 whomatches me for age; which his name's Willis--Jim Willis. "'Now Iain't out

to make no descriptions of the friendship which goes on between thisyere Willis an' me. I sees a show one time when I'm pesterin' 'roundback 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 Damonan' Pythias. Them two people's all right, an' game. An' they shoredeems high of one another. But at the time I sees this yere Damonan'

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'reyearlin's. We-alls jumps outen the corral together back inTennessee, 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 thatPrincess of Casa Grande; which her love for him is a bluff an' adeadfall; an' the same gets all of us before we're through. An' itgets my Jim Willis speshul. "Mebby it's the third mornin' after we-alls meanders into this nest of Mexicans, an' the lieutenant getslined 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 heapvigorous, like they aims to transact some business with us. Whichthey shorely does; it's an outfit of Greaser guerillas, an' we-allsain't nothin' more or less than captives. "'The ornery an'ongrateful part is that the Princess sends one of her own peoniesscoutin' 'round in the hills to bring in this band of cattle-eatersonto us. "'When the lieutenant hears of the perfidy of the Princessfemale, he's that mortified he gets a pistol the first jump he makesan' blows off the top of his head; which if he only blows off thetop 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. Buthe makes an impulsive play that

a-way; an' is that sore an' chagrined he jest grabs a gun in afrenzied way an' cashes his chips abrupt. "'No, as I states, ' saysEnright, musin' to himse'f, 'if the lieutenant had only downed thatPrincess who plays us in as pris'ners so smooth an' easy, it wouldhave been

regarded. He could have gone caperin' over the brink after her withthe bridle off the next second, an' we-alls would still talk well ofhim. "'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 aheap

on. Lucky for them Greasers. Thar's nine of 'em, an' every last mandies 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 blowstheir 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'sgot his heap of rocks piled up, with its little pine cross stickin'outen the peak tharof, showin' he's done jumped this earthly gamefor good. "'This Bill Tate an' me breaks camp on them Greaserstogether while they're tankin' up on mescal, mebby it's two dayslater; an' they never gets their lariats on us no more. "'"You ain'tgot 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 makesyou ask? "'"Oh, nothin', "says Tate lookin' at the sky sorter blackan' ugly, "only since you-all has the leesure, what for a play wouldit be to make a long camp back in these hills by some water-holesome'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 itnone, it's a heap likely it's goin' to be neglected complete. It'seasy as a play; every hoss-thief of 'em lives right in these yerevalleys, for I hears 'em talk. All we has to do is sa'nter back inthe hills, make a camp; an' by bein' slow an' shore, an' takin' timean' pains, we bushwhacks an' kills the last one. " "'The way I feelsabout Willis makes the prospect

mighty allurin, ' an' tharupon Tate an' me opens a game with themMexicans 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 saidPrincess. "'But I wanders from Willis. Where was I at when I bogsdown? As I says, this

lieutenant nabs a pistol an' goes flutterin' from his limb. But thisdon't do them Greasers. They puts up a claim that some Americanstracks up on one of their outfit an' kills him off, they says, fivedays before. 

They allows that, breakin' even on the deal, one of us is due todie. Tate offers to let 'em count the lieutenant, but they shakestheir heads till the little bells on their sombreros tinkles, an'declines the lieutenant emphatic. "'They p'ints out this yerelieutenant dies in his own game, on his own deal. It's no racket oftheirs, an' it don't go to match the man they're shy. "`One of ussix who's left has to die to count even for this Greaser who's beencalled in them five days ago. Tate can't move 'em; all he says is nouse; so he quits, an' as he's been talkin' Spanish--which the same is too muddy alanguage for the rest of us--Tate turns in an' tells us how thething sizes up. "`"One of us is shorely elected to trail out afterthe lieutenant, "says Tate. "The rest they holds as pris'ners. Eitherway it's a hard, deep crossin', an' one's about as rough a toss asthe other. " "'This last

Tate stacks in to mebby win out a little comfort for the one theMexicans cuts outen our bunch to kill. "`After a brief pow-wow theGreaser who's actin' range-boss for the outfit puts six beans in abuckskin bag. Five is white an' one's black. Them Greasers is on thegamble bigger'n wolves, an' they crowds up plenty gleeful to see ustake a gambler's chance for our lives. The one of us who draws ablack 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' mestand back while the four others searches one after the other intothe bag for his bean. "`Tate goes first an' wins a white bean. "`Then a shiftless, no-account party whom we-alls calls "ChickenBill" 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 gentturns out a white bean the shadow begins to fall across Jim Willisan' me. I looks at Jim; an' I gives it to you straight when I saysthat 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, iswhat's hurtin'; it don't somehow occur to me I'm likewise up ag'inthe iron my se'f. "`"Looks like this yere amiable deevice is out torun 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 adeep 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 tohurry up none. 

"`When it's to Jim an' me they selects me out as the one to pull forthe next bean. Jim's still lookin' at me hard, an' I sees the waterin his eye. '

"`"Let me have your draw, Sam, " he says. 

"`"Shore, "I replies, standin' a step off from the bag. " It's yourstoo quick. "

"` But the Mexicans don't see it that a-way. It's my turn an' mydraw, an' Jim has to take what's left. So the Mexicans tells Tate tosend me after my bean ag'in. 

"`"Hold on a second, Sam, " says Jim, an' by this time he's steady asa church. "Sam, " he goes on, "thar's no use you--all gettin' theshort end of this. Thar's reasons for you livin', which my case isvoid tharof. Now let me ask you: be you up on beans? Can you tell ablack 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 mysooperior knowledge gets in. If these Mexicans had let me draw foryou 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 sameas in ponies. Black beans is rough like a cactus compared to whitebeans, which said last vegetable is shorely as smooth as glass. Nowyere's what you--all does; jest grp[e an' scout 'round in that baguntil you picks out the smooth bean. That's your bean; that's thewhite 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' sorterwoozy. I never doubts him for a moment. Of course I don't take noadvantage of what he says. I recalls the advice my old mother givesme; it's long enough ago now. The old lady says: "Samyool, never letme 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' roughthat a-way, an' the white bein' the smooth bean, I nacherallysearches out the rough bean, allowin' she'll shore be black; whichshows my intellects can't cope with Jim's none. 

"`The bean I brings to the surface is white. I'm pale as a ghost. Myheart wilts like water inside of me, an' I feels white as the beanwhere it lays in my hand. Of course I'm some young them days, an' itdon't need so much to stagger me. "`I recollects like it was in avision hearin' Jim laugh. "Sam, " he says, "I reads you like so muchsunshine. An' I shorely fools you up a lot. Don't you reckon Iallows 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 otherhand as lie says "ADIOS, " an' the next is the" bang! "of theMexicans's guns. Jim's dead then; he's out in a second; never batsan eye nor wags a y'ear. 

"'Which now, ' says Enright at the end, as he yanks his saddle 'roundso he makes a place for his head, 'which now that you-alls is fullyinformed why I appears averse to Greasers, I reckons I'll slumbersome. 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, dropshis head on his saddle, an' lays a long time quiet, like he'sasleep. Jack Moore an' me ain't sayin' nothin'; merely settin' tharpeerin' into the fire an' listenin' to the coyotes. At last Enrightlifts his head off the saddle. 

"'Mebby it's twenty years ago when a party over on the Rio Grandeallows as how Jim's aimin' to cold-deck me when he onfolds about thehabits of them beans. It takes seven months, a iron constitootion, an' three medicine-sharps--an' each as good as Doc Peets, --beforethat Rio Grande party is regarded as outen danger. '"

CHAPTER VI. 

TUCSON JENNIES HEART. 

"'Whyever ain't I married?' says you. " The Old Cattleman repeatedthe question after me as he settled himself for one of our many"pow-wows, " as he described them. "Looks like you've dealt me thatconundrum before. Why ain't I wedded? The answer to that, son, is along shot an' a limb in the way. 

"Now I reckons the reason why I'm allers wifeless a whole lot ismainly due to the wide pop'larity of them females I takes after. Some other gent sorter gets her first each time, an' nacherally thatbars 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 amaiden 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 whenthe stake's a lady. 

"It's troo, " he continued, reflectively puffing his pipe. "I wasdisp'sitioned for a wife that a-way when I'm a colt. But that's along time ago; I ain't in line for no sech gymnastics no more; myyears is 'way ag'in it. 

"You've got to ketch folks young to marry 'em. After they gets to bethirty years they goes slowly to the altar. If you aims to marry agent 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 genttakes a hand early, it's a good game, I makes no sort of doubt. Butlet him get to millin' 'round in the thirties or later, an' him notbegun none as yet; you bet he don't marry nothin'. 

"Bar an onexplainable difference with the girl's old man, " he wenton with an air of thought, "I s'pose I'd be all married right now. Iwas twenty, them times. It's 'way back in Tennessee. Her folks livesabout 'leven miles from me out on the Pine Knot Pike, an' once intwo weeks I saddles up an' sorter sidles over. Thar's jest her oldpap an' her mother an' her in the fam'ly, an' it's that far I allersmade to stay all night. Thar's only two beds, an' so I'm put to campalong of the old man the times I stays. 

"Them days I'm 'way bashful an' behind on all social plays, an' amplenty awe-struck about the old foiks. I never feels happy a minutewhere 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 timeI'm thar. I remembers the night all perfect. Me an' the girl sets upawhile, 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 theold man's y'ear with one hand an' a-hammerin' of his features witht'other. I don't know yet, why. I s'pose I'm locoed an' dreamin', anallows he's a b'ar or somethin' in my sleep that a-way, an' tries tokill him. "Son, it's 'way back a long time, but I shudders yet whenI reflects on that old man's language. I jumps up when I realizesthings, grabs my raiment, an', gettin' my hoss outen the corral, goes p'intin' down the pike more'n a mile 'fore I even stops todress. 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 aHawkins'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 agrandjury 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 inWolfville. Missis Rucker, who runs the O. K. Restauraw, gets thisfemale from Tucson to fry flap-jacks an' salt hoss, an' he'p herdeal her little gastronomic game. This yere girl's name is Jennie-Tucson Jennie. She looks like she's a nice, good girl, too; one ofthem which it's easy to love, an' in less'n two weeks thar's halfthe camp gets smitten. "It affects business, it's that bad. CherokeeHall tells me thar ain't half the money gets changed in at faro asusual, an' the New York Store reports gents goin' broke ag'in biledshirts, an' sim'lar deadfalls daily. Of course this yere firstfrenzy subsides a whole lot after a month. "All this time Jennieain't sayin' a word. She jest shoves them foolish yooths theirenchiladas an' ckile con carne, an' ignores all winks an' lookscomplete. 

"Thar's a party named Jim Baxter in camp, an' he sets in to winJennie hard. Jim tries to crowd the game an' get action. It lookslike he's due to make the trip too. Missis Rucker is backin' hisplay, an' Jennie herse'f sorter lets him set 'round in the kitchenan' watch her work; which this yore is license an' riot itse'fcompared with how she treats others. Occasionally some of us sortertries to stack up for Jim an' figger out where he stands with thethe game. 

"'How's it goin', Baxter?' Enright asks one day. 

"'It's too many for me, ' says Jim. 'Some-times I thinks I corralsher, an' then ag'in it looks like I ain't in it. Jest now I'mfeelin' 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 Jimup 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, ifJim is dyin' an' she cares for him, she's shorely goin' to show herhand. '

"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 knowabout squaws is valueless as information. But to go on with thedeal. 

"'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 itfetches her. '

"'What for a game, ' says Cherokee, 'would it be to play like Jim'sshot? 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 tobe quite a conspir'cy. It's settled we plays it, with Dave Tutt todo the shootin'. 

"'An' we makes the game complete, ' says Jack Moore, 'by grabbin'Dave immediate an' bringin' of him before the committee, whichconvenes all reg'lar an' deecorous in the Red Light for saidpurpose. We-alls must line out like we're goin' to hang Dave for thekillin'; otherwise it don't look nacheral nohow, an' the ladydetects it's a bluff. '

"We gets things all ready, an' in the middle of the afternoon, whenJennie 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 YorkStore. As a preliminary step we lays Jim on some boxes, with awagon-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 canswarm in at him easy. You hear me! she's goin' to come stampedin' inyere like wild cattle when she gets the news. '

"When everythin's ready, Tutt an' Jack, who concloods it's well tohave a good deal of shootin', bangs away with their guns about fourtimes apiece. 

"'Jest shootin' once or twice, ' says Jack, 'might arouse hers'picions. It would be a heap too brief for the real thing. '

"The minute the shootin' is ceased we-alls takes Tutt an' surgesover to the Red Light to try him; a-pendin' of which Dan Boggssa'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 asever I sees, too. Mighty big credit to both boys this yere is. Noshootin' 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 donecashed in his stack. Why! girl, he's dead; eighteen bullets, caliberforty-five, plumb through him. '

"'No, but Dave! Is Dave shot?' Tucson Jennie says, a-wringin' of hersmall 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' speritwon't be an hour behind Jim's gettin' in. The Stranglers has him inthe Red Light, makin' plans to stretch him right now. '

"We-alls has consoomed drinks all 'round, an' Enright is in thechair, an' we're busy settin' up a big front about hearin' the case, when Tucson Jennie, with a scream as scares up surroundin' things tosech 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'sa heap scand'lized. 'Is this yere maiden playin' anythin' on thiscamp?'

"'She's plumb locoed with grief, ' says Dan Boggs, who follers herin, 'an' she's done got 'em mixed in her mind. She thinks Dave isBaxter. '

"'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 torevive her. ' An' with that Cherokee an' Jack goes up to lead heraway. 

"'Save him, Mister Enright; save him!' she pleads, still clingin' toTutt's neck like the loop of a lariat. 'Don't let 'em hang him! Savehim for my sake!'

"'Hold on, Jack, ' says Enright, who by now is lookin' somethoughtful. 'Jest everybody stand their hands yere till I counts thepot an' notes who's shy. It looks like we're cinchin' the hull ontothe wrong bronco. Let me ask this female a question. Young woman, 'he says to Tucson Jennie, 'be you fully informed as to whose neckyou're hangin' to?'

"'It's Dave's, ain't it?' she says, lookin' all tearful in his faceto make shore. 

"Enright an' the rest of us don't say nothin', but gazes at eachother. Tutt flushes up an' shows pleased both at once. But all thesame 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 jingleda spur or pulled a gun in Wolfville; but as I reflects on the activepart I takes in these yere ceremonies, I won't be responsible forresults 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 Baxterthrows away the wagon cover an' comes over from the New York Storean' stands in with us. It gets to be a orgy. 

"'Of course it's all right, ' says Enright, 'the camp wins with Tuttinstead of Baxter; that's all. It 'lustrates one of them beautifulcharacteristics of the gentler sex, too. Yere's Baxter, to saynothin' of twenty others, as besieges an' beleaguers this yerefemale for six weeks, an' she scorns 'em. Yere's Tutt, who ain'tmakin' a move, an' she grabs him. It is sech oncertainties, gents, as makes

the love of woman valuable. ' "'You-alls should have asked me, ' saysFaro 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. Anybodycould see it. Why! she's been feedin' of him twice as good grub asshe does anybody else. '"

CHAPTER VII. 

TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY. 

"No; Dave an' his wife prospers along all right. That is, theyprospers all but once; that's when Jennie gets jealous. "

The Old Cattleman was responding to my question. I was full of anidle interest and disposed to go further into the affairs of Tuttand Tucson Jennie. 

"Doc Peets, " continued the old gentleman, "allers tells me on theside thar's nothin' in Dave's conduct onbecomin' a fam'ly man thata-way, an' that Jen's simply barkin' at a knot. But, however thatis, Dave don't seem to gain no comfort of it at the time. I can seemyse'f she gets Dave plumb treed an' out on a limb by themaccusations when she makes 'em. He shorely looks guilty; an' yet, while I stands over the play from the first, I can't see where Davedoes wrong. 

"However, I don't put myse'f for'ard as no good jedge in domesticaffairs. Bein' single myse'f that a-way, females is ondoubted whatDoc Peets calls a 'theery' with me. But nevertheless, in anonpresoomin', lowly way, I gives it as my meager jedgement, an' Igives 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 asorganizin' to meet her game. For myse'f, I don't want notransactions with 'em; none whatever. 

"This yere domestic uprisin' of Dave's wife breaks on Wolfville asonexpected as a fifth ace in a poker deck; it leaves the camp allspraddled out. Tucson Jennie an' Dave's been wedded goin' on sixmonths. The camp, as I relates, attends the nuptials in a body, an', followin' of the festivities, Tucson Jennie an' Dave tumbles intohousekeepin' peaceful as two pups in a basket. 

"Wolfville's proud of 'em, an'every time some ign'rant bein' asksabout Wolfville an' the social features of the camp, we allersmentions Tutt an' his wife, an' tells how they keeps house, sorterupholsterin' our bluff. 

"That's how the deal stands, when one day up jumps this TucsonJennie, puts on her sunbunnit, an' goes stampedin' down to the U. K. House, an' allows to Missis Rucker that she's done lived with Daveall she aims to, an' has shore pulled her picket pin for good. Sheputs it up Dave is a base, deceitful sharp that a-way, an' informsMissis Rucker, all mixed up with tears, as how she now desires to goback in the kitchen an' cook, same as when Dave rounds her up forhis wife. 

"Yere's the whole story, an' while I nurses certain views tharon, Ileaves 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 fromsoda to hock. 

"It's mighty likely a month before the time Tucson Jennie breaksthrough Dave's lines this a-way. Dave an' me's due to go overtowards the Tres Hermanas about some cattle. Likewise thar's anEnglish outfit allowin' they'll go along some, to see where they'vebeen stackin' in heavy on some ranch lands. They was eager for Davean' 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 isshorely 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 folksbe some trouble. It's a mighty sight better than havin' 'em gop'intin' off alone that a-way. They would shore miss the way if theydoes; an' the first we-alls knows, these yere Britons would berunnin' cimmaron in the hills, scarin' up things a lot, an' a-stampedin' the cattle plumb off the range. It's easier to go alongcareful with 'em an' bring'em back. '

"It comes, then, that one mornin' Dave an' me an' these yere alienslines out for the hills. They've got ponies, an' wagons, an' camp-outfit to that extent a casooal onlooker might think they aims to beaway for years. 

"As we p'ints out from the O. K. House, where them Britons has beenwrastlin' their chuck pendin' the start, Tucson Jennie is tharsayin' 'goodby' to Dave. I notes then she ain't tickled to deathnone 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' Ireckons 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'loushow a han'some, corn-fed female like Tucson Jennie manages to founda fight with Dave over this yere towerist woman. I'm nacherally slowto go decidin' bets ag'in a lady's looks, but whatever Tucson Jenniesees in the appearance of this person which is likely to inviggleDave is too many for me. I softens the statement a heap when I saysshe'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 howTucson Jennie is cuttin' the kyards with herse'f desp'rate to seewhether she declar's war at the very time we makes our start. If shedoes, she turns the low kyard, for she don't say nothin', an' wegets away, an' all is profound peace. 

"Four days later we're in camp by a water-hole in the frill of thefoot-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 'emspeshul, as we don't see how none is needed. Besides, we has somehard 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 downthe valley from us. They's all serene an' peaceful enough; withsquaws, 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 thisband of savages than they has to go projectin' round 'em. That's theworst thing about a towerist; he's that loaded with cur'osity, an'that gregar'ous an' amiable, he has to go foolin' 'round everystranger lie tracks up with. In their ign'rance they even gets thatroode an' insultin' at times, that I knows 'em who's that regardlessan' imp'lite as to up an' ask a rank stranger that a-way to pass'emhis gun to look at. 

"An' so, as I says, no sooner does them Injuns get near us, thanthem three blessed foreigners is over after 'em; ropin' at em' withquestions an' invadin' of 'em, an' examinin' of 'em like the wholetribe's for sale an' they aims to acquire 'em if figgers isreasonable. 

"I never does know what the female towerist says or does to thatpartic'lar aborigine-nothin' most likely; but it ain't a day whenone of them Injuns settles it with himse'f he wants to wed her. Thetowerists is in ign'rance of the views of this savage, who goesabout 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 welays eyes on at the camp shorely livens us up a lot. Thar, tied tothe wagon-wheels, is nine ponies, which the same belongs to theInjuns. 

"'Whatever be these y ere broncos doin' yere?' says Dave, for weallows, the first dash outen the box, mebby the Britons makes apurchase. 

"One of the towerists tells a long an' delighted story about thegen'rosity of the Injuns. 

"'Actooally, ' says this towerist, "them gen'rous savages leads upthese yere nine ponies an' donates 'em. '

"Dave an' me asks questions; and all thar is to the deal--which it'sshore enough to bust Dave's fam'ly before it's over--them Injunsbrings up the nine ponies all respectful, an' leaves 'em hobbledout, mebby it's a hundred yards from the Britons, an' rides away. The Britons, deemin' this bluff as in the line of gifts, capers overan' possesses themse'fs of the ponies an' leads 'em in. That's theoutside of the store. 

"'Well, stranger, ' says Dave in reply, takin' of the towerist oneside, 'I ain't aimin' to discourage you none, but you-alls has gonean' 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 theBriton's goin' to need whiskey to uphold himse'f. But hereorganizes, an' Dave explains that the Injuns, when they trails inwith 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 settlesit. You agrees to deal right thar. To-morrow, now, this yere buck, whoever he is, will come surgin' in with his relations plumb down tothird 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 thetowerist. He allows we must keep it from his daughter; an' then heputs hip whole outfit in Dave's hands, to get 'em safe onto highgrounds. 

"'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 Injunoutfit's below us in the draw, an' we never gets by once in athousand times. No, ' goes on Dave, 'one shore thing we can't backout nor crawl off. We-alls has to play the hand plumb through:

"Then Dave tells the towerist him an' me talks over this yereweddin' which he done goes into so inadvertent; an' if thar's achance to save him from becomin' a father-in-law abrupt, we'll playit to win. 

"'This yere is the only wagon-track out; says Dave to me, after wepow-wows an hour. 'You go down to them Injuns, an' find the rightbuck that a-way, an' tell him the squaw's got a buck now. Tell himhe's barred. Which at this p'int in your revelations he's due tooffer a fight, an' of course you takes him. Tell him at first-drinktime to-morrow mornin' he finds me ready to fight for the squaw. '

"'This whole business makes metired, though, ' says Dave, a heapdisgustad. ' If these eediots had let them Injuns alone-, or even ifthey disdains the ponies when they was brought up, this yere couldbe fixed easy. But now it's fight or give up the woman, so you godown, as I says, an' arrange for the dance. '

"Of course thar's no explainin' nothin' to Injuns. You might as wellwaste time expoundin' to coyotes an' jack-rabbits. All that's leftfor me to do is trail out after my savage, as Dave says, an' notifyhim that this weddin' he pro. Poses is postponed an' all bets isoff. 

"I finds him easy enough, an' saws it off on him in Spanish how thegame stacks up. But he ain't cheerful about it, an' displays amighty baleful sperit. Jest as Tutt allows he's out to shoot for thesquaw in a minute, an' as thar's no gettin' away from it, I tellshim 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 befour days from Wolfville, an' the Injuns--an' I reckons thar'stwenty bucks in the outfit-is camped in between us an' he'p. 

"This Injun who's after the woman is named Black Dog. The nextmornin' Tutt saddles up an' rides off to one side of our camp, mebbyit's a quarter of a mile, an' then gets offen his pony an' standsthar. 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 thatign'rant of what's going' on, she's pesterin' 'round allonconscious, makin' bakin'-powder biscuit at the time. I looks ather 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'staste before he comes p'intin' out from among his people. 

"The sun's jest gettin' over the hills to the east, an', as itstrikes him, he's shore a fash'nable lookin' Injun. He ain't gotnothin' on but a war-bunnit an' a coat of paint. The rest of histrousseau 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 astrap from muzzle to tail. This bridegroom Injun's tied its manefull of ribbons, an' throws a red blanket across his pony's withersfor 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 standsthar on the ground an' keeps his hoss between him an' this yereBlack Dog. It's a play which forces the bridegroom's hand, too. He'sdue, bein' Injun, to go cirelin' Dave an' do his shootin' on thecanter. 

"An' that's what this weak-minded savage does. He breaks into a lopean' goes sailin' 'round Dave like a hawk. Durin' them exercises helays over on the shoulder of his hoss an' bangs away from onder itsneck with one hand, permiscus. 

"This is mere frivolity. Thar ain't no white gent who could shootnone onder sech conditions; an' Injuns can't shoot nohow. They don'tsavey 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 inArizona; leastwise not with guns. 

'Mebby this Black Dog's banged away three times, when Dave, who'sbeen followin' of him, through the sights for thirty seconds, onhooks his rifle, an' the deal comes to a full stop. Dave'sshootin' 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 yereBlack 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 seeminformed none of the course of events. The fact is, she never doesacquire the rights of it till we-alls is two days back on the returntrail. 

"Thar's no more bother. Injuns is partic'lar people, that a-way, about etiquette as they saveys it, an' followin' Dave's downin' thisBlack Dog they ain't makin' a moan or a move. They takes it plentysolemn an' mute, an' goes to layin' out the Black Dog's obsequieswithout 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, wemoves out for Wolfville, makin' no idle delays whatever. 

"Goin' in, Dave, after thinkin' some, su'gests to me that it'slikely 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 Ireckons it's goin' to be a crafty play not to tell her. '

"The Britons has been gone two weeks when Tucson Jennie learns thestory. Them towerists is plumb weary of Arizona when we trails intoWolfville, an' don't seem to tarry a second before they lines outfor Tucson. 

"'They jest hits a high place or two, ' says Jack Moore, after hehears of them designs of the Black Dog, 'an' they'll be 'way yonderout of the country. I don't reckon none of 'em'll ever come backsoon, 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 toJennie. Tucson Jennie gets this missive, an' ups an' rifles an'reads it to herse'f a whole lot. It's then Tucson Jennie gives itout cold, Dave is breakin' her heart, an' tharupon prances 'roundfor her shaker an' goes over to Missis Rucker's. 

"The whole camp knows the story in an hour, an' while we-ailssympathizes with Dave of course, no one's blamin' Tucson Jennie. She's a female, an' onresponsible, for one thing; an' then, ag'inDave's a heap onlikely to stand any condemnations of his wife. 

"'She's as good a woman as ever wears a moccasin, ' says Dave, whilehe's recoverin' of his sperits at the Red Light bar. 

"An' we-alls allows she shorely is; an' then everybody looks pensivean' sincere that a-way, so's not to harrow Dave none an' make hisburdens more. 

"'But whatever can I do to fetch her back to camp?' asks Dave, appealin' to Enright mighty wretched. 'I goes plumb locoed if thisyere keeps on. '

"'My notion is, we-alls better put Missis Rucker in to play thehand, ' says Enright. 'Missis Rucker's a female, an' is shorely dueto 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 ustreed. It's a case of fight or give up that she-towerist, so whatwas I to do?'

"`Well, ' says Enright, some severe, ' you might at least haveconsulted with this yere towerist woman some. But you don't. Yousimply gets a gun an' goes trackin' 'round in her destinies, an'shootin' up her prospects like you has a personal interest. Youdon't know but she deplores the deal complete. Peets, an' me, an'Boggs, an' all the rest of us is your friends, an' nacherallypartial on your side. We-alls figgers you means well. But what Isays is this: It ain't no s'prisin' thing when Tucson Jennie, a-hearin' of them pronounced attentions which you pays this toweristlady, is filled with grief. This shootin' up an Injun, cause he'splannin' to wed this female some, is what I shorely calls pronouncedattentions. 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 youputs it: s'pose Dave ain't hungerin' none for this towerist womanhimse'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 melook at your hand, " to this female, jestifies them inferences ofyours. Of course I don't say--an' I don't reckon none--Dave thinksof this old-maid maverick once; but, he sees himse'f, ht shore goesto war a heap precipitate an' onconsiderate, an' Tucson Jennie hasondoubted grounds to buck. 

"'Which, when you-alls puts it so cl'ar, I thinks so too, ' saysDave, 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 anamature husband. What you-alls oughter do now is he'p me to roundher up. If Tucson Jennie's a bunch of cattle, or a band of ponies ashas stampeded, you'd be in the saddle too quick. '

"Missis Rucker shore does all she knows to soften Tucson Jennie. Shereminds her how in the old times, when Dave gets his chile con carneat the O. K. House, and the party from the States takes to reprovin'of Missis Rucker about thar bein' nothin' but coffee an' beans toeat, Dave onlimbers his six-shooter an' goes to the front. 

"'The grub's dealt down, ' says Dave, explainin' to this obnoxioustenderfoot, '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'inbeans; an' you can gamble I ain't out to devour no sech lowveg'tables; none whatever. '

"'You jest thinks you don't like beans, ' says Dave, an' with that hesorter dictates at the tenderfoot with his gun, an' the tenderfootthar-upon lays for his frijoles like he's actooally honin' tharfor. 

"'Which it all shows Dave's got a good heart, ' says Missis Rucker toTucson 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 sightsoffen a six-shooter. 

"'He never makes no love to this yere woman, ' says Missis Rucker. 

"'When he ketches her flirtin' with that Injun, ' demands TucsonJennie, '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 likeher heart is shorely broke. 

"'Which the pore girl's to be pitied, ' says Enright. 'Dave, ' he goeson, turnin' to Tutt some fierce, 'you don't deserve no sech devotionas this. '

"'That's whatever, ' says Dan Boggs, lookin' red an' truculent, 'thisyere Tucson Jennie's a angel. '

"But thar we be, up ag'inst it, an' not a man knows a thing to do tosquar' 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 alow-sperited way. 

"'I reckons she done jumps the game for good, ' he says. 'But ifshe's goin', I wants her to have a layout. If you-alls cares to goover to the New York Store, I allows I'll play in a blue stack ortwo 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 sorterstraggles along. Thar's nothin' gay about us. Dave gets a shawl an'a dress; nothin' gaudy; it's a plain red an' yaller. Missis Ruckerpacks 'em over to Tucson Jennie an' gets that wrapped up in the dealshe forgets utter to rustle us our grub. 

"Which, it's the onexpeeted as happens in Wolfville same aseverywhere else. The minute Tucson Jennie sees the raiment, an'realizes how Dave loves her, that settles it. Her heart melts rightthar. 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, shakeshands all 'round, but don't trust himse'f with no remarks. He givesour 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, ' saysEnright, after Dave pulls his freight, 'but Tutt oughter rememberyereafter, before he goes mixin' himse'f up with sech vain things astowerists 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 fora quiet smoke. The Old Cattleman had just thrown down his paper; thehalf-light of the waning sun was a bit too dim for his eyes ofseventy years. 

"Whenever I beholds a seegyar, " said the old fellow, as he puffedvoluminously at the principe I passed over, "I thinks of what thatwitness says in the murder trial at Socorro. 

"'What was you-all doin' in camp yourse'f, ' asks the jedge of thisyere witness, 'the day of the killin'?'

"'Which, ' says the witness, oncrossin' his laigs an' lettin' on heain't made bashful an' oneasy by so much attentions bein' shownhire, 'which I was a-eatin' of a few sardines, a-drinkin' of a fewdrinks of whiskey, a-smokin' of a few seegyars, an' a-romancin''round. '"

After this abrupt, not to say ambiguous reminiscence, the OldCattleman puffed contentedly a moment. 

"What murder trial was this you speak of?" I asked. "Who had beenkilled?"

"Now I don't reckon I ever does know who it is gets downed, " hereplied. "This yere murder trial itse'f is news to me complete. Theywas 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 thejedge 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 sechremarks is simply sooicidal. '"

Again the Old Cattleman relapsed into silence and the smoke of theprincipe. 

"How did the trial come out?" I queried. "Was the accused foundguilty?"

"Which the trial itse'f, " he replied, "don't come out. Thar's apassel 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 nacherallyfeels hurried an' pressed for leesure. Theyalls oughter be back onthe range with their cattle. So the fifth day, when things isloiterin' along at the trial till it looks like the law has hobbleson, an' the word goes round it's goin' to be a week yet before thejury gets action on this miscreant who's bein' tried, the boysbecomes plumb aggravated an' wearied out that a-way; an', kickin' inthe door of the calaboose, they searches out the felon, swings himto 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 struckin again. 

"Speakn' of killin's, while I'm the last gent to go fosterin' ideesof bloodshed, I'm some discouraged jest now by what I've beenreadin' in that paper about a dooel between some Eytalians, an' itshorely tries me the way them aliens plays hoss. It's obvious asstars on a cl'ar night, they never means fight a little bit. Iabhors dooels, an' cowers from the mere idee. But, after all, business is business, an' when folks fights 'em the objects of themeetin' oughter be blood. But the way these yere European shorthornsfixes it, a gent shorely runs a heap more resk of becomin' a angelabrupt, attendin' of a Texas cake-walk in a purely social way. 

"Do they ever fight dooels in the West? Why, yes--some. My mem'rycomes a-canterin' up right now with the details of an encounter Ionce beholds in Wolfville. Thar ain't no time much throwed away witha 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 amighty serious an' experienced person, don't copper the play bymakin' 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 midsttakes 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 theeternal sea, an' nary ripple. 

"Oh, this yere Wolfville dooel! `Well, it's this a-way. The day isblazin' hot, an' business layin' prone an' dead--jest blistered todeath. A passel of us is sorter pervadin' 'round the dance-hall, itbein' the biggest an' coolest store in camp. A monte game isstrugglin' 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'shavin' 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' heallows he's called "The Man from Red Dog. " He says he's took a dayoff to visit us, an' aims to lay waste the camp some before he goesback. '

"About then the Red Dog man notes old Santa Rosa, who keeps theMexican baile hall, an' his old woman, Marie, a-fussin' with eachother in front of the New York Store. They's locked horns over adrink or somethin', an' is pow-wowin' mighty onamiable. 

"'Whatever does this yere Mexican fam'ly mean, ' says the Red Dogman, a-surveyin' of 'em plenty scornful, 'a-draggin' of theirdomestic brawls out yere to offend a sufferin' public for? Whyeverdon'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'tthirst tharfor? However, I unites an' reeconciles this dividedhousehold easy. '

"With this the Red Dog man drops the loop of his lariat 'round thetwo contestants an' jumps his bronco up the street like it's comeouten a gun. Of course Santa Rosa an' Marie goes along on theirheads 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-allsgoes over from the dance-hall, extricatin' of 'em, an' final theyrounds up mighty hapless an' weak, an' can only walk. They shorelylose 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'tfight none whatever for a month. '

"Which, as it shorely looks like he's right, no one takes him. Sothe 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 somefastidious about my fire-water an' likes a chance to select. '

"Well, we-alls takes our inspiration, an' the Red Dog man tucks hisonder his belt an' then turns round to Enright. 

"'I takes it you're the old he-coon of this yere outfit?' says theRed Dog man, soopercillious-like. 

"'Which, if I ain't, ' says Enright, 'it's plenty safe as a play tolet 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 constantof this yere camp of Wolfville, I takes my first idle day to rideover an' line things up. Now yere I be, an' while I regrets it, Ifinds you-alls is a lawless, onregenerate set, a heap sight worsethan roomer. I now takes the notion--for I sees no other trail--thatby next drink time I climbs into the saddle, throws my rope 'roundthis den of sin, an' removes it from the map. '

"'Nacherally, ' says Enright, some sarcastic, 'in makin' them schemesyou ain't lookin' for no trouble whatever with a band of tarrapinslike us. '

"'None whatever, ' says the Red Dog man, mighty confident. 'In thirtyminutes I distributes this yere hamlet 'round in the landscape sameas them Greasers; which feat becomin' hist'ry, I then canters backto Red Dog. '

"'Well, ' says Enright, 'it's plenty p'lite to let us know what'scomin' this a-way. '

"'Oh! I ain't tellin' you none, ' says the Red Dog man, 'I simplylets fly this hint, so any of you-alls as has got bric-a-brac hevalues speshul, he takes warnin' some an' packs it off all safe. '

"It's about then when Cherokee Hall, who's lookin' on, shoulders inbetween Enright an' the Red Dog man, mighty positive. Cherokee is aheap sot in his idees, an' I sees right off he's took a notion ag'inthe Red Dog man. 

"'As you've got a lot of work cut out, ' says Cherokee, eyein' theRed 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 hishand. I wants to say right yere, this Cherokee's plenty guileful. 

"'You was namin', ' says Cherokee, 'some public improvements you aimsto 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 theresult 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' forhis gun. 

"But he never gets it, for the same second Cherokee spills the glassof 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 shorefixes 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, heslashes 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 onto Doc Peets, 'take this yere Red Dog stranger over to the RedLight, fix his eyes all right, an' then tell him, if he thinks heneeds blood in this, to take his Winchester an' go north in themiddle of the street. In twenty minutes by the watch I steps outenthe dance-hall door a-lookin' for him. P'int him to the door allfair 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 aminute word comes to Cherokee as his eyes is roundin' up all proper, an' that he's makin' war-medicine an' is growin' more hostileconstant, an' to heel himse'f. At that Cherokee, mighty ca'm, sendsout for Jack Moore's Winchester, which is an 'eight-squar', ' latestmodel. 

"'Oh, Cherokee!' says Faro Nell, beginnin' to cry, an' curlin' herarms 'round his neck. 'I'm 'fraid he's goin' to down you. Ain't tharno 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 tospar' Nell's feelin's, Cherokee, an' not to interfere with no gent'slittle game, I takes your hand an' plays it. '

"'Not none, ' says Cherokee; 'this is my deal. Don't cry, Nellie, ' headds, smoothin' down her yaller ha'r. 'Folks in my business has tohold themse'fs ready to face any game on the word, an' they neverweakens or lays down. An' another thing, little girl; I gets thisRed Dog sharp, shore. I'm in the middle of a run of luck; I holdsfours 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 theshootin' none. We applauds the idee, thinkin' she might shakeCherokee some if she stays; an' of course a gent out shootin' forhis life needs his nerve. 

"Well, the twenty minutes is up; the Red Dog man gets his rifleoffen his saddle an' goes down the middle of the street. Turnin' uphis big sombrero, he squar's 'round, cocks his gun, an' waits. ThenEnright goes out with Cherokee an' stands him in the street about ahundred yards from the Red Dog man. After Cherokee's placed he holdsup his hand for attention an' says:

"'When all is ready I stands to one side an' drops my hat. You-allsfires at will. '

"Enright goes over to the side of the street, counts 'one, ' 'two, ''three, ' an' drops his hat. Bangety! Bang! Bang! goes the rifleslike the roll of a drum. Cherokee can work a Winchester like one ofthese yere Yankee 'larm-clocks, an' that Red Dog hold-up don't seemnone behind. 

"About the fifth fire the Red Dog man sorter steps for'ard an' dropshis gun; an' after standin' onsteady for a second, he starts tocripplin' down at his knees. At last he comes ahead on his face likea landslide. Thar's two bullets plumb through his lungs, an' when wegets 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 hethinks he wants. 

"'I wants you-alls to take off my moccasins an' pack me into thestreet, ' says the Red Dog man. 'I ain't allowin' for my old motherin Missoury to be told as how I dies in no gin-mill, which sheshorely '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 hisboots. 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, whilewe stands thar, has been pawin' over the Red Dog man's rifle. 'Lookslike this vivacious party's plumb locoed. Yere's his hind-sightswedged up for a thousand yards, an' he's been a-shootin' ofcartridges with a hundred an' twenty grains of powder into 'em. Between the sights an' the jump of the powder, he's shootin' plumbover Cherokee an' aimin' straight at him. '

"'Nellie, ' says Enright, lookin' remorseful at the girl, who colorsup an' begins to cry ag'in, 'did you cold-deck this yere Red Dogsport this a-way?'

"'I'm 'fraid, ' sobs Nell, 'he gets Cherokee; so I slides over whenyou-alls is waitin' an' fixes his gun some. '

"'Which I should shorely concede you did, ' says Enright. 'The waythat 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 afraidhe'd spoiled Cherokee a whole lot. '

"'Well, gents, ' goes on Enright, after thinkin' a while, 'I reckonswe-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 ourburdens with the rest. '"

CHAPTER IX. 

CHEROKEE HALL. 

"An' you can't schedoole too much good about him, " remarked the OldCattleman. Here he threw away the remnant of the principe, and, securing his pipe, beat the ashes there-out and carefully reloadedwith cut plug. Inevitably the old gentleman must smoke. His tone andair as he made the remark quoted were those of a man whoseconvictions 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 Ireflects with satisfaction, it's this yere Cherokee Hall. "

"To judge from his conduct, " I said, "in the hard case of theWilkins girl, as well as his remark as she left on the stage, Ishould hold him to be a person of sensibilities as well asbenevolent 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'snephy; 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 twohundred dollars to some gent 'cross the table who's organizin' to goag'in him an' can't afford to lose. An' you can onderscore it; awinnin' poker hand, an' him holdin' it, is the last thing athoroughbred kyard-sharp'll give away. But as I says, I sees thisCherokee 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' notplay it none; jest nacherally let the gent who's needy that a-wayrake in the chips on the low hand. Cherokee mebby does it thisfashion so's he don't wound the feelin's of this yere victim of hisgen'rosity. Thar's folks who turns sens'tive an' ain't out to takealms none, who's feelin's he spar's that a-way by losin' to 'em atpoker what they declines with scorn direct. "'Benev'lent, ' is theway you puts it! Son, 'benev'lent' ain't the word. This sportCherokee Hall ain't nothin' short of char'table. 

"Speakin' wide flung an' onrestrained, Cherokee, as I mentions toyou before, is the modestest, decentest longhorn as ever shakes hisantlers 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 hedon't gamble for. Nothin' common, though; I sees him one night whenhe sets ca'mly into some four-handed poker, five thousand dollarstable stake, an' he's sanguine an' hopeful about landin' on his feetas 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 dollarsbefore the draw. Still we ain't none of us makin' cigarettes of nosech roll as five thousand. The days ain't quite so halcyon as allthat neither. 

"But what I likes speshul in Cherokee Hall is his jedgement. He'severy time right. He ain't talkin' much, an' he ain't needin' adviceneither, more'n a steer needs a saddle-blanket. But when heconcloodes to do things, you can gamble he's got it plenty right. 

"One time this Cherokee an' Texas Thompson is comin' in from Tucsonon the stage. Besides Cherokee an' Texas, along comes a female, close-herdin' of two young-ones; which them infants might have beent'rant'lers an' every one a heap happier. Sorter as range-boss ofthe whole out. Fit is a lean gent in a black coat. Well, they hopsin, an' Cherokee gives 'em the two back seats on account of thefemale an' the yearlin's. 

"'My name is Jones, ' says the gent in the black coat, when he getssettled 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. 'Themgames 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 younames is open in Wolfville I overlooks the same complete. '

"'Pore, sinkin' soul!' says the black-coat gent to the female; 'he'sa-flounderin' in the mire of sin. Don't you know, ' he goes on toTexas, 'my perishin' friend, you are bein' swept downward in theriver of your own sinful life till your soul will be drowned in theabyss?"

"'Well, no, ' says Texas, 'I don't. I allows I'm makin' a mighty dryford of it. '

"'Lost! lost! lost!' says the black-coat gent, a-leanin' back likehe's plumb dejected that a-way an' hopeless. 'It is a stiff-neckedgen'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 worriesTexas; an' the two infants, gettin' restless, comes tumblin' overonto Cherokee an' is searchin' of his pockets for mementoes. Whichthis is about as refreshin' to Cherokee as bein' burned at thestake. But the mother she leans back an' smiles, an' of course he'splumb he'pless. Finally the black. Coat gent p'ints in for anothertalk. 

"'What is your name, my pore worm?' says the black-coat gent, addressin' of Texas; 'an' whatever avocation has you an' your lostcompanion?'

"I Why, ' says Texas, 'this yere's Hall--Cherokee Hall. He turns faroin the Red Light; an', ' continues Texas, a-lowerin' of his voice, 'he's as squar' a gent as ever counted a deck. Actooally, pard, youmight 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'slike 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 shespanks 'em, an' when Texas is goin' to give 'em some cartridgesouten his belt to amoose 'em, she sasses him scand'lous, an' allowsshe ain't needin' no attentions from him. Then she snorts at Texasan' Cherokee contemptuous. The young-ones keeps on yellin' in amighty onmelodious way, an' while Cherokee is ca'm an' don't seemlike he minds it much, Texas gets some nervous. At last Texas lugsout a bottle, aimin' to compose his feelins', which they's someharrowed by now. 

"`Well, I never!' shouts the woman; 'I shorely sees inebriates erenow, 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 thewhiskey

outen the stage an' don't get no drink. "It's along late in themornin' when the stage strikes the upper end of Apache Canyon. Thisyere 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 thehills

along the trail to Tucson. If they ever gets a notion to stand upthe stage, they's shore due to be in this canyon; wherefore Cherokeean' Texas an' Old Monte who's drivin' regards it s'picious. "'Send'em through on the jump, Monte, ' says Cherokee, stickin' out hishead. "The six hosses lines out at a ten-mile gait, which rattlesthings, an' makes the black-coat gent sigh, while the young-onespours forth some appallin' shrieks. The female gets speshul mad atthis, allowin'

they's playin' it low down on her fam'ly. But she takes it out incuffin' the yearlin's now an' then, jest to keep 'em yellin', an'don't say nothin'. "Which the stage is about half through thecanyon, when up on both sides a select assortment of Winchestersbegins to bang an' jump permiscus; the same goin' hand-in-hand withwhoops of onusual merit. With the first shot Old Monte pours theleather into the team, an' them hosses surges into the collars likecyclones. "It's lucky aborigines ain't no shots. They never yet getsthe phelosophy of a

hind sight none, an' generally you can't reach their bullets with aten-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 ofdust flies outen the shoulder of his coat, his face turns pale, an'Cherokee knows he's creased. "'Did they get you, Old Man?' saysCherokee, 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 whiskeyI hurls overboard so graceful. ' "The Apaches comes tumblin' downonto the trail an' gives chase, a-shootin' an' a-yellin' a heapzealous. As they's on foot, an' as Old Monte is makin' fifteen milesan 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 Injunsis that fervent they runs in on us at the ford. With half luckthey's due to down either a hoss or Monte--mebby both; in whichevent 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 rightyere, 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 porefemale 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 themfour tenderfoots is mixed up together in the back of the stage. 

"'He wouldn't be worth a white chip, ' says Cherokee, 'an' you-all istoo hard hit to go, Texas, yourse'f. So take my regards to Enrightan' the boys, an' smooth this all you know for Faro Nell. I makesthe 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. Thefirst move he makes he tips over in a faint. 

"Cherokee picks up his Winchester, an', openin' the door of thestage, jumps plumb free, an' they leaves him thar on the trail. 

"'It's mebby an hour later when the stage comes into Wolfville onthe lope. Texas is still in a fog, speakin' mental, an' about bledto death; while them exhortin' people is outen their minds entire. 

"In no time thar's a dozen of us lined out for Cherokee. Do welocate him? Which I should say we shorely discovers him. Thar's abullet through his laig, an' thar he is with his back ag'in a rockwall, his Winchester to the front, his eyes glitterin', a-holdin'the canyon. Thar never is no Injun gets by him. Of course theystampedes prompt when they hears us a-comin', so we don't get nofight. 

"'I hopes you nails one, Cherokee, ' says Enright; 'playin' even onthis yere laig they shoots. '

"'I win once, I reckons', says Cherokee, 'over behind that big rockto the left. '

"'Shore enough he's got one Injun spread out; an', comin' along alittle, Jack Moore turns up a second. 

"'Yere's another, ' says Jack, 'which breaks even on the bullet inTexas. '

"'That's right, ' says Cherokee, 'I remembers now than is two. Thekyards is comin' some Tast, an' I overlooks a bet. '

"We-alls gets Cherokee in all right, an' next day 'round comes thefemale 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 pilleronder him. 'I simply prefers to do my fightin' in the canyon todoin' it at the ford; that's all. It's only a matter of straightbusiness; nothin' more'n a preference I has. Another thing, ma'am;you-all forgives it, seein' I'm a gent onused to childish ways: butwhen I makes the play you names, I simply seizes on them savagesthat a-way as an excuse to get loose from them blessed children ofyour'n a whole lot. '"

CHAPTER X. 

TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION. "

"An' between us, " remarked the Old Cattle man, the observation beingrelevant to the subject of our conversation on the occasion of oneof our many confabs, "between you an' me, I ain't none shore aboutthe 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 anyoutfit take a bale of rope an' a week off, an' if their camp ain'tweeded 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, sameas others. They takes to diggin' for copper; an' they builds theBird Cage Op'ry House, an' puts in improvements general. We evenculminates in a paper, which Doc Peets assures us is the flower ofour progress. Nacherally on the heels of all them outbursts we givesup our simple schemes, organizes, an' pulls off an 'lection. But asOld Man Enright is made alcalde tharby, with Jack Moore marshal, thejolt is not severe nor the change so full of notice. 

"It's not long prior to these yere stampedes into a highermoonicipal life, however, when quite a b'ilin' of us is in the RedLight discussin' some sech future. Our rival, Red Dog, is allowin'it's goin' to have a mayor or somethin', an' we sorter feels likeour 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 ideesan' paintin' his nose accordin' to his taste, 'for myse'f, I can seeit comin'. Thar's to be law yere an' 'lections; an' while at firstit's mighty likely both is goin' to turn out disturbin' elements, still I looks on their approach without fear. Wolfville is toostrong, an' Wolfville intelligence is too well founded, to let anylaw loco it or set it to millin'. '

"'Still, ' says Dan Boggs, 'I must remark I prefers a doolyauthorized band of Stranglers. A vig'lance committee gets my gameright along. They's more honest than any of these yere lawsharpswho's 'lected to be a jedge; an' they's a heap more zealous, whichlast is important. '

"'Boggs is right, ' replies Enright. 'It may not become me, who ishead of the local body of that sort, to make boasts of theexcellence 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 wherea vig'lance committee stretches a party who ain't in need tharof; orwhich 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 forthe barkeep to remember his mission on earth, 'put me down ascoincidin' in them sentiments. An' I says further, that any partywho's lookin' for the place where the bad man is scarce, an' a law-abidin' gent has the fullest liberty, pegged out to the shorestsafetytood, 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 ofBar-K-7 cattle, I aids in an effort to 'lect a jedge an' institootreg'lar shore-'nough law; an' the same comes mighty near leavin' theentire hamlet a howlin' waste. It deciminates a heap of our bestcitizens. 

"'This yere misguided bluff comes to pass peculiar; an' I allersallows 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 PlazaPaloduro would have been a scene of bleatin' peace that day, insteadof a stric'ly corpse-an'-cartridge occasion. The death rate rises tothat degree in fact that the next roundup is shy on men; an' tharain't enough cartridges in camp, when the smoke blows away, to beseed for a second crop. On the squar', gents, that 'lection day onthe South Paloduro was what you-alls might term a massacre, an' getit 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 whopulls his freight the other day. They puts it to him, the Tucsonfolks do, that he talks an' he talks, but he don't p'int out; an' heargufies an' he argufies, but he never shows wherein. A party who'sgoin' to make a pulpit-play, or shine in Arizona as a racontoor, hasdone got to cult'vate a direct, incisive style. '

"'That's all c'rect, ' remarks Texas, some savage, as he recovers hisnose outen his glass; 'never you fret me none about my style notbein' incisive. Thar be other plays where any gent who comes puttin'it all over me with roode an' intemp'rate remarks will find meplenty incisive; not to say some soon:

"'Yere!' interrupts Enright, quick an' sharp. 'This is plumb outsidethe line. Texas ain't got no call to wake up so malignant overwhat'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 theshoulder in the midst of what I'm yere to maintain is a mightythrillin' narration. '

"'Texas is good people, ' says Dave, 'an' the last gent with which Ithirsts 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 whenhe onbosoms himse'f of a tale. I yere tenders Texas my hand, assurin' of him that I means my language an' ain't holdin' outnothin'. Shake!' An' at this Dave reaches his pistol-hand to TexasThompson, an' the same is seized prompt an' friendly. 

"`This yere is my fault, ' says Texas. 'I reckons now my wiferecoverin' that Laredo divorce I'm mentionin' to you-alls, sorterleaves 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 yeregrows from a business transaction; an' the effort tharfrom toimprove on present conditions, institoot a reign of law, an' lect ajedge. 

"'Which the comin' of a miscreant named Cimmaron Pete, from some'ersover near the 'Doby Walls, is the beginnin' of the deal. ThisCimmaron Pete comes trailin' in one day; an' a shorthorn calledGlidden, who runs a store at the ford, comes ropin' at Cimmaron Peteto 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 goyou. 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 amile, only they never finishes, --jest as Cimmaron begins to pullahead, his pony bein' a shade suddener than Glidden's, whatever doesthe 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-shooterfrom where he's tangled up with his bronco on the ground; an' as thefirst bullet gets Glidden in the back of his head, his light goesout like a candle. 

"'When the committee looks into the play they jestifies thisCimmaron. "While on the surface, " they says, "the deal seems alittle florid; still, when a gent armed with nothin' but a coldsense of jestice comes to pirootin' plumb through the affair with alantern, he's due to emerge a lot with the conviction that Glidden'swrong. " 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 thisyere 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 tosell things a whole lot. He's shorely doin' well, I reckons, whenmebby 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 cuthis trail. 

"'"It's about the debts of this yere Glidden, deceased, " saysCimmaron. "I succeeds to the business of course; which it's littleenough for departed ropin' my pony that time. But you-alls cangamble 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'dlike 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 blindlyshootin' himse'f into bankruptcy that a-way, the American gov'mentis a rank loser, an' the State of Texas is plumb played out. "

When we-alls proceeds to ferret into this yere myst'ry, we findsthar's a sharp come up from Dallas who claims that Cimmaron's got topay him what Glidden owes. This yere Dallas party puts saidindebtednesses at five stacks of blues. 

"'An' this yere longhorn's got 'em to make good, "says the Dallassharp, 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 donecashed 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'tgot 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, "wherewe-alls gets kyards. We ain't in on what's a mere open-an'-shet caseof debt. "

"'But this Dallas sharp stays right with Cimmaron. He gives it outcold he's goin' to c'lect. He puts it up he'll shore sue Cimmaron alot. 

"'You-alls don't mean to say thar ain't no jedge yere?" remarks theDallas sharp, when Old Monroe explains we ain't organized none forsech games as law cases. "Well, this yere Plaza Paloduro is forcertain the locodest camp of which I ever cuts the trail! You-allsbetter get a hustle on right now an' 'lect a jedge. If I goes backto Dallas an' tells this story of how you-alls ain't got no jedgenor no law yere, they won't let this Plaza Paloduro get close enoughto 'em in business to hand 'em a ripe peach. If thar's enough sensein this camp to make bakin'-powder biscuit, you-alls will have ajedge 'lected ready for me to have law cases with by second-drinktime to-morrow mornin'. "

"'After hangin' up this bluff the Dallas sharp, puttin' on a heap ofhawtoor an' dog, walks over to the tavern ag'in, an' leaves us tosize up the play at our lcesure. 

"'What this obdurate party from Dallas says, " finally remarks OldMonroe, "is not with. Out what the Comanches calls tum-tum. Thar'ssavey an' jestice in them observations. It's my idee, that tharbein' no jedge yere, that a-way, to make a money round-up for a gentwhen his debtor don't make good, is mighty likely a palin' offen ourfence. I shorely thinks we better rectify them omissions an' 'lect ajedge at once. "

"'Which I'm opposed to these proceedin's, " interrupts Cimmaron. "I'mplumb adverse to co'ts. Them law-wolves gets into 'em, an' when theycan't find no gate to come at you, they ups an' pushes down a panelof fence, an' lays for you, cross-lots. I'm dead ag'in theseproceedin's. "

"'See yere, " says Old Monroe, turnin' on this Cimmaron, " you-all isbecomin' too apparent in this camp; what I might describe as a heaptoo obvious. Now if you gets your stack in ag'in when it ain't yourturn; or picks up anybody's hand but your own, I'll find a short wayof knockin' your horns off. You don't seem gifted enough to realizethat you're lucky to be alive right now. "

"'Bar Cimmaron, who lapses into silence after Old Monroe gives himnotice, the entire camp lines up fav'rable on the idee to 'lect ajedge. They sends over to the corral an' gets a nose-bag for todeposit the votes; an' it's decided that Old Monroe an' a Cross-Zparty named Randall has got to do the runnin'. Randall is plentyp'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' theplay, insists that it wouldn't be legal. 

"'"Thar's got to be two gents to do the runnin', " so Old Monroesays, "or it don't go. The 'lection ain't legal that a-way onlessthar'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 isdropped in, they's to count 'em out accordin' to Hoyle, so we-allscan tell where the play's headin'. Bronco Charlie is jedge forRandall, 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 beconducted with comfort. 

"'"Make your game, now, gents, " says Old Monroe, when everythin' isshorely ready. "Get in your votes. These yere polls is open for onehour. "

"'"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 outby votin' for each other that a-way, and thar ain't one of us whodon't feel more respectable by it. 

"'It's the opinion of level-headed gents even yet, that the PlazaPaloduro could have pulled off this 'lection an' got plumb away, an'never had no friction, if it ain't for a Greaser from San Antoniowho 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 lopesthis yere Mexican an' allows he's locoed to vote. "'Who do you-allthink 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 ofthis yere enlightened maverick from south of the Rio Grande goes. Thirteen for Old Monroe. "

"'Twelve for Old Monroe, " remonstrates Bronco Charlie, feelin' forhis gun. 

"'Thirteen for Old Monroe, " retorts Ormsby, as his Colt's comes intoaction an' he busts Bronco's arm at the elbow. 

"'As his obstinacy has destroyed the further efficiency of mycolleague, " goes on Ormsby, as he shakes down the ballots in thenose-bag, "I'll now conduct these yere polls alone. Gents whohaven'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 playon 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 withhis six-shooter while he's freein' his mind, slams her loose. RedRiver 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 ofRed 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 hearOrmsby whoopin'

"'Thirteen for Old Monroe. "

"'You can gamble Ormsby's as squar' a 'lection jedge as any gentcould ask. You gets a play for your money with Ormsby; but he diesthe next day, so he never is 'lection jedge no more. Five gents getsdowned, an' a whole corralfull is hurt. I, myse'f, reaps some leadin the shoulder; an' even at that I never goes nearer than thesuburbs 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 firstshot, is layin' at the windup outside the Lone Star door, plumbdefunct, thar's an end to the root of the disorder. 

"'The 'lection itse'f is looked on as a draw. Old Monroe allowsthat, all things considered, he don't regard himse'f as 'lectednone; and Randall, who a doctor is feelin' 'round in for a bullet atthe 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 leteverythin' 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. Iain't over-statin' it, gents, when I says, that that 'lection leavesme plumb gun-shy for over a year. '"

CHAPTER XL. 

A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING. 

"Does Jack Moore have sand? Son, is this yere query meant for humorby 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. Itwas plain, too, that my question nettled the old fellow a bit; asmight a doubt cast at an idol. But the sharpness had passed from histone when he resumed

"Not only is Jack long on sand that a-way, but he's plumb loadedwith what you-alls calls 'nitiative. Leastwise that's what one ofthese yere fernologists allows, who straggles into camp an' goes tothumbin' our bumps one day. 

"'Which this young person, ' says the bumpsharp, while his fingers iscaperin' 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 hisweakness, speakin' general, is he overplays. '

"Which this yere bump party might have gone wrong in his wagers aheap of times; but he shorely calls the turn on Jack when he sayshe's some strong on 'nitiative. 

"An' it's this yere proneness for the prematoor, an' nacheralwillin'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 abatesit in the bud. 

"Once when most of the outfit's over in Tucson, an' Jack is sorterholdin' 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'santelope. 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 'emwhat he thinks an' why he thinks it for; makes his minority reportonto 'em all free, like he outnumbers 'em two to one; an' winds upby 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 inArizona can tree this town an' me informed. Now go slow, or I'lljest 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 doit 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 stateall thar is good of Jack. Let any pore, he'pless party cut Jack'strail, an' he's plumb tender. On sech times Jack's a dove; leastwisehe's a dove a whole lot. 

"One hot afternoon, Enright an' Doc Peets is away about some cattleI reckons. Which the rest of us is noomerous enough; an' we'resorter revolvin' 'round the post-office, a-waitin' for Old Monte an'the stage. Yere she comes, final, a-rattlin' an' a-creakin'; thatold drunkard Monte a-poppin' of his whip, the six hosses on thecanter, an' the whole sheebang puttin' on more dog than a Mexicanofficer of revenoo. When the stage draws up, Old Monte throws offthe mailbags an' the Wells-Fargo box, an' gets down an' opens thedoor. But nobody emerges out. 

"'Well, I'm a coyote! ' says Monte, a heap disgusted, `wherever isthe female?'

"Then we-alls peers into the stage an' thar's only a baby, withmebby a ten-months' start down this vale of tears, inside; an' nomother nor nothin' along. Jack Moore, jest as I says when I begins, reaches in an' gets him. The baby ain't sayin' nothin', an' sortertakes it out in smilin' on Jack; which last pleases him excessive. 

"'He knows me for a hundred dollars!' says Jack. 'I'm an Apache ifhe 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 hisbelt, he turns in an' explains as how the mother starts along in thestage all right enough from Tucson. The last time he sees her, so heputs it up, is at the last station back some twenty miles in thehills; an' he s'poses all the time later, she's inside ridin' herdon her progeny, ontil now. 

"'I don't reckon, ' says Old Monte, lookin' gloomy-like at theinfant, 'that lady is aimin' to saw this yore young-one onto thestage 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 alook at him. `The camp'll play this hand; an' the company ain'tgoin' to be in it a little bit. '

"'I wish Enright an' Peets was yere, ' says Cherokee Hall, 'to beheard hereon; which I shore deems this a grave occasion. Yere we-alls finds ourse'fs possessed of an onexpected child of tenderyears; an' the question nacheral enough is, whatever'll we do withit?'

"'Let's maverick it, ' says Dan Boggs, who's a mighty good man, butonthinkful 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 hersome'ers up the trail; she'll come romancin' along in time. '

"'Meanwhile, ' says Jack, 'the infant's got to be took care of, towhich dooty I volunteers. Thar's a tenderfoot a-sleepin' in the roomback of the dance-hall, an' he's that 'feminate an' effeet, he's gota shore-'nough bed an' some goose-ha'r pillers; which the same I doyereby confiscate to public use to take care of this yearlin'. Isthe sentiment pleasin'?'

"'Jack's scheme is right, ' says Boggs; 'an' I'm present to announcehe'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 infantsis mighty myster'ous people, an' no livin' gent is ever onto theirgame an' able to foresee their needs. Do you-all reckon now you cantake 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 somefunny if I can't. I could break even with him if he's four times asbig. All I asks is for you-alls to stand by in crisises an' back theplay; an', that settled, you can go make side bets we-alls comes outwinners on the deal. '

'I ain't absolootly shore, ' says Dave Tutt, 'bein' some shy ofpractice 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, 'butI'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 growscontemptuous at a bottle, an' disdains it. '

"Which we-alls talks it over an' decides that Jack's to nurse saidinfant; after which a passel of us proceed's to make a processionfor the tenderfoot's bed, which he shorely resigns without astruggle. We packs it back to Jack; an' Cherokee Hall an' Boggs thengoes over to the corral an' lays for a goat to milk her. This yeregoat is mighty reluctant, an' refuses to enter into the sperit ofthe thing; but they swings an' rastles with her, makes their p'intright along, an' after a frightful time comes back with'most adipper-full. 

"'That's all right, ' says Jack, who's done camped in a room back ofthe Red Light, 'now hop out an' tell the barkeep to give you a pintbottle. 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 astopper outen cotton cloth an' molasses for the infant to draw itthrough. 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 playwith. 

"'Which shows my confidence in him, ' says Jack. 'Thar's only a fewfolks left I'll pass my gun to. '

"Jack gets along with him first-rate, a-feedin' of him the goat'smilk, which he goes for with avidity; tharby nettin' Jack that fiftyfrom 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; jestnacherally 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' Jackthings. 

"'I s'pose most likely we'll have to make a play that a-way, ' saysJack. 

"'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 yousays. '

"So a band of us sorter camps along with Jack an' the infant ontilmebby it's second-drink time at night. The infant don't raise thewar-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'vebeen figgerin' this thing, an' I allows it's time to bed this yereyoung-one down for the night. If you-alls will withdraw some, I'llsee how near I comes to makin' runnin' of it. Stay within whoopin'distance, though; so if he tries to stampede or takes to millin' Ican get he'p. '

"We-alls lines out an' leaves Jack an' the infant, an' turns in onfaro an' poker an' sim'lar devices which is bein' waged in the RedLight. Mebby it's an hour when Jack comes in. 

"'Boggs, ' he says; 's'pose you-all sets in an' plays my hand aminute with that infant child, while I goes over an' adjourns themfrivolities in the dance-hall. It looks like this yere camp isspeshul toomultuous to-night. '

"Boggs goes in with the infant, an' Jack proceeds to the baile housean' states the case. 

"'I don't want to onsettle the reg'lar programme, ' says Jack, 'butthis yere young-one I'm responsible for, gets that engaged in thesounds of these yere revels, it don't look like he's goin' to sleepnone. So if you-alls will call the last waltz, an' wind her up forto-night, it'll shorely be a he'p. The kid's mother'll be yere bysun-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 cangamble this temple of mirth ain't layin' down on what's right, an'tonight's shindig closes right yere. All promenade to the bar. Wetakes a drink on the house, quits, an' calls it a day. '

"Then Jack comes back, a heap grave with his cares, an' relievesBoggs; 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' ofBoggs. 

"'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 itshore looks like he don't aim to turn in an' slumber none. Mebby thegoat's milk is too invigeratin' for 'him, an' keeps him awake thata-way. '

"About another hour goes by, an' out comes Jack into the Red Lightag'in. 

"'I ain't aimin' to disturb you-alls none, ' he says, 'but, gents, ifyou-alls could close these games yere, an' shet up the store, I'lltake 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 toturn 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. Youcan gamble, he's fixed it up with himse'f that he ain't goin' tosleep 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 forhimse'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 lipsafter the drink. 

"'S'pose we-alls gives him "The Dyin' Ranger" an' "Sandy Land" foran hour or so, an' see, ' says Boggs. 

"In we trails. Cherokee lines up on one side of the infant, an' Jackon t'other; an' the rest of us takes chairs an' camps 'round, Westarts in an' shore sings him all we knows; an' we keeps it up forhours. All the time, that child is a-settin' thar, a-battin' hiseyes an' a-starin', sleepless as owls. The last I remembers isBoggs'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 hascome. Comes over on a speshul buckboard from the station where thatold inebriate, Monte, drove off an' left her. Well, son, everybody'splumb 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 hischair into a comfortable position; "not seein' Jack is what any gentmight call deeprivation. 

"Back in the old days, " he went on, "Jack Moore, as I relates, iskettle-tender an' does the rope work of the Stranglers. Whatever isthe Stranglers? Which you asks Borne late. I mentions this assemblya heap frequent yeretofore. Well, some folks calls 'ern the'vig'lance committee'; but that's long for a name, so in Wolfvillewe 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 reckonsis the most pro bono publico gent in the Southwest. He's out to doanythin' 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 faran' near, an' don't pay no more heed to distance an' fatigue than asteer 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' offas 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 mightcall an all-round seelection. An' clean strain? Game as hornets. Never knowed him to quit anythin' in his life--not even whiskey. Isays to him myse'f one time: 'Jack; whyever don't you renig onwhiskey? 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'tyou know, I can't do it. I'm too sperited, that a-way, an'chivalrous. That's whatever! I'm too chivalrous. ' An' I shorereckons he was. 

"But as for doin' his dooty! Which the same is simply relaxation toJack Moore. I recalls one instance speshul. One day thar comestrailin' along into Wolfville a party from down 'round Yallerhousesome'ers. This yere Yallerhouse gent looks disperited an' off coloras to health. But of course we-alls don't refer none to it; forwhether this stranger's sick or well is his business, not ours;leastwise in its first stages. This yere's before Doc Peets inhabitsWolfville 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, notinvitin' of the pop'lace, whereby we knows for shore he's offen hisfeed. 

"Well, after he corrals his forty drops, this invalid camps down inone corner of the stage station, an' next mornin' he wakes up outenhis head an' plumb locoed. 

"'This yere Yallerhouse man, ' says Dan Boggs, comin' along into theRed Light about first-drink time the same mornin', an' speakin'general, 'is what conserv'tive opinion might call "some sick. " Istops a minute ago an' asks him how he's stackin' up like, but itain't no use. He's plumb off his mental reservation, an' crazy as awoman's watch. '

"'Whatever do you allow is the matter of him, Boggs?' asks Old ManEnright. 

"'Smallpox, ' says Boggs, mighty confident. 

"'Smallpox!' repeats Enright; 'be you shore?'

"'That's what I says, ' answers Boggs; 'an' you can gamble my longsuit is pickin' out smallpox every time. I knows the signal smokelike my own campfire. '

"'Well, see yere, ' says Dave Tutt, who's come in, 'I jest now roundsup them symptoms of this Yallerhouse gent; an' talkin' of smallpox, I offers a hundred dollars even he ain't got no smallpox. Bein' outsolely for legit'mate sport, ' continues Tutt, 'an' not aimin' tooffend Boggs none, I willin'ly calls it fifty to one hundred heain't got nothin'. '

"'Which I takes both bets, ' says Boggs, 'an' deems 'em easy. Whichboth 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 barkeepholds the stakes. 

"As soon as it gets blown through Wolfville this Yallerhouse partyhas smallpox, everybody comes canterin' over to the Red Light, getsa drink, an' wants to hold a mass meetin' over it. By partic'larrequest Enright takes the chair an' calls 'em to order. 

"'This yere meetin', ' says Enright, meanwhile beatin' with the buttof his six-shooter on the poker-table, 'is some sudden an'permiscus; but the objects is easy an' plain. We-alls convenesourse'fs to consider the physical condition of this party fromYallerhouse, which report says is locoed an' can't talk none forhimself. To make this inquiry a success, we-alls oughter see thisYallerhouse gent; an' as thar is fewer of him than of us, I app'intsJack Moore, Dan Boggs, an' Short Creek Dave, a committee, of three, to bring him before us in a body. Pendin' the return of thecommittee the meetin' will take a drink with the chair. '

"In about no time back comes the outfit, packin' the Yallerhouse manall easy enough in a blanket, an' spreads him out on the floor. Helooks sorter red 'round in spots, like somethin's been stingin' ofhim, 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 addressthe chair or offer to take no part in the meetin'. Enright quaffshis drink all slow an' dignified, an' gazes at the Yallerhouse manon 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 previousassertion, an' for the purpose of bringin' the question squar'before this house, I now moves you this yere Yallerhouse party hasthe smallpox. I ain't aimin' herein at playin' it low on Tutt, an'su'gests that the chair, in puttin' the question, also informs themeetin' as to them wagers; which the money tharof is now in the war-bags of the barkeep. I believes in givin' every gent all necessarylight wherein to make up his mind; an', as I says, to open the gameall 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 putsBoggs's motion. 

"'Every gent, ' says Enright, 'in favor of this Yallerhouse manhavin' the smallpox, say "Aye"; contrary "No. "'

"Everybody shouts 'Aye!'

"'Which the "Ayes" has it unanimous, ' says Enright. 'The Yallerhouseparty has the smallpox, an' the next chicken on the parliamentaryroost is the question: "Whatever is to be done to make this yeremalady a success?" Is thar any su'gestions?'

"'Mister Pres'dent, ' says Texas Thompson, risin' in his place, 'I'vedone took no hand in these proceedin's so far, through ignorance ofthe purposes of this yere convocation. Said purposes bein' now forthe first time lined out all right in my mind, an' the questionbein', "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 samebein' simply to take a lariat an' hang this Yallerhouse person tothe dance-hall windmill; but this course, on second thought, seemsprematoor an' the offsprings of nacheral impulse. Still, somethin'must be done; an' while my mind is by no means cl'ar, I su'gests weturn the gent over to Jack Moore, which is the marshal hereof, toride herd on him till further orders; an' I makes a motion to thateffect. '

"'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 mydooty 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 doubtabout it. Yere's how I trails out on this: If it ain't my dooty totake 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 inquireswhether 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 willanswer it. These proceedin's decides your bets with Boggs, an' thebarkeep pays Boggs the dinero. This is a gov'ment of the people, forthe people, by the people, an' founded on a vox populi bluff. Thevoice of the majority goes. You tharfore lose your bets to Boggs;drinks on Boggs, of course. Thar is another matter, ' continuesEnright, 'a bet we overlooks. Takin' care of this Yallerhouse gentwill cost a stack or two, an' means must be provided. I tharforemakes as an order that yereafter thar's to be a rake on tens-up orbetter, showed, to make a fund to back this play; said rake to goontil Mister Moore reports said Yallerhouse gent as safe or ceasedto be. '

"Jack takes this Yallerhouse party over to the calaboose an' layshim away on some blankets. The calaboose is dry, an' what you-allsmight call, commodious. It's a slam-up camp; yes indeed! Never hasbut 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 inSteve 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 outragedan' indignant about bein' corralled that a-way, he busts the cornerouten the calaboose an' issues forth a whole lot to find who doesit. 

"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 goat that. 

"But on account of the hole through which Steve emerges, an' whichhe makes liberal an' big, the calaboose is a mighty commodiousplace. So Jack beds down the Yallerhouse man all right an' starts into bringin' him through. The rest of us don't crowd 'round none towatch the play, don't hover over it that a-way, 'cause we ain'taimin' to acquire nothin' ourse'fs. 

"Jack has a heap of trouble an' worry. Never sees no smallpox doyou? 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. Buthe keeps Jack herdin' him all the time. Otherwise, not bein'watched, an' crazy that a-way, he's liable to come stampedin' overto 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 adrink. 'He's shorely four kings an' an ace. You can't ride him withbuckin'-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 Yallerhouseparty 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 oneof them times when Jack ain't lookin' out his game sharp. It's hispistol eye, too; which makes him feel the loss more keen, an'creates general sympathy. The Yallerhouse man gets some morose overit, which ain't, after all, onnacheral. A gent ain't got so manyeyes he can afford to go short one on every little game he plays. Sohe finds fault with Jack a lot, an' allows if he has him back in theStates 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 merelyowin' to the mercy of hell an' my watchful care, you-all ain'tbustin' your harp-strings an' raisin' all round discord among theheavenly hosts on high right now, instead of bein' safe an' wellyere in Wolfville? You don't act like a gent who saveys when hemakes a winnin'. S'pose you be an eye out; you're still lookin' atthings terrestrial with the other. You talks of gross neglect ofdooty! Now let me inform you of somethin': You come pesterin' 'roundme some more an' I'll bend a gun over your head. '

"'Which if it ain't my six-shooter eye which's out, ' says theYallerhouse party, mighty ugly, 'do you know what I'd do? Well, thisyere would be the basis of a first-class gun-play. You can gamblethar wouldn't be no jim-crow marshal go pirootin' 'round, losin' noeye of mine an' gettin' away with it, an' then talk of bendin' gunson 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 oneeye sorter aggravates Jack like it's a nightmare. 

"'I wouldn't mind it so much, ' says Jack to me, confidential, 'ifthis Yallerhouse gent quits a laig or an arm behind, 'cause in whichevent we pieces him out with wood, easy. But about eyes, it'sdifferent. 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, hewalks 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 shoreasks pardon an' states regrets in advance. But things has got to ashow-down. I'm slowly becomin' onfit for public dooty. Now yere's anoffer, an' you can have either end. You-all can get a hoss an' ahundred dollars of me, an' pull your freight; or you can fixyourse'f with a gun an' have a mighty stirrin' an' eventful timewith me right yere. As an outcome of the last, the public will haveone of us to plant, an' mebby a vacancy to fill in the post ofkettle-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 asever 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' ahundred dollars is far from bein' usual with me. If I has my eyeag'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' yourpony at the Red Light in fifteen minutes by the watch, an' as soonas I gets a bottle filled I'm ready to go. I shorely should notregret leavin' an' outfit which puts folks in jail for bein' sick, an' connives by reckless an' criminal neglect of dooty at theirbein' blinded for life. '"

CHAPTER XIII. 

JACKS UP ON EIGHTS. 

"No; you can hazard your wealth a lot, thar's no sooperstitionlurkin' 'round in me or my environs; none whatever. I attaches noimportance to what you-all calls omens. "

Somebody had undertaken a disquisition on dreams, and attempted tocite instances where the future had been indicated in these hazyvisions of our sleep. This had served to turn the Old Cattleman'strain of thought upon the weird. 

"Thar's signs, of course, to which I'd shorely bow, not to say payabsorbin' heed. If some gent with whom I chooses to differ touchin'some matter that's a heap relevant at the time, ups an' reaches forhis gun abrupt, it fills me full of preemonitions that the nearfuture is mighty liable to become loaded with lead an' interest forme. Now thar's an omen I don't discount. But after all I ain'tconsentin' to call them apprehensions of mine the froot of nosooperstition, neither. I'm merely chary; that's all. 

"It's Cherokee Hall who is what I onhesitatin'ly describes assooperstitious. Cherokee is afflicted by more signs an' omens incarryin' on his business than an almanac. It's a way kyardsharpsgets into, I reckons; sorter grows outen their trade. Leastwise Inever creeps up on one yet who ain't bein' guided by all sorts ofmiracles an' warnin's that a-way. An' sometimes it does look likethey acquires a p'inter that comes to 'em on straight lines. As'llustratin' this yere last, it returns to me some vivid howCherokee an' Boggs gets to prophesyin' one day, an' how they callsoff the play between 'em so plumb c'rrect that a-way, it's more thanamazin'; it's sinister. 

"It's a hot August day, this occasion I has in mind, an' while notpossessin' 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 thepost-office a-wrastlin' our letters, when in trails Cherokee Halllookin' some moody, an' sets himse'f down on a box. 

"'Which you-all no doubt allows you'll take some missives yourse'fthis 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'thold out nothin' onto us. We-alls is 'way too peevish to stand anyoffishul gaieties to-day. '

"'Thar's no one weak-minded 'nough to write to me none, ' saysCherokee. `Which I remarks this yere phenomenon with pleasure. Mail-bags packs more grief than joy, an' I ain't honin' for no hand inthe game whatever. It's fifteen years since I buys a stamp or gets aletter, an' all thirst tharfor is assuaged complete. '

"'Fifteen years is shore a long time, ' says Enright, sorter tohimse'f, an' then we-alls hops into our letters ag'in. FinallyCherokee 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 wassettin' into a little poker last night, an' three times straight Ipicks up "the hand the dead man held, " jacks up on eights, an' itwins every time. '

"`Who lose to it?' asks Dan Boggs. 

"'Why, ' says Cherokee, 'it's every time that old longhorn as comesin from Tucson back some two weeks ago. '

"'That settles it, ' says Boggs, mighty decided. 'You can bet yoursaddle an' throw the pony in, Death is fixin' his sights for himright now. It's shorely a warnin', an' I'm plumb glad it ain't noneof the boys; that's all. '

"You see this yere stranger who Cherokee alloods at comes over fromTucson 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. Heseems like he's plenty of money, an' we takes it he's all right. Hisleavin' Tucson shows he has sense, so we cashes him in at hisfigger. Of course we-alls never asks his name none, as askin' namesan' 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 BillGentry ' to the boys, an' he an' Faro Nell's partic'lar friendly. 

"'Talkin' to him, ' says Nell, ' is like layin' in the shade. Heknows everythin', too; all about books an' things all over theworld. He was a-tellin' me, too, as how he had a daughter like methat died 'way back some'ers about when I was a yearlin'. He feels aheap 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 allright. '

"'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 theoutside of Uncle Sam's wickeyup?' says Jack, mighty truculent. We. Alls goes out, an' thar, shore-'nough, is a notice offerin' fifteenhundred dollars reward for some sharp who's been a-standin' up thestage over towards Prescott. 

"'Whoever tacks this up? I wonder, ' says Enright. `It never is yereten 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 ofWolfville knows its business an' don't have to be notified ofnothin'. This yere outfit has a vig'lance committee all reg'lar, which I'm kettle-tender tharfor, an' when it comes nacheral toannounce some notice to the public, you-alls will perceive me a-pervadin' of the scenery on a hoss an' promulgatin' of said noticeviver voce. Am I right, Enright?'

"'Right as preachin', Jack, ' says Enright. 'You speaks trooth like arunnin' brook. '

"'But whoever sticks that notice?--that's the information I pantsfor, ' says Boggs, pickin' up an' readin' of the piece. "'I reckons Iposts 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 Monteon the stage. As he says this he's sa'nterin' about the suburbs ofthe crowd, listenin' to the talk. 

"'Well, don't do it no more, partner, ' says Jack, mighty grave. 'Asa commoonity Wolfville's no doubt 'way wrong, but we-alls has ourprides an' our own pecooliar little notions, that a-way, about whatlooks good; so, after now, don't alter the landscape none 'roundyere till you c'lects our views. '

"'I'm offerin' even money, postin' notices don't hurt this yere campa little bit, ' says the stranger. 

"'Comin' right to cases, ' says Enright, 'it don't hurt none, but itgrates 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 heknows an' we not in it, is a heap onpleasant. So don't do it nomore. '

"'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 tothis camp. '

"'The same bein' a mere theery, ' says Doc Peets, 'personal toyourse'f, I holds it would be onp'lite to discuss it; so let's allwheel onder cover for a drink. '

"At this we-alls lines up on the Red Light bar an' nacherally drinksends the talk, as they allers ought. 

"Along towards sundown we-alls gets some cooler, an' by second-drinktime in the evenin' every one is movin' about, an', as it happens, quite a band is in the Red Light; some drinkin' an' exchangin' ofviews, an' some buckin' the various games which is goin' wide openall 'round. Cherokee's settin' behind his box, an' Faro Nell is upat his shoulder on the lookout stool. The game's goin' plenty livelywhen along comes Old Gentry. Cherokee takes a glance at him an'seems worried a little, reflectin', no doubt, of them 'hands thedead man held, ' but he goes on dealin' without a word. 

"'Where's you-all done been all day?' says Nell to the old man. 'Iain't seen you none whatever since yesterday. '

"'Why, I gets tired an' done up a lot, settin ag'inst Cherokee lastnight, ' 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'sjest then in comes the squar'-built gent, who's been postin' of thenotice 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 yoube, 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'sup even with the proceedin's, too; an' stands thar, his gun in hishand, his eyes a-glitterin' an' his white beard a-curlin' like acat'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 doesbusiness yere my way, an' I'm due to down the first hold-up whoshoots across any layout of mine. Don't make no mistake, or the nextcensus'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'llstop a stage like a young-one would a clock, merely to see what'sinto 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 lancethe roof of his lyin' mouth with the front sight of my gun, I'llcash in for a hold-up or whatever else you-alls says. '

"'What do you say, Enright?' says Jack. 'Let's give 'em theirjewelry an' let 'em lope. I've got money as says the Wells-Fargobill-paster can't take this old' Cimmaron a little bit. '

"'Which I trails in, ' says Boggs, 'with a few chips on the samekyard. '

"'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-allslines out for the New York Store to talk it over. Before we donepow-wows two minutes up comes Old Monte, with the stage, all dustan' cuss-words, an' allows he's been stood up out by the cow springssix hours before, an' is behind the mail-bag an' the Adams Company'sbox on the deal. We-alls looks at Old Man Gentry, an' he shorelyseems to cripple down. "'Gentry, ' says Peets, after Old Monte tellshis adventures, 'I hears you tell Nell you was sleepin' all day. S'pose you takes this yere committee to your budwer an' exhibits tous how it looks some. '

"'The turn's ag'in me, ' says the old man, 'an' I lose. I'll cut itshort for you-alls. I holds up that stage this afternoon myse'f. '

"'This yere's straight goods, I takes it, ' says Enright, 'an' ourdooty 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, ' whispersCherokee to Nell, an' flushin' up an' then turnin' pale, 'but yourword goes with me, Nell. ' Then Cherokee thinks a minute. 'Now, thisyere is the way we does, ' he says at last. 'I'll make 'em a longtalk. You-all run over to the corral an' bring the best hoss yousees saddled. I'll be talkin' when you comes back, an' you creep upan' whisper to the old man to make a jump for the pony while Icovers the deal with my six-shooter. It's playin' it low on Enrightan' Doc Peets an' the rest, but I'll do it for you, Nell. It allcomes from them jacks up on eights. '

"With this, Cherokee tells Nell 'good-by, ' an' squar's himse'f. Hebegins 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 OldGentry comes buckin' offen his chair in a 'pleptic fit. A 'plepticfit 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. Hecan only whisper. 

"'Come yere, ' says he, motionin' to Cherokee. 'Thar's a stack ofblues where I sets 'em on the ten open, which you ain't turned fornone yet: Take all I has besides an' put with it. If it lose, it'syours; if it win, give it to the little girl. '

"This is all Old Gentry says, an' he cashes in the very next secondon the list. 

"Enright goes through'em, an' thar's over two thousand dollars inhis war-bags; an', obeyin' them last behests, we-alls goes over tothe 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' whenit comes I'm blessed if the ten ain't loser an' Cherokee gets itall. 

"'But I won't win none ag'in a dead man; says Cherokee. An' he givesit 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 manholds?"'"

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, foundourselves together on the porch. 

As in part recompense for his reminiscences of the several daysbefore, I regaled my old friend with the history of a bank-failure, the details as well as the causes of which were just then forcingthemselves upon me in the guise of business. 

"The fact is, " I said, as I came to the end of my story, "the factis, the true cause of this bank's downfall was a rivalry--what onemight call a business feud--which grew into being between it and asimilar institution which had opened as its neighbor. In thecompetition which fell out they fairly cut each other's throat. Theyboth failed. "

"An' I takes it, " remarked the Old Cattleman in comment, "one ofthese yere trade dooels that a-way goes on vindictive an'remorseless, same as if it's a personal fight between cow-folks overcattle. "

"Quite right, " I said. "Money is often more cruel than men; and abusiness vendetta is frequently mere murder without the incident ofblood. I don't suppose the life of your Arizona town would showthese 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, "Idon't recall nothin' of the sort in Wolfville. We're too much in ahuddle, anyway; thar ain't room for no sech fracas, no how. Now thenearest 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 beganarranging a smoke, "which I now reckons this yere is the onlycatyclism in trade Wolfville suffers; the only time it comes to whatyou-all Eastern sports would call a showdown in commerce. Of coursethar'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' mostexhilaratin' work of their Redeemer--is nervous that a-way, an' dueany 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 youconfines the festivities to them females engaged, an' prevents themen 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 Irecalls in Wolfville. I allers remembers it, 'cause, bein' as how Iknows the party who's the aggravatin' cause tharof, it mortifies methe way he jumps into camp an' carries on. 

"When I sees him first is ages before, when I freights with eightmules over the Old Fort Bascome trail from Vegas to the Panhandle. This sharp--which he's a tenderfoot at the time, but plumb wolf bynacher-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 thePanhandle country with me for a trip. "Freightin' that a-way threeweeks alone on the trail is some harrowin' to the sperits of a gentwho 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 takesthis person along. Not that he turns hostile, but he's allers havin'adventures, an' things keeps happenin' to him; an' final, I thinkshe's shorely dead an' gone complete--the same, as I afterwardlearns, bein' error; an', takin' it up one trail an' down another, that trip breaks me offen foolin' with shorthorns complete, an' Idon'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 mepersonal; but he keeps a-breedin' of events which pesters me. 

"We're out about four days when them mishaps begins. I camps overone sun on the Concha to rest my mules. I'm loaded some heavy withsix thousand pounds in the lead, an' mebby four thousand pounds inthe trail wagon; an' I stops a day to give my stock a chance to rollan' 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-allscalls a kleptomaniac, an' is out to steal an' sim'lar low-downplays. 

"I warns this yere tenderfoot--his name's Smith, but I pulls on himwhen conversin' as 'Colonel'--I warns this shorthorn not to fuss'round my Jerry mule, bein', as I states, a mule whose mood isornery. 

"'Don't go near him, Colonel, ' says I; 'an' partic'lar don't gocrowdin' 'round to get no r'ar views of him. You-all has no idee ofthe radius of that mule; what you might call his sweep. You neverwill till he's kicked you once or twice, an' the information ain'tworth no sech price. So I don't reckon I'd fool with him, nonewhatever. 

"'An' speshul, Colonel, ' I goes on, for I shore aims to do my dootyby him, 'don't lay nothin' 'round loose where this yere Jerry mulecan grab it off. I'm the last freighter on the Plains to goslanderin' an' detractin' of a pore he'pless mule onless it'sstraight; but if you-all takes to leavin' keepsakes an' mementoeslayin' 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. 'Ifhe'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 intohis collar like a lion; so I forgives him bein' a thief an' allowsit's a peccadillo. "

"'Well, you bet!' says this tenderfoot Colonel, 'this yere Jerrybetter not come no peccadillos on me. '

"'If you-all maintains about twenty feet, ' I replies, 'betweenJerry's hind-Hocks an' you; an' if you keeps your bric-a-brac inyour war-bags, you an' Jerry'll get along like lambs. Now, I warnsyou, an' that's got to do. If Jerry an' you gets tangled upyereafter you-all ain't goin' to harbor no revenges ag'in him, normake no ranikaboo plays to get even. '

"As I states, I'm camped on the Concha, an` the Colonel, who'sallers out to try experiments an' new deals, puts it up he'll godown to the river an' take a swim. Tharupon he lines out for thewater. 

"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 theColonel p'ints for the Concha, Jerry sa'nters along after, figgerin', mighty likely, as how he'll pass the hour a-watchin' theColonel swim. 

"I'm busy on flapjacks at the time--which flapjacks is shore goodfood--an' I don't observe nothln' of Jerry nor the Colonel neither. They's away half an hour when I overhears ejac'lations, though Ican't make out no words. I don't have to get caught in no landslideto tumble to a game, an' I'm aware at once that Jerry an' theColonel has got their destinies mixed. 

"Nacherally, I goes over to the held of strife, aimin' to saveJerry, or save the Colonel, whichever has the other down. When Ibursts on the scene, the Colonel starts for me, splutterin' an'makin' noises an' p'intin' at Jerry, who stands thar with an air ofinnocence. 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 forhis teeth they's shorely gone, an' thar stands Jerry puttin' it onhe's asleep. Them teeth is filed away in Jerry. 

"Which the Colonel raves 'round frightful, an' wants to kill Jerryan' amputate him, an' scout for the teeth. But I won't have it. I'mgoin' to need Jerry down further on the quicksand fords of theCanadian; an', as I explains, them teeth is a wreck by now, an' nogood 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 whenhe takes in them teeth; I can see that. His lip hangs like ablacksmith's apron, an' he can't talk a little bit; jest makes signsor motions, like he's Injun or deef. 

"It's mebby two weeks later when Jerry gets another shot at theColonel. It's the evenin' after the night Jerry sneaks into camp, soft-foot as a coyote, noses open the grub-box, an' eats fivebottles of whiskey; all we has. We've pitched camp, an' I've hobbledthis Jerry mule an' his mate--the other wheeler--an' throwed 'emloose, an' is busy hobblin' my nigh-swing mule, when trouble beginsfomentin' between my tenderfoot an' Jerry. 

"The fact is it's done fomented. This Colonel, bein' some heatedabout that whiskey, an' plumb sore on Jerry on account of themteeth, allows to himse'f he'll take a trace-chain an' warp Jerryonce for luck. 

"If this yere tenderfoot had been free with me, an' invited me intohis confidence touchin' his designs, I'd took a lariat an' roped an'throwed Jerry for him, an' tied the felon down, an' let the Colonelwallop 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 atrace-chain, an', without sayin' a word, dances all cautious towardshis prey. Which this is relaxation for Jerry. 

[drawing of Jerry kicking the Colonel with caption: "That he'plessshorthorn stops both heels. ]

"While that Colonel tenderfoot is a rod away, Jerry turns his tailsome sudden in his direction, an' the next instant that he'plessshorthorn stops both heels some'ers about the second button of hisshirt. That settles it; the Colonel's an invalid immediate. Ishorely has a time with him that night. 

"The next day he can't walk, an' he can't ride in the wagon 'causeof the jolts. It all touches my heart, an' at last I ups an' make ahammock outen a Navajo blanket, which is good an' strong, an' swingsthe Colonel to the reach of the trail wagon. 

"It's mostly a good scheme. Where the ground's level the Colonelcomes on all right; but now an' then, when a wheel slumps into arut, the Colonel can't he'p none but smite the ground where he's thelowest, 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 mentionssomethin' to his mate over the chain. We're trottin' along the trailat 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 howJerry is that joyous about it I reaches across an' belts him someabrupt 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 getso much bliss from that tenderfoot's misfortunes as he did. 

"It goes along all right ontil I swings down to the crossin' of theCanadian. It's about fourth-drink time in the afternoon, an' I'mallowin' 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 headwaters, an' it's wide an' ugly. It ain't more'n four foot deep, butthe bottom is quicksand, an' that false, if I lets my wagons stopten seconds anywhere between bank an' bank, I'm goin' to be shywagons at the close. I'll be lucky if I win out the mules. It'sshore a hard, swift crossin'. 

"I swings down, as I says, to the river's aige with my mind filledup about the rush I've got to make. It's go through on the run orbog down. First I settles in my saddle, gives the outfit the word, an' then, pourin' the whip into the two leaders, I sends the wholeeight into the water on the jump. The river is runnin' like a scaredwolf, an' the little lead mules hardly touches bottom. 

"As the trail wagon takes the water, an' the two leaders is plumb into the y'ears, a howl develops to the r'ar. It's my pore tenderfootin his hammock onder the trail wagon. He shrieks as the water getsto 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 thingsmore complex, as the water cuts off the tenderfoot's yell likepuffin' 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 theteam the harder, an' the others soars into their collars an' drug myblack p'inter with 'em; only he's onder water. Of course I allowsboth the black p'inter an' the Colonel's shorely due to drown awhole lot. 

"We gets across, the seven other mules an' me; an' the second he'sskated 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'twear 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 ifsome eddy or counter-current don't get him, or he don't go agroundon no sand-bar, his fellow-men will fish him out some'ers between mean' 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 likethis, 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'tthat years later he one day comes wanderin' into Wolfville. He ain'ttender now; he's as hard as moss-agates, an' as worthless. 

"I renews my acquaintance with him, an' he tells how he gets outenthe Canadian that day; but beyond that we consoomes a drink or twotogether, I rather passes him up. Thar's a heap about him I don'ttake 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 heis, for at the end of a week he slaps up a joint outen tent-clothan' fence-boards, an' opens a dance-hall squar' ag'inst JimHamilton's which is already thar. 

"This yere alone is likely to brood an' hatch trouble; but, as iftakin' a straight header into Hamilton's game ain't enough, thisColonel of mine don't get no pianer; don't round-up no music of hisown; 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' aboutthe frontier for years; but I never tracks up on no sech outrage inmy life as this disgraceful Colonel openin' a hurdy-gurdy ag'inHamilton's, an' maverickin' his music that a-way, an' dancin'tharunto. 

"It's the second night, an' Hamilton concloods he'll see about itsome. 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 closehis game or play in his own fiddlers. 

"'Which if you-all don't close your game or hunt out your ownmusic, ' 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 Iparts 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 tofind. What business you got fillin' up my place with your melodies?You rolls your tunes in yere like you owns the ranch; an' then youcomes 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 thatgood-nachered I yields the p'int an' dances to 'em. You-all pullyour freight, ' says the Colonel, 'or I'll fill you full of lead. '

"This argument of the Colonel's dazzles Hamilton to that degree hedon't know whether he's got the high hand or not. He thinks aminute, an' then p'ints over to the Red Light for Enright an' DocPeets. As he leaves the rival dance-hall, the Colonel, who's callin'off his dances, turns to the quadrille, which is pausin pendin' thedispoote, an' shouts:

"'You bet I knows my business! Right hand to your partner; grandright an' left!'

"When Hamilton turns away they's shore makin' things rock an'tremble; an' all to the strains of 'The Arkansaw Traveller, ' whichis bein' evolved next door at Hamilton's expense. 

"Which somethin's goin' to pop; says Hamilton, mighty ugly toEnright an' the rest of us, as he pours a drink into his neck. 'Iallows 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 achance to criticise us none as a disorderly camp; but I asks yougents, as citizens an' members of the vig'lance committee, whetherI'm to stand an' let this yere sharp round-up my music to hold hisrevels by, an' put it all over me nightly?'

"'I don't see no difference, ' says Dan Boggs, 'between this convicta-stealin' of Hamilton's music, than if he goes an' stands up OldMonte an' the stage. '

"'The same bein' my idee exact, ' says Texas Thompson. 'Yere'sHamilton caterin' to this camp with a dance-hall. It's a public goodthing. If a gent's morose, an' his whiskey's slow placin' itse'f, hegoes over to Hamilton's hurdy-gurdy an' finds relaxation an' relief. Now yere comes this stranger--an' I makes it fifty dollars even he'sfrom Massachusetts--an' what does he do? Never antes nor sticks in awhite chip, but purloins Hamilton's strains, an' pulls off hisdances tharby. It's plumb wrong, an' what this party needs ishangin'. '

"'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 thissharp says: Who gives Hamilton any license to go fillin' his hurdy-gurdy full of dance-music? S'pose this gent would come caperin' overan' set in a stack ag'in Hamilton for overloadin' his joint withpianer an' fiddle noises without his consent; an' puttin' it up he'sout to drag the camp if Hamilton don't cease? The only way Hamiltongets 'round that kind of complaint is, he don't own them walses an'quadrilles after they fetches loose from his fiddle; that they ain'this quadrilles no more, an' he's not responsible after theystampedes off into space. '

"'That's straight, ' says Dave Tutt, 'you-alls can't run no brand onmelodies. 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 helets go. After that it belongs to any gent to dance by, cry by, setby, or fight by, as he deems meet an' pleasant at the time. '

"'What do you-alls say?' says Hamilton to Enright an' Peets. 'Doesthis yere piece of oppression on a leadin' citizen, perpetrated by arank outsider, go? I shore waits for your reply with impatience, forI eetches to go back an' shoot up this new hurdy-gurdy from now tillsun-up. '

"Enright takes Doc Peets down by the end of the bar--an' thar's nodoubt about it, that Peets is the wisest longhorn west of theMissoury--an' they has a deep consultation. We-alls is waitin'. Someinterested, to see what they says. It's shore a fine p'int thisColonel's makin' to jestify an' back his game. 

"'Get a move on you, Enright!' at last says Dan Boggs, who is ahasty, eager man, who likes action; 'get a move on you, you an'Peets, an' settle this. You're queerin' the kyards an' delayin' theplay. '

"'Well, gents, ' says Enright at last, comin' back where we-alls isby the door, 'Peets an' me sees no need decidin' on them questionsabout who owns a tune after said tune has been played. But thar is asubject, that a-way, which requires consideration; an' which mostlikely solves this dance-hall deadlock. In all trade matters in agrowin' camp like Wolfville, it's better to preserve a equilibrium. It's ag'in public interest to have two or three dance-halls, or twoor three saloons, all in a bunch that a-way. It's better they bespraddled 'round wide apart, which is more convenient. So Peets an'me proposes as a roole for this yere camp that two hurdy-gurdies beforbid to be carried on within five hundred feet of each other. Asit looks like nobody objects, we concloods it's adopted. Nacherally, the last hurdy-gurdy up has to move, which disposes of this yeretrouble. '

"'Before I ends what I has to say, ' goes on Enright, 'I wants tothank our townsman, Mister Hamilton, for consultin' of theStranglers 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 onearth. If he'd pranced in an' skelped this maraudin' stranger, Idon't reckon we could avoid swingin' him at the end of a lariatwithout makin' a dangerous preceedent. As it is, his rival will berouted an' his life made sereen as yeretofore. '

"'As to the execution of this new roole, ' concloods Enright, 'weleaves that to Jack Moore. He will wait on this party an' explainthe play. He must up stakes an' move his camp; an' if he calls onanother shindig after he's warned, we-alls takes our ponies an' ourropes an' yanks his outfit up by the roots. A gent of hisenterprise, however, will come to a dead halt; an' his persecutionsof Hamilton will cease. '

"'An' you-all calls this yere a free American outfit!' says myColonel, mighty scornful, when Jack Moore notifies him. 'If I don'tline out for t'other end of camp you-alls is allowin' to rope myjoint an' pull it down! Well, that lets me out; I quits you. I'd beshorely degraded to put in my time with any sech low-flung passel ofsports. You-all may go back an' tell your folks that as you leavesyou 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 beginlife anew. Wolfville is too slow a camp for any gent with anyswiftness to him. '"

CHAPTER XV. 

SLIM JIM'S SISTER. 

"Which thar's folks in this caravansary I don't like none, " remarkedthe Old Cattleman, as I joined him one afternoon on the lawn. Histone was as of one half sullen, half hurt, and as he jerked histhumb 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 myback against the elm-tree which shadowed us. 

"No trouble at all, " replied my old friend sourly, "leastwisenothin' poignant. It's that yoothful party in the black surtoot whocomes pesterin' me a moment ago about the West bein', as he says, aroode an' irreligious outfit. "

"He's a young preacher, " I explained. "Possibly he was moved by ananxiety touching your soul's welfare. "

"Well, if he's out to save souls, " retorted the old gentleman, "heoughter 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 theshape of a quail-trap. He may do to chase jack-rabbits an' sech, buthe'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' upthe trail, he'd shorely omit what to do entire; he'd be thatstampeded. He'd be some hard to locate, I takes it, after he meetsup 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-sharpto me that a-way, 'this yere West you hails from is roode, an' don'tyield none to religious inflooences. '

"'Well, ' I says back to him, fillin' my pipe at the same time, 'Ireckons you shorely can c'llect more with a gun than a contreebutionbox in the West, if that's what you-all is aimin' at. But if youfiggers we don't make our own little religious breaks out inArizona, stranger, you figgers a heap wrong. You oughter have heardShort Creek Dave that time when he turns 'vangelist an' prances intothe warehouse back of the New York Store, an' shows Wolfville she'sshore h'ar-hung an' breeze-shaken over hell that a-way. Short Creekhas 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 noreg'lar licensed divine. He ain't workin' in conjunctions with noshore 'nough' sociation, I takes it. This Short Creek person is mostlikely one of them irrelevant exhortin' folks, an' that makes adifference. He don't belong to no reg'lar denom'nation. '

"'That's troo, too, ' I says. 'Short Creek ain't workin' with noreg'lar religious round-up; he's sorter runnin' a floatin' outfit, criss-crossin' the range, prowlin' for mavericks an' strays on hisown 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 thata-way, ' replies the young preacher-sharp, 'but it's irreg'lar; it'splumb out of line. Now what you-alls needs in the West is realchurches, same as we-alls has in the East. '

"`I ain't none shore of that. ' I says, 'an' I'm gettin' a littlewarm onder the collar some with them frills he puts on; 'I ain'tnone 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 betsgo as they lays, an' still get up winner on the deal. I takes ityou-alls never notes the West sendin' East for he'p?'

"'But that ain't the idee, ' he urges. 'Churches that a-way is theright thing. They molds a commoonity, churches does. You b'arswitness yourse'f that where churches exists the commoonity is themost orderly an' fuller of quietood an' peace. '

"'Not necessarily I don't, ' I replies back, for I'm goin' to play myhand out if it gets my last chip, 'not necessarily. What I b'arswitness 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'sgettin' a horror of me, --'you belongs to a perverse generation. You-all is vain of your own evil-doin'. Look at them murders thatreddens the West, an' then sit yere an' tell me it don't need noinflooences. '

"'Them ain't murders, ' I answers; them's killin's. An' as forinflooenccs, if you-all don't reckon the presence of a vig'lancecommittee in a camp don't cause a gent to pause an' ponder nonebefore he pulls his gun, you dwells in ignorance. However, I'm yereto 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, heallows mebby I'm locoed. "

The Old Cattleman said no more for a moment, but puffed at his cobpipe in thought and silence. I had no notion of involving myself inany combat of morals or theology, so I did not invade his mood. Atlast I suggested in a half-tone of inoffensive sympathy that theWest was no doubt much misunderstood. 

"Life there, " I remarked, "amid new and rough conditions must befull of hardship and tragedy. "

This vague arrow in the air had the effect of sending the old fellowoff at a tangent. His bent was evidently discursive, and allthoughts of his late religious controversy seemed to pass from hismind. 

"Full of hardship an' tragedy is your remark, " he retorted, "an' Ijoins you tharin. Take them disasters that pounces on Slim Jim. Whathappens in the case of this yere Slim Jim tenderfoot, " the oldfellow continued as a damp gleam of sympathy shone in his eye, "isboth hardship an' tragedy. Which of course thar's a mighty sight ofdifference. A hardship a gent lives through; but it's a tragedy whenhis 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 mepersonal, in the years I inhabits the grass country, but this wasshorely the toughest. It even overplays anythin' Rainbow Sam ever isag'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 thisRainbow Sam to Enright one day. 'In all my born days I never makes akillin'--never gets up winner once. I was foaled a loser, an' I'llkeep a-losin' ontil this yere malady--which it's consumption-whichhas me in charge delivers me to the angels an' gets its receipt. '

"It's a mockery what transpires touchin' this Rainbow Sam. Jest ashe states, the consumption's got him treed an' out on a limb. DocPeets says, himse'f, nothin' can he'p him; an' when Peets quits alittle thing like consumption an' shoves his chair back, you-allscan gamble a gent's health, that a-way, is on a dead kyard. 

"I recalls how Rainbow Sam dies; which he rides out into eternityeasy 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 forthree hundred an' fifty, an' I'd as soon you'd lose it into the gameas any sport I knows. An' to rouse your moral nacher I wants to tellyou, 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 hashalf the show. '

"Peets goes away for an hour about somethin', an' Rainbow Sam takeshis seat; an', merely to show how one gent outlucks another, whilePeets has had the luck of dogs it's that profuse an' good, it lookslike the best Rainbow can get is an even break. For half an hour hewins 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. Hisconsumption sorter mutinies onto him all at once. He's got the seaton the left of Boggs, too, --got the age. 

"'Play my hand, ' he says to Hamilton, who's stepped in from thedance-hall; 'play my hand, Jim, till I feels a little better. I'llbe 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'sso plumb weak that a-way, cats is robust to him; an' so I deemsnothin' 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, 'causePeets is rich. '

"'That's what I asks for, ' says Hamilton, 'for I don't aim to makeno mistakes with pore Rainbow's money. '

"'That's all right, ' says Boggs, 'dump 'em in. If you-all lose, it'sPeets's; if you win, it's Rainbow's. '

"'Play 'em game an' liberal, Old Man, ' says Rainbow over by thebar, --an' it strikes me at the time his tones is weak an' queer; butbein' as I jest then notes a third queen in my hand, I don't have nochance to dwell on the fact. 'Play 'em game an' free, ' says Rainbowag'in. 'Free as the waters of life. Win or lose, she's all the samea hundred year from now. '

"Hamilton takes another look an' then raises the ante a hundreddollars. This yere is table stakes; this game was; an' the stakes isfive hundred. 

"'Which I plays this, ' says Hamilton, as he comes up with thehundred raise, 'the same as I would for myse'f, which the same meansplenteous an' free as a king. '

"Thar's three of us who stays, one of the same bein' me. I allersrecalls it easy, 'cause it frost-bites my three queens for overthree hundred dollars before the excitement dies away. Boggs, who'sso 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' hegets 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 setsin a little over two hundred dollars, bein' the balance of thestake; an' two of us is feeble-minded enough to call. What does hehave? Well, it's ample for our ondoin' that a-way. It's a straightflush of diamonds; jack at the head of the class. It shorely carriesoff the pot like it's a whirlwind. As near as I can measure, Hamilton claws off with about six hundred dollars for Rainbow onthat one hand. 

"'Yere you be, Rainbow!' shouts Boggs. 'Come a-runnin'! It's now youvisits them relations; you makes a killin' at last. '

"It turns out some late for Rainbow though. Thar's no reply toBoggs's talk, an' when we-alls goes over to him where he's set downby the end of the bar thar, with his arm on a monte-table, an' hischin on his shirt, Rainbow Sam is dead. 

"'Which I regrets, ' says Doc Peets when he returns, 'that Rainbowdon'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 straightflush is. Which it shows Rainbow strikes a streak of luck; an' mebbyit lasts long enough to get him by the gates above all right. That'sall I asks when my time comes; that I dies when I'm commencin' a runof luck. '

"Oh! about this Slim Jim tenderfoot an' his tragedy! Do you know Iplumb overlooks him. I gets trailed off that a-way after pore oldRainbow Sam, an' Slim Jim escapes my mem'ry complete. 

"Which the story of this gent, even the little we-alls knows, is aheap onusual. No one, onless he's the postmaster, ever does hear hisname. He sorter ha'nts about Red Dog an' Wolfville indiscriminatefor 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 namenever does poke up its head. 

"Whatever brings this yere Slim Jim into the cow country is tooboggy 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 heain't meant by Providence for the cattle business. The meekestbronco in the bunch bucks him off; an' actooally he's that timidhe's plumb afraid of ponies an' cattle both. 

"We-alls fixes Slim Jim's saddle with buckin'-straps; an' evenfastens a roll of blankets across the saddle-horn; but it ain'tenough. 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 ina saddle, it looks like this Slim Jim has baleful effects on abronco. To show you: One mornin' we ropes up for him a pony whichhas renown for its low sperits. It acts, this yere pony does, likeit's suffered some disapp'intment which blights it an' breaks itsheart; an' no amount of tightenin' of the back cinch; not evenspurrin' of it in the shoulder an' neck like playful people who'sout for a circus does, is ever known to evolve a buck-jump outenhim, 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 Jimcasts over a bronco, we-alls throws him onto this Remorse pony onemornin'. 

"'Which if you can't get along with that cayouse, ' remarks JackMoore at the time, 'I reckons it's foreordained you-all has to goafoot. '

"An' that's how it turns out. No sooner is Slim Jim in the saddlethan that Remorse pony arches his back like a hoop, sticks his nosebetween his knees, an' gives way to sech a fit of real old worm-fence buckin' as lands Slim Jim on his sombrero, an' makes expertponies simply stand an' admire. 

"That's the last round-up Slim Jim attempts; workin' cattle he sayshimse'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' littlejim-crow tricks for the express company, or he'pin' over to thestage company's corrals, an' sorter manages to live. 

"Now an' then some party who's busy drinkin', an' tharfore hasn'ttime for faro, an' yet is desirous the same be played, stakes SlimJim 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-allswould call precar'ous. 

"An' yet, as I sends my mind back over the trail, I never knows ofnothin' 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'stimid plumb through. Thar's reason to deem him game when he's upag'inst mere man. 

"Once, so they tells the story, Curly Bill rounds up this Slim Jimin a Red Dog hurdy-gurdy an' concloods to have some entertainmentwith him. 

"'Dance, you shorthorn!' says this yere Curly Bill, yankin' out hissix-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 movehe swarms all over this Curly Bill like a wild-cat, makes him drophis gun, an' sends him out of the hurdy-gurdy on a canter. That'sstraight; that's the painful fact in the case of Curly Bill, whomakes overgay with the wrong gent. 

"Later, mebby an hour, so the party says who relates it to me, CurlyBill sends back word into the hurdy-gurdy, tellin' the barkeep, ifhis credit's good after sech vicissitoodes, to treat the house. Heallows the drinks is on him, an' that a committee can find himsettin' on the post office steps sorter goin' over himse'f forfractures, if it's held necessary for him to be present when thedrinks 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, ' saysCurly Bill, when he an' Jim shakes; 'an' I yereby marks yourmoccasins 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 tothe sale of nose-paint. I'm yere to remark, if thar ain't no morereeconciliations on earth, an' everybody stands pat on them hatredsan' enmities of his, whiskey-drinkin' falls off half. 

"I only su'gest this turn-up with Curly Bill to 'lustrate that it'sabout 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 facesprompt an' willin' as a lion. 

"Thar's times when I shorely ponders the case of this Slim Jim amighty 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 oneday, while he's discussin' of this Slim Jim. 'He ain't to blame, buthe ain't never goin' to do, none whatever, out yere. He can't nomore get used to Arizona than one of the Disciples, an' he mightcamp 'round for years. '

"It's mebby hard onto a year when along comes the beginnin' of theend 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 foundon the remainder it looks like the postmaster's right, an' thisletter sets him goin' wrong. I allers allows, after he gets thismissive, 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 howrich he is an' how lucrative he's doin', --sech bluffs bein' commonin 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 thepostmaster mentions, an' which is later read by all; but it's aboutthat time Slim Jim acts queer an' locoed. He's flustered an'stampeded about somethin', we-alls notes that; an' Dave Tutt evenforgets 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. Afriend 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; 'thoughjedgin' by the party who's on his trail that time I don't reckonhe'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 quitscamp he says to Cherokee Hall: 'S'pose I asks you-all to lend memoney, quite a bundle, say, would you do it?'

"'I turns faro for my money, ' says Cherokee; 'which I merelymentions it to show I comes honestly by my roll. As to borrowin' ofme, you-all or any gent in hard lines can get my money by showin' heneeds it worse than I do; an' to encourage you I might say I don'tneed 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 stakeyou, even if it takes half my pile. ' Tharupon Cherokee urges SlimJim to onfold his story. 

"But Slim Jim gets shy an' won't talk or tell Cherokee what'spesterin' 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 isthe last Slim Jim has before he breaks over into the hills on thehunt for money. He goes afoot, too; for he don't own no pony, an' hecouldn't, as I explains previous, stay on him if he does. 

"But he fixes himse'f with a Winchester which he gets from thestage-company people themse'fs on a talk he makes about takin' somereecreation with the coyotes, an' p'ints straight over into RawhideCanyon, --mebby it's six miles from camp. When the stage gets alongan hour later, this Slim Jim's made himse'f a mask with ahandkerchief, an' is a full-fledged hold-up which any expresscompany could be proud to down. Old Monte relates what happens inthe canyon, 'cause from where he's stuck up on the box he gets abetter view. 

"'Yere's how this happens, ' says Old Monte, while renooin' his yoothwith Red Light licker after he's got in. 'It's a little hazy in thecanyon, comin' evenin' that a-way, an' my eyes is watery with theshootin' goin' on, an' I tharfore don't say I notes things noneminoote; but as near as I can, you gets the story. 

"`Thar's only one passenger, an' she's a woman. Which for thatmatter she's a beautiful girl, with eyes like a buck antelope's; butbein' 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, thesame bein' the first time in months. These Wells-Fargo parties ain'talong 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 nothalf-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 aWinchester, an' throws my off leader dead ag'inst the trail. Thar'sno goin' 'round the dead hoss, an' bar the nacheral rarin' an'pitchin' of the other five on beholdin' of the ontimely end of theircompanion 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'tno part of my game to fight hold-ups an' stand off route-agents thata-way, an' get shot dead for it by their pards the next trip; so, asI says, the moment that Winchester goes off, I clamps my fingersback 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' anygent to rustle my stage an' me not cuss him out. "'But these yereWells-Fargo sharps, they never holds up their hands. That's nacheralenough, for them gents is hired to fight, an' this partic'lar tripthar's full six thousand dollars to go to war over. 

"With the first shot the Wells-Fargo gents--they was game as goatsboth of 'em--slides offen the coach an' takes to shootin'. The gunsis makin' a high old rattle of it, an' I'm hopin' the hold-up won'tget 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 cutsloose a whoop, jumps down onto the trail an' charges. He comes a-shootin', too, an' the way the lead an' fire fetches forth from thatWinchester he's managin' shore reminds me of them Roman candles lastJuly. 

"'All this yere don't take ten seconds. An' it don't last tenseconds more. As my hold-up comes chargin' an' shootin' towards thestage, I overhears a scream inside, an' the next moment that youngfemale passenger opens the door an' comes scamperin' out. 

"'If she tries she couldn't have selected no worse epock. She hitsthe ground, an' the second she does--for I'm lookin' over at her atthe time--she stops one of that hold-up's bullets an' goes down witha 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'sas well I don't; for towards the last the shootin' of the remainin'Wells-Fargo person is reckless an' inordinate. It's plumbreedundant; that shootin' is. But as I remarks, I never has nooccasion to go to the girl; for as I feels the impulse I hears thehold-up shout:

"'"God! it's Mary! It's my sister!"

"'Thar's a letter on him we finds later, which shows this statementabout my passenger bein' his sister is troo; an' that she's p'intin'out when downed, now they's orphans--which the letter states theirfather's jest cashed in--to come an' keep house for him. As thehold-up makes this yere exclamation about the girl bein' hisrelative that a-way, his Winchester goes a-rattlin' onto the trailan' he gathers her in his arms. However, he don't last longer than adrink of whiskey now. He don't no more'n lift her up, before even hekisses her, the remainin' Wells-Fargo gent downs him, an' the riot'sover complete. 

"'Three killed an' none wounded is how results stacks up; an' afterme an' the live Wells-Fargo gent cl'ars the dead leader outen thetrail, we-alls lays out the remainders inside all peaceful, an'comes a-curvin' on to Wolfville. It's then, as we puts 'em in thecoach, I sees that my hold-up's that onfortunate felon, Slim Jim. Which I was shorely astonished. I says to the Wells-Fargo gent, aswe looks at Slim Jim:

"'"Pard, the drinks is due from me on this. If I has a week to guessin, I'd never said 'Slim Jim. '"

CHAPTER XVI. 

JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE. 

"Whatever makes this yere jaybird Bob believe he's a humorist, " saidthe Old Cattleman one afternoon as we slowly returned from a walk, "whatever it is misleads him to so deem himself is shorely too manyfor me. Doc Peets tells him himse'f one day he's plumb wrong. 

"'You-all's nacherally a somber, morose party, ' says Doc Peets thistime, '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 acow in a swamp. Your mind moves sluggish that a-way, an' sortersinks to the hocks each step. If you was born to be funny yourintellects would be limber an' frivolous. '

"'Bein' all this is personal to me, ' says Jaybird Bob, 'I takesleave 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 ofbluff. ' 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 nameis Graingerford, --Poindexter Graingerford. But the same is cumbersoman' 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 callhim 'Jaybird Bob, ' that a-way. An' we does. 

"It's on the spring round-up this yere Jaybird first develops thathe regards himse'f witty. It's in the morning as we-alls has saddledup an' lines out to comb the range roundabout for cattle. Thar's atenderfoot along whose name is Todd, an', as he's canterin' off, Jaybird comes a-curvin' up on his bronco an' reaches over an' tailsthis shorthorn's pony. 

"What's tailin' a pony? It's ridin' up from the r'ar an' takin' ahalf-hitch on your saddle. Horn with the tail of another gent'spony, 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'sneck, mebby the rider's. But whether he saves his neck or no, theparty whose pony is thus tailed allers emergers tharfrom deshevelledan' wrought-up, an' hotter than a wolf. So no one plays this yerejoke much; not till he's ready to get shot at. 

"As I says, this Jaybird watches Todd as he rides off. Bein' new onthe range that a-way, Todd don't ride easy. A cow saddle ain't builtlike these yere Eastern hulls, nohow. The stirrup is set two inchesfurther back for one thing, an' it's compiled a heap different otherways. 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 acurlew or somethin' flyin', an' I reckons it's sech proceedin'smakes 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' getsa handful of the pony's tail; an' then, wroppin' it 'round hissaddle-horn, he goes by on the jump an' spreads Todd an' his broncopermiscus about the scene. This yere Todd goes along the grass onall 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' stopthe deal. 

"We-alls picks Todd up, an' rounds up his pony, --which scrambles toits 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'tforgive 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 upheavedthat a-way. Not to be misonderstood at this yere crisis, ' goes onthis Todd, 'I wants to announce that from now for'ard life will havebut one purpose with me, which'll be to down the next gent whoevertails a pony of mine. The present incident goes as a witticism; butyou 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 throughthe scenery to work the cattle an' proceed with the round-up we-allsis on. We notes, though, that tailin' Todd's pony don't go ag'inwith safety. 

"It's when we-alls rides away that Doc Peets--who's out with theround-up, though he ain't got no cattle-brand himse'f--tells Jaybirdhe's not a humorist, like I already repeats. 

"But, as I su'gests, this Jaybird Bob can't believe it none. He'smighty shore about his jokes bein' excellent good jokes; an' whileit's plain Todd ain't got no confidence in him an' distrusts himcomplete since he tips over his bronco that mornin', it looks likeJaybird can't let him alone. An' them misdeeds of Jaybird's keepsgoin' on, ontil by the merest mistake--for it's shore an accident ifever one happens in the cow country--this yere tenderfoot shoots upJaybird an' kills him for good. 

"It looks to us like it's a speshul Providence to warn folks not togo projectin' about, engaged in what you might call physical jestsnone. Still, this yere removal of Jaybird don't take place tillmighty near the close of the round-up; an' intervenin', he'spirootin' 'round, stockin' the kyards an' settin' up hands on thepore 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' alongat 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' ittakes two days hard ridin' for the whole outfit to bring 'emtogether ag'in. 

"Among other weaknesses this Todd imports from the States is, he'safraid of snakes. Rattlesnakes is his abhorrence, an' if each is adisembodied sperit he can't want 'em further off. He's allersalarmed that mebby, somehow, a rattlesnake will come pokin' in onderhis blankets nights, an' camp with him while he's asleep. An' thisyere 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'sridin' 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 agent's blankets an' sleep some with him. Which, if he moves or turnsover, they simply emits a buzz an' grabs him I knows of forty folkswho's bit that a-way by snakes, an' nary a one lives to explain thegame. '

"'Be rattlesnakes thick in Arizona?' I hears Todd say to thisJaybird. 

"'Be they thick?' answers Jaybird. 'Well, I shore wishes I hadwhiskey for all the rattlesnakes thar is yereabouts. I don't want togo overstatin' the census to a gent who is out playin' forinformation, an' who's learnin' fast, but I s'pose now thar ain'tnone less than a billion snakes in southeast Arizona alone. If Icould saw off the little passel of cattle I has on this range, youcan gamble I'd pull my freight to-morrow. It's all right for sechold 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'tseen forty of my nearest friends cash in of snake-bites, an' notlearn nothin'. An' almost every time it's a rattlesnake as comesslidin' into bed with 'em while they's locked in dreams, an' whogets hot an' goes to chewin' of 'em, because they wants to turn outbefore the snake does. Rattlesnakes that a-way wants to sleep tillit's fourth-drink time an' the sun's 'way up yonder. An' when a gentgoes to rollin' out of his blankets say at sun-up, it makes 'emmonstrous angry to be disturbed; an' the first he knows of wherethey be an' how they looks on early risin', their teeth's in him upto 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 whenthey next moves camp. '

"Of course all this is a heap impressive to Todd; an' while Enrightan' Peets both tells him Jaybird's havin' fun with him, you can seehe's mortal afraid every night when he spreads his blankets, an' hemakes a cirele about where he sleeps at with a horse-ha'r lariathe'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 timeis this a-way. Jaybird comes ridin' in from the cattle about threehours before sun-up, to turn out Tutt, who is due to take his placeon herd. Jaybird's got a rawhide rope that he's drugged about in thegrass, which makes it damp an' cold. As Jaybird rides up to camp hesees this Todd rolled in his blankets, snorin' to beat four of akind. 

"Nacherally Jaybird's out to be joyous in a second. He rides upclose to this he'pless shorthorn as he lays asleep, an' tosses aloop of his wet rawhide across his countenance where it's turned upin the moonlight. As it settles down cold an' startlin' on Todd'sskin, 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'ilesup into the atmosphere with a howl like a wolf; an', grabbin' ablanket in each hand, he starts out over the plains in a state offrenzy. 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 amoment. Which she springs to her feet, an takin' her offspringalong, goes surgin' off into the hills for good. You couldn't heador stop 'em then. It's the completest case of stampede I ever turnsout to behold. 

"No; this yere Todd never gathers the rights of the eepisode. He'sthat peevish an' voylent by nacher no one tells him it's Jaybird;an' onless, in the light of knowin' more, he has since figgered outthe trooth, he allows to this day a rattlesnake as big as a roll ofblankets tries to recline on his face that time. 

"To keep peace in camp an' not let him go to pawin' 'round for realtrouble with the festive Jaybird, Enright stands in to cap the gamehimse'f; an' puts it up in confab with this Todd the next day as howhe 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' rattledby your cries, he leaves, so far as I'm concerned, a trail of reliefbehind. 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 themere sound of Enright's talk. 

"'As to them rattles, ' says Enright, like he's mighty thoughtfultryin' to recall 'em to mind, 'as to this reptile's rattles, it'sthat dark that while I sees 'em I couldn't but jest. So far as Inotes anythin' they looks like a belt full of car-tridges, sortercorrugated an' noomerous. 

"Now this yere which I relates, while no doubt burnin' experiencesto Todd, is after all harmless enough. An' to people not carefulabout the basis of their glee it might do some to laugh at. But itall closes up on a play with nothin' gay nor merry in it; leastwisenot for Jaybird Bob. 

"This yere finish joke of jaybird's transpires one evenin' as thecook's startin' in to rustle some chuck. The grub-wagon's beenstopped in the mouth of Peeled Pine Canyon. Every gent's in camp butthis yere tenderfoot Todd. Enright, who's actin' as round-up bossfor the outfit--for everybody's cattle's bein' worked together thata-way, like we allers does--has sent Todd peerin' 'round for cattle, 'way off up the valley into which the Peeled Pine Canyon opens. Thisyere shorthorn's due to be back any time now, 'cause it's only aquestion of how far up the valley does he go. He don't run no showto be lost, for nothin' less aerial than goats could climb out ofthe 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 usin the valley. None of the rest of us is turnin' our minds to himprobably, except Jaybird Bob. It all of a bump like a buckin' ponystrikes Jaybird that he's missin' a onusual chance to be buoyant. 

"'What for a play would it be, ' says Jaybird, rousin' up from wherehe 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 outup the draw, an' bush-whack this yere ontaught person Todd as hecomes 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 shoreInjuns 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'treckon none I'd play Apache if I'm you. Thar's too much effort inbein' an Apache that a-way. I'd lay yere an' think up some jokewhich don't demand so much industry, an' ain't calc'lated to scarean 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' playthey's aborigines with Jaybird an' note how the tenderfoot standsthe racket. 

"'As long as this yere Jaybird's bound to make the play, ' says JackMoore to Enright, talkin' one side, 'it's a heap better to have theconserv'tive element represented in the deal. So I puts it up, it'sa good sage move for me an' Tutts to stand in. We-alls will comehandy to pull Jaybird an' this shorthorn apart if they gets theirhorns locked in the course of them gaities. '

"Enright takes the same view; so Jaybird an' Moore an' Tutt wandersoff up the canyon a mile, an' lays in wait surreptitious to head offTodd. Jack tells me the story when him an' Tutt comes ridin' backwith the corpse. 

"'This is how we does, ' says Jack. 'Me an' Tutt an' deceased--whichlast is Jaybird all right enough--is ensconced behind a p'int ofrocks. Jaybird's got his blanket wropped, 'round him so he lookslike a savage. It ain't long when we-alls hears the tenderfootcomin' down the canyon; it's likely he's half-mile away. He'srunnin' onto us at a road-gait; an' when he's about two hundredyards off Jaybird turns out a yell to make you shiver, shakes a loador two outen his gun, goes surgin' out from 'round the p'int ofrocks, an' charges straight at this onthinkin' tenderfoot. It is dueto trooth to say, me an' Tutt follows this Jaybird's suit, only notso voylent as to whoops. 

"'Does it scare up the tenderfoot? Well, it shorely alarms him aheap. He takes Jaybird for an Injun an' makes no question; which thesame 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 ofJaybird he whirls his pony an' lights out up that valley likeantelope. 

"'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 heapof zest into it. 

"'The weak spot in all this yere humor grows out of the idees thistenderfoot's been gainin', an' the improvements he's been makin', while stragglin' about in our s'ciety. I onhesitatin'ly states thatif this yere joke is pulled off by Jaybird when Todd first entersour midst, it might have been the vict'ry of his life. But Jaybirddefers it too long. This tenderfoot has acquired a few Western ways;enough to spoil the fun an' send pore Jaybird a-curvin' to his homeon 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 isstampedin' along in pursoot, the fugitive throws loose his six-shooter, an' without even turnin' his head or lookin' back at us, heonhooks 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 thehat, an' he goes off his pony without even mentionin' about it toeither Tutt or me. 

"`That's all thar is to the report. Dave an' me pulls up ourbroncos, abandons the joke, lays Jaybird across his saddle like asack of corn, an' returns to state the case. '

"'Whatever did you-alls do with this frightened stranger?' asksEnright. 

"'Which we never does nothin', ' says Jack. 'The last I beholds, he'sflyin' up the valley, hittin' nothin' but the high places. An'assoomin' his project is to get away, he's succeedin' admirable. Ashe 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 believethar's no real object in followin' him no further. I don't press mys'ciety on no gent; shorely not on some locoed tenderfoot that a-waywho's pulled his gun an' is done blazin' away erratic, withoutpurpose 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' hedon't swerve none from the direction he's p'inting out in when hefades from view, he's goin' to be over in the San Simon country byto-morrow mornin' when we eats our grub; an' that's half way to theBorax desert. If you yearns for my impressions, ' concloods Jack, 'drawn from a-seein' of him depart, I'm free to say I don't reckonyou-alls is goin' to meet this yere tenderfoot none soon. '

"An' that's about the size of it. Jack calls the turn. Jaybird'slast joke alarms this tenderfoot Todd plumb outen Arizona, an' tharain'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, hisnacher is shorely arduous that a-way. If it's a meetin' of thecommittee, for instance, with intent then an' thar to dwell a wholelot on the doin's of some malefactor, Boggs allers gets to a mentalshow-down ahead of the other gents involved. Either he's out tothrow this party loose, or stretch his neck, or run him outen camp, or whatever's deemed exact jestice, long before sech slow-an'-shorepeople 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 inseveral profound minutes in apparent contemplation of Boggs. Then hewent on. 

"That's it; Boggs is emotional; an' I shorely reckons which he'deven been a heap religious, only thar's no churches much on Boggs'srange. Boggs tells me himse'f he comes mighty near bein' caught insome 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 madethe 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 itsways, over in the warehouse of the New York Store, an' that sameevenin' Boggs, bein' some moved, confides in me how once he mebbyhalf-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 isover. But I don't; so you can't, after all, call it a religiousexper'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 Iallers puts it up I'd shorely filled my hand an' got plumb into theplay, 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 tenfoot of cuss-words, an' that j'inin' the church in my case is mightylikely to be a bluff. An' so I passes it up. 

"'You sees, ' says Boggs, 'thar's no good tryin' to hold out kyardson your Redeemer. If your heart ain't right it's no use to set intothe game. No cold deck goes. He sees plumb through every kyard youholds, 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'teven try. An' that's why, when resolvin' one winter to get religionmebby next June, I persists in my sinful life. 

"'It's over to Taos I acquires this religious idee. I'm come new tothe camp from some'ers down 'round Seven Rivers in the Pecoscountry, an' I don't know a gent. Which I'm by nacher gregar'ous; sonot knowin' folks that a-way weighs on me; an' the first night I'mthar, I hastens to remedy this yere evil. I'm the possessor ofwealth 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 goesprojectin' 'round from dance-hall to baile, an' deciminates mydinero an' draws to me nose-paint an' friends. As thar ain't butthree gin-mills, incloosive of the hurdy-gurdy, I'm goin' curvin' inthem grand rounds which I institoots, on a sort of triangle. 

"'Which it can't be said I don't make runnin' of it, however; Idon't reckon now it's mor'n an hour before I knows all Taos, barMexicans an' what some folks calls "the better elements. " It alsofollows, like its lariat does a loose pony, that I'm some organizedby 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 noryereafter; but as I ain't liable to adorn the play nor take properpart tharin, I'd shorely passed out an' kept on to the hurdy-gurdyif I'd knowed. As it stands, I blunders into them orisonsinadvertent; but, havin' picked up the hand, I nacherally continuesan' plays it. 

"'It's this a-way about them religious exercises: I'm emerged fromthe Tub of Blood, an' am p'intin' out for the dance-hall, when Istrikes a wickeyup all lighted, an' singin' on the inside. I takesit 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 Greasersusual puts up a heap of singin' an' scufflin' an' talkin' ineverythin' from monte to a bull-fight. 

"'Once I'm in, I notes it ain't Mexicans an' it ain't monte. Goodfolks though, I sees that; an' as a passel of 'em near the doorlooks shocked at the sight of me, I'm too bashful to break outag'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 coyoteat noon; an' after awhile the sharp who's dealin' for 'em goes onwith 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 bandof mavericks with it. It's playin' white chips to win blues; that'swhat this sharp says. 

"'It shorely strikes me as easy. Every time you does good, says thisparty, Fate is out to play a return game with you; an' it's writtenyou 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'tleave an' scand'lize the congregation; an' as I gives up strong whenthe plate goes by, I ain't regarded as no setback. 

"'When the contreebution-box--which she's a tin plate--comeschargin' by, I'm sorter noddin, ' I'm that weary. I notes the jingleof 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'sgone to the center for a peso. 

"'"Dollar, " says the gent. 

"'"Well, " I says, "I ain't seen my hand since the draw, but I'llraise you nine blind. " An' I boards a ten-dollar bill. 

"'When the rest goes, I sorter sidles forth an' lines out for thedance-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 onthe water that a-way. It sticks thar yet, for that matter. 

"Bein' released from them devotions, I starts to drinkin' ag'in withzeal an' earnestness. An' thar comes a time when all my money's inmy boots. Yere's how: I only takes two stacks of reds when I embarkson this yere debauch. Bein' deep an' crafty, an' a new Injun at thatagency that a-way, an' not knowin' what game I may go ag'inst, Iputs 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 myleft boot, which is high an' ample to hold said specie. Why I putsthis yere silver money in my boot-laig is shore too many for me. ButI 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 Bloodwhen 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 everriffles a deck or pulls a trigger, an' p'liteness demands we-allsputs 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 ontothe floor. Thar's a peck of it, if thar's dos reals; an' sech anexhibition as spillin' it out in the Tub of Blood is bound tomortify me, an' the barkeep, an' Frosty, an' most likely lead tomakin' 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 thebottle, 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'slonesome, an' camps down by a Spanish-bayonet, an' tugs away to getmy boot off an' my dinero into circ'lation. 

"'An' while I'm at it, sleep an' nose-paint seizes me, an' my lightgoes plumb out. I rolls over behind the bayonet-bush an' raises asnore. As for that Frosty, he waits a while; then he pulls hisfreight, allowin' I'm too deliberate about comin' back, for him. 

"'It must have made them coyotes stop an' consider a whole lot aboutwhat I be. To show you how good them coyotes is, I wants to tellyou: I don't notice it ontil the next day. While I'm curled up tothe r'ar of that bush they comes mighty near gnawin' the scabbardoffen my gun. Fact; the leather looks like some pup has been chewin'it. But right then I ain't mindin' nothin' so oninterestin' as acoyote 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'psbrand it on my mem'ry. While I'm layin' thar, an' mighty likelywhile them coyotes is lunchin' offen my scabbard that a-way, alongcomes 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. Whatevertakes him to where I lays by my bayonet-bush I never knows. He don'tdisclose nothin' on that p'int afterward, an' mebby he tracks up onme 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 seemsdisapp'inted an' hurt. 

"'The statistics of the barkeep of the Tub of Blood next day, goesto the effect that I'm shorely out thar four hours; an' when SpanishBill discovers me I'm mighty near froze. Taos nights in November hasa 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 neversaveys about this yere Spanish Bill meetin' up with me that a-wayontil later. But by what the barkeep says, he drug me into the Tubof Blood an' allows he's got a maverick. 

"'"Fix this yere froze gent up somethin' with teeth, " says SpanishBill 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 thecollar. Tharupon said Bill rides herd on me down to the JacksonHouse an' spreads me on some blankets. 

"'It's daylight when I begins to be aware my name's Boggs, an' thatI'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'stime you-all is up. Yere's what you do: Thar's five whiskey-checkson 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 theJackson House an' eat. I pays for it. I won't be outen my blanketsby then; but they knows that Spanish Bill makes good, 'cause Iimpresses it on 'em speshul when I comes in. 

"'"You-all don't know me, " goes on this Spanish Bill, as I sets upan' 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. "Butmy 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' ifyou 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 laterthat this Bill must have rustled my raiments when he finds me thattime when I'm presided over by coyotes while I sleeps. When he saysit, however, I merely remarks that while I'm grateful to him asmockin'-birds, money after all ain't no object with me; an', pullin'off my nigh moccasin, I pours some two pounds of specie onto theblankets. 

"'"Which I packs this in my boot, " I observes, "to put mysc'f inmind I've got a roll big enough to fill a nose-bag over to Howard'sstore. "

"'"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'sover-looked a bet. 

"'Well, that's all thar is to that part. That's where Spanish Billlaunches that bread of his'n; an' the way it later turns out itsorter b'ars down on me, an' keeps me rememberin' what that skyscoutsays at the pra'r-meetin' about the action a gent gets by playin' agood deed to win. 

"'It's the middle of January, mebby two months later, when I'm overon 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 aswallow-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 theOld Cattleman after me, for I had interrupted with the question. "Whatever's the good of y'ear-marks? Why, when mixed cattle is in abunch, 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 iswhat 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. Ifyou was to go over a herd by the brands, you wouldn't cut out asteer an hour. But to trail back after Boggs. 

"`It's two months later, an' I'm ridin' down a draw one day, ' saysthis Dan Boggs, 'cussin' the range an' the weather, when my ponygoes to havin' symptoms. This yere pony is that sagacious that whileit makes not the slightest mention of cattle when they's near, itnever comes up on deer, or people in the hills, but it takes togivin' of manifestations. This is so I can squar myse'f for whatevergame they opens on us. 

"`As I says, me an' this yere wise pony is pushin' out into theCaliente when the pony begins to make signs. I brings him down allcautious where we can look across the valley, an'

[Illustration with caption: "Nacherally I stops an' surveys himcareful]

you-all can gamble I'm some astonished to see a gent walkin' alongafoot, off mebby a couple hundred yards. He sorter limps an' leansover on one side like he's hurt. Nacherally I stops an' surveys himcareful. It's plenty strange he's thar at all; an' stranger stillhe's afoot. I looks him over for weepons; I wants to note what he'slike an' how he's heeled. 

"'You saveys as well as me it don't do to go canterin' out tostrangers 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 youwith his gun, as would leave you afoot an' likewise too dead to knowit. 

"'I'm allers cautious that a-way, around a party who's lost hishoss. It locoes him an' makes him f'rocious; I s'pose bein' afoot hefeels he'pless, an' let out an' crazy. A gent afoot is a heap easierto aggravate, too; an' a mighty sight more likely to lay for youthan when he's in a Texas saddle with a pony between his knees. 

"'Which is why I remarks, that I stacks up this pedestrian carefulan' 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'mwonderin' where I cuts his trail before. 

"'As I has the advantage of a Winchester, I at last rides into theopen 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 playsin when he recovers me that time in Taos. 

"'To make it brief, Spanish Bill tells me that after I leaves Taoshe goes over an' deals monte a bit at Wagon Mound. One night aMexican comes caperin' in, an' Bill gives him a layout or two. Atlast he makes an alcy bet of fifty dollars on the queen; what theGreasers 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 theMexican. Tharupon he searches out a knife; an' this yere socomplicates the business, Bill, to simplify things, plugs theMexican full of holes. 

"'This shootin' is on the squar', an' no one takes hostile notice ofit. Spanish Bill goes on layin' out his monte same as usual. Twodays later, though, he gets a p'inter the Mexicans is fixin' forhim. 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 daybefore 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 beexpected, Spanish Bill turns loose, free an' frequent, an' they allshorely has a high, excessive time. 

"'The Mexicans downs Spanish Bill's pony, an' a bullet creasesBill's side; which last is what curves him over an' indooces him tolimp when I trails up with him. 

"'As Spanish Bill goes down, the Mexicans scatter. The game is toohigh 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 intothe hills where I encounters him. It's that morning his pony getstired 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 meup that night in Taos, so I don't hesitate. I takes him over to mycamp. 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 theBill who's lynched over near Eagle Pass a year later, of which Isurmises it's some likely. 

"'But whether Bill's lynched or not, it all brings up ag'in whatthat Gospel-gent says about doin' benev'lences; an' how after manydays 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, apony an' safety, makes it seem like that Bible-sharp is right awhole 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 sofrightful in my talk, I'd shorely hunted down a congregation thenext June, an' stood in. "'

CHAPTER XVIII. 

DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS. 

"Whatever's the difference between the East an' the West?" said theOld Cattleman, repeating my question rather for the purpose ofconsideration than from any failure to understand: "What's thedifference between the East an' the West? Which, so far as I notes, to relapse into metaphor, as you-alls says, the big difference isthat the East allers shoots from a rest; while the West shoots offhand. 

"The West shore learns easy an' is quick to change a system or altera play. It's plumb swift, the West is; an' what some regards asrough is mere rapidity. The West might go broke at faro-bank in themornin', an' be rich at roulette in the afternoon; you can't tell. Iknows partners in Arizona who rolls out in the gray light ofbreakin' day an' begins work by dissolvin' an' windin' up the firm'saffairs. By dark them same gents is pards ag'in in a new enterprisecomplete. Folks'll fight at sun-up an' cook their chile con carnetogether at night, an' then sleep onder the same blankets. For whichcauses thar's no prophets in the West; a Western future that a-waybein' so mighty oncertain no prophet can fasten his lariat. 

"Speakin' of pards an' the fog which surrounds what the same islikely to do, makes me think of the onlicensed an' onlooked-forcarryin's-on of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd. Them twogents fosters a feud among themse'fs that splits 'em wide open an'keeps 'em pesterin' each other for years; which the doin's of themlocoed 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 isorganized for a shore-'nough town, an Jack Moore is a shore-'noughmarshal, with Enright for alcalde that a-way, an' thar's a heap ofimprovements. 

"When I first tracks into Wolfville, cows is what you might call theleadin' industry, with whiskey an' faro-bank on the side. But in thedays of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd, ore has beenonearthed, the mines is opened, an' Wolfville's swelled tremendous. We-alls even wins a county-seat fight with Red Dog, wherein we putsit all over that ornery hamlet; an' we shorely deals the game forthe entire region. 

"As I states, it's the spring after we promotes the Bird Cage Op'ryHouse--which temple of amoosements is complete the fall before--that'Doby an' Billy turns up in Wolfville. I knows she's spring, for I'maway workin' the round-up at the time, an' them gents is both thardrunk 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 onevery mine excitement from Alaska to Lower Californy. An' never oncedoes 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' onefor both of 'em. They's camped off up a draw about half a mile fromtown, where their claims is, an' has a little cabin an' seems to begettin' along peaceful as a church; an' I reckons thar's' no doubtbut they be. 

"When 'Doby an' Billy first comes caperin' into Wolfville they'sthat thick an' friendly with each other, it's a shame to thieves. Irecalls 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 Peetswith 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 merenomenclature 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 campgets used to 'em an' likes 'em. They digs an' blasts away in thembadger-holes they calls shafts all day, an' then comes chargin' downto the Red Light at night. After the two is drunk successful, theymutually takes each other home. An' as they lines out for their campupholdin' an' he'pin' of each other, an' both that dead soaked innose-paint they long before abandons tryin' to he'p themse'fs, Itells you, son, their love is a picture an' a lesson. 

"'Which the way them pore, locoed sots, ' says Old Man Enright onenight, as 'Doby an' Billy falls outen the Red Light together, an'then turns in an' assists each other to rise, --'which the way thempore darkened drunkards rides herd on each other, an' is onse'fishan' generous that a-way, an' backs each other's play, is as good assermons. You-all young men, ' says Enright, turnin' on Jack Moore an'Boggs an' Tutt, 'you-all imatoor bucks whose character ain't reallyformed none yet, oughter profit plenty by their example. '

"As I remarks, 'Doby an' Billy's been inhabitin' Wolfville formighty hard on six months when the trouble between 'em first showsits 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 cutno 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, Billyreaches inside the cabin, an' sorts out a Winchester an' plugs saidculprit 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--theoutfit abides over in Chihuahua, which is the Mexican part ofWolfville--goes to a show-down with 'Doby an' Billy an wants to knowdoes she get the corpse?

"'Shore, ' says 'Doby, 'which we-alls has no further use for yourpaw, an' his remainder is free an' welcome to you. You can bet mean' Billy ain't holdin' out no paternal corpses none on theirweepin' offsprings. '

"Followin' of his bluff, 'Doby goes over an' consoles with theMexican's daughter, which her name's Manuela, an' she don't look sobad neither. Doc Peets, whose jedgement of females is a cinch, allows she's as pretty as a diamond flush, an' you can gamble DocPeets 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'smakin' coffee an' bakin'. Powder biscuit inside, don't really noticehe's doin' it. Fact is, Billy's plumb busy. The New York Storehavin' changed bakin'-powder onto us the week before--the sameredoocin' biscuits to a conundrum for a month after--an' thatbakin'-powder change sorter engagin' Billy's faculties wholly, heforgets about deceased an' his daughter complete; that is, completetemporary. 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 herpaw is stealin' is by way an' far the best mule in camp, an' at lastshe 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 ofher paw. 

"'Which it's jest like that 'Doby, ' says Billy, when he hears of hispartner packin' home his prey that a-way, an' his tones shows headmires 'Doby no limit, `which it's shorely like him. Take folks indistress, an' you-alls can bet your last chip 'Doby can't do toomuch for 'em. ' "Billy's disgust sets in like the rainy season, however, when about two months later 'Doby ups an' weds this Mexicangirl Manuela. When Billy learns of said ceremony, he declines a seatin the game, an' won't go near them nuptials nohow. 

"'An' I declar's myse'f right yere, ' says Billy. 'From now for'ardit'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 mecold an' clammy for a squaw he don't know ten weeks, you can gamblethat lets me plumb out. I've done got my med'cine. An' I'm ready toquit. '

"But 'Doby an' Billy don't actooally make no assignment, nor go intowhat you-all Eastern sharps calls liquidation. The two goes on an'works their claims together, an' the firm name still waves as 'DobyDawson 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'vegot 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 coyoteif thar ain't 'Doby, with his wife in his lap, singin' to her. That's squar'; actooally singin'; which sech efforts reminds me ofballards 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'sgettin' 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 themule an' goin' hell-bent when I curls him up. Well, that ends thingswith me. I turns on my heels an' goes down to the Red Light an' getsdrunk 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 mysurroundin's. '

"Billy goes on livin' at their old camp, an' 'Doby an' Manuela atthe new one 'Doby built. This last is mebby four hundred yards moreup 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 isthat at evenin' Billy gets drunk alone; an' as 'Doby ain't along tohe'p Billy home an' need Billy's he'p to get home, lots of timesBilly 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 gentssleeps in different camps, still 'Doby an' Billy is trackin' alongall right. One mornin', however, Billy goes down to the holes they'sprojectin' over, but no 'Doby shows up. It goes on ontil mightylikely fifth-drink time that forenoon, an' as Billy don't see notrace, sign, nor signal-smoke of his pard, he gets oneasy. 

"'It's a fact, ' says Billy afterward, 'thar's hours when I more'nhalf allows this yere squaw of 'Doby's has done took a knife, orsome sech weepon, an' gets even with 'Doby, while he sleeps, for mepluggin' her paw about the mule. It's this yere idee which takes meouten the shaft I'm sinkin', an' sends me cavortin' up to 'Doby'scamp. I passes a resolution on my way that if she's cashed 'Doby'schips for him that a-way, I'll shorely sa'nter over an' lay wasteall Chihuahua to play even for the blow. '

"But as all turns out, them surmises of Billy's is idle. He getsmebby easy six-shooter distance from the door, when he discerns asmall cry like a fox-cub's whine. Billy listens, an' the yelp comesas 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' thenhe lifts the long yell for 'Doby. When 'Doby emerges he confirmsthem 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 itis, I stands by you in your troubles. I ain't none s'prised at yourluck, 'Doby, ' goes on Billy. ` I half foresees some sech racket asthis the minute you gets married. However, if it's a boy she goes. Iain't the gent to lay down on an old-time runnin'-mate while luck'sag'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'sthat rent an' shaken by them news he can't work none, he takes twoor three drinks of nose-paint, an' then promulgates as how it's aholiday. Billy feels, too, that while this yere's a blow, still it'sa great occasion; an' as he takes to feelin' his whiskey an'roominatin' on the tangled state of affairs, it suddenly strikes himhe'll jest nacherally close up the trail by the house. 

"'Women is frail people an' can't abide noises that a-way, ' saysBilly, ` 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 quietoodan' 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, bothdown an' up the trail, warnin' of people to hunt another wagon-track. The signs is made outen pine boards, an' Billy has markedthis 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 stillmusin' over 'em mighty reflective, when along projects a Mexicanwith 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'tdo Billy, an' he stands him up. 

"'Can you read?' says Billy to the Mexican, at the same timep'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 byag'in. 

"'No you don't none, onless in the smoke; says Billy, an' throws agun on him. 'Pause where you be, my proud Castilian, an' I'll floodyour darkened ignorance with light by nacherally readin' this yereinscription to you a whole lot. '

"Tharupon Billy reads off the notice a heap impressive, an' winds upby commandin' of the Mexican to line out on the trail back. 

"'Vamos!' says Billy. 'Which if you insists on pushin' along throughyere I'll turn in an' crawl your hump some. '

"But the Mexican gets ugly as a t'ran'tler at this, an' with onemotion he lugs out a six-shooter an' onbosoms the same. 

"Billy is a trifle previous with a gun himse'f, an' while theMexican is mighty abrupt, he gets none the best of Billy. Which theoutcome is the Mexican's shot plumb dead in his moccasins, whileBilly 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' isturnin' of 'em into the corral by his camp jest as 'Doby comesprancin' out with a six-shooter to take part in whatever game isbein' rolled. 

"When 'Doby sees Billy's signs that a-way, he's 'fected so he weepstears. 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 yourlife you're goin' to get it. With some folks this yere would becastin' 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' awayat their claims, an' gettin' drunk an' rich about equal. Billy isstill that reedic'lous he won't go up to 'Doby's camp; but 'Dobycomes over an' sees him frequent. The first throw out of the boxBilly takes a notion ag'in the kid an' allows he don't want notraffic with him, --none whatever. 

"But 'Doby won't have it that a-way, an' when it's about six monthsold he packs said infant over one mornin' while Billy's atbreakfast. 

"'Ain't he hell!' says 'Doby, a heap gleeful, at the same timesawin' the infant onto Billy direct. 

"Of course Billy has to hold him then. Which he acts like he's a hottamale, an' shifts him about in his arms. But it's plain he ain't sodispleased neither. At last the kid reaches out swift an' cinchesonto Billy's beard that a-way. This delights Billy, while 'Dobykeeps trackin' 'round the room too tickled to set down. All he canremark--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 onhesitatin' it's the hunkiest baby in Arizona. 

"'An' I've got dust into the thousands, ' remarks Billy, 'which sayshe'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-allis 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 orboastin' have such a papoose as that, is licensed to plume himse'ftharon, an' put on dog over it, the same without restraint. If everyou calls the turn for the limit, pard, it's when you has this yerechild. '

"At this 'Doby an' Billy shakes hands like it's a ceremony, an' bothis grave an' dignified about it. 'Doby puts it up that usual he'sbeyond flattery, but when a gent of jedgement like Billy looks overa 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 asyou-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 acoyote. 

"'That settles it, ' says Billy. 'A gent who could come down toblastin' an' drillin'--mere menial tasks, as they shorely be--on theheels of honor like this, is a mighty sight more sordid than CopperQueen Billy Rudd. 'Doby, this yere is a remarkable occasion, an' wecel'brates. '

"By this time the infant is grown plumb hostile, an' is howlin' tobeat 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 yereWillyum child, ' says 'Doby, an' then we-alls repairs to the RedLight an' relaxes. '

"They shorely does-I don't recall no sech debauch--that is, none soextreme an' broadcast--since Wolfville and Red Dog engages in themThanksgiviin' 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 nexttwo years, while Billy still goes shy so far as trackin' over to'Doby's ranch is concerned, as soon as he walks, Willyum comes downthe canyon to see Billy every day. 

"Oh, no, Billy ain't none onforgivin' to Manuela for ropin' up 'Dobyan' 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, ' thisyere Billy says to me when he brings it up himse'f how he don't goover to 'Doby's, 'but I'm never no hand to set 'round an' visit freean' easy that a-way with the posterity of a gent which I has hadcause to plant. This yere ain't roodness; it's scrooples, ' saysBilly, '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 'Dobyan' 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 ofus, when who comes projectin' along, p'intin' for the New YorkStore, but 'Doby's wife an' Willyum. As they trails by, Willyum seesBilly--Willyum can make a small bluff at talkin' by now--an', p'intin' his finger at Billy, he sags back on his mother's dresslike he aims to halt her, an' says:

"'Pop-pa! Pop-pa!' meanin' Billy that a-way; although the same iserroneous 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 onhooksthe same at Billy direct, now I don't reckon Billy could have beenmore put out. 'Doby's wife drags Willyum along at the time like he'sa calf goin' to be branded, an' she never halts or pauses. But Billyturns all kinds of hues, an' is that prostrated he surges across tothe Red Light an' gets two drinks alone, never invitin' nobody, before he realizes. When he does invite us he admits frank he'splumb 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 agent in camp I'd insult by no neglect; but when Willyum makes themcharges an' does it publicly, it onhinges my reason, an' them twotimes 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 tosay anythin'; but as well as we can we tells him that what Willyumsays, that a-way, bein' less'n two year old, is the mere prattle ofa 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 littlebluffs of infancy, gettin' tangled that a-way about theirprogenitors, is regarded joyous in Laredo. Which thar's not theslightest need of Billy bein' cast down tharat. '

"'I ain't sayin' a word, gents, ' remarks Billy, an' his tones issad. You-alls means proper an friendly. But I warns the world atthis time that I now embarks on the spree of my life. I'm goin toget 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 ofall ontil further orders. '

"It's about an hour later, an' Billy, who's filed away a quart offire-water in his interior by now, is vibratin' between the RedLight an' the dance-hall, growin' drunk an' dejected even up. It'sthen he sees 'Doby headin' up the street. 'Doby hears of his sonWillyum'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 hasto figger with Billy right along. 

"'Doby, ' shouts Billy, as he notes his pard approachin', while hebalances himse'f in his moccasins a heap difficult, ''Doby, yourinfant Willyum is a eediot. Which if I was the parent of a foolpapoose like Willyum, I'd shorely drop him down a shaft a whole lotan' fill up the shaft. He won't assay two ounces of sense to theton, Willyum won't; an' he ain't worth powder an' fuse to work him. Actooally, that pore imbecile baby Willyum, don't know his ownfather. '

"Which the rage of 'Doby is beyond bounds complete. For about half aminute him an' Billy froths an' cusses each other out scand'lous, an' then comes the guns. The artillery is a case of s'prise, themost experienced gent in Wolfville not loekin' for no gun-playbetween folks who's been pards an' blanket-mates for years. 

"However, it don't last long; it looks like both gets sorterconscience-stricken that a-way, an' lets up. Still, while it'sshort, 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 withfor over three months. 

"While Billy's stretched out, an' Doe Peets is ridin' herd on hislaig, 'Doby keeps as savage as an Apache an' don't come near Billy. The same, however, ain't full proof of coldness, neither; forBilly's done give it out he'll down 'Doby if he pokes his head inthe door, an' arranges his guns where he can work 'em in on theenterprise easy. 

"But Willyum don't take no stand-off. The last thing Willyum'safraid of is Billy; so he comes waltzin' over each day, clumsy as acub cinnamon on his short laigs, an' makes himse'f plumb abundant. He plays with Billy, an' he sleeps with Billy, Willyum does; an' heeats every time the nigger, who's come over from the corral tolookout 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 Willyumhimse'f when that infant p'ints in for a visit the day after--he'sas wild as a mountain lion. Billy can't get out none, for his laigis a heap fragmentary as yet, --'Doby's bullet gettin' all theresults which is comin' that time, --but he sends 'Doby word byPeets, if he hears of any more punishments bein' meted to Willyum, he regards it as a speshul affront to him, an' holds 'Dobyresponsible personal as soon as he can hobble. 

"'Tell him, ' says Billy, 'that if he commits any further atrocitiesag'in this innocent Willyum child, I'll shore leave him too dead toskin. '

"'This yere Billy's gettin' locoed entire, ' says Enright, when he'stold of Billy's bluff. 'The right to maul your immediate descendantsthat a-way is guaranteed by the constitootion, an' is one of themthings we-alls fights for at Bunker Hill. However, I reckons Billy'smerely blowin' his horn; bein' sick an' cantankerous with his gameknee. '

"Billy gets well after a while, an' him an' 'Doby sorter plans toavoid each other. Whatever work they puts in on the claim they holdsin partnership, they hires other gents to do. Personal, each worksthe claim he holds himse'f, which keeps 'em asunder a whole lot, an'is frootful of peace. ' "Deep inside their shirts I allers allowsthese yere persons deems high an' 'fectionate of one another rightat the time they's hangin' up their hardest bluffs an' carryin' onmost hostile. Which trivial incidents discloses this. 

"Once in the Red Light, when a party who's new from Tucson, turns into 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 hisgame neither; jest reprimands this offensive Tucson gent, an' letsit go as it lays. Of course, we-alls onderstands it's 'cause 'Dobyain't puttin' up with no carpin' criticism of his old pard; whichthe same is nacheral enough. 

"Don't you-all ever notice, son, how once you takes to fightin' fora 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 onwar for him that a-way long after you ceases to have the slightestuse 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' sedulousall sim'lar. 'Doby gets laid out for a week by rheumatics, which heacquires years before--he shore don't rope onto them rheumatics none'round Wolfville, you can gamble! said camp bein' salooberous thata-way--over on the Nevada plateaus, an' while he's treed an' can'tcome down to his claim, a passel of sharps ups an' mavericks it;what miners calls 'jumps it. ' Whatever does Billy do? Paints for warprompt an' enthoosiastic, takes his gun, an' the way he stampedesan' scatters them marauders don't bother him a bit. 

"But while, as I states, this yere trick of makin' war-med'cinewhich 'Doby an' Billy has, an' schedoolin' trouble for folks whocomes projectin' 'round invadin' of the other's rights, mebby is aheap habit, I gleans from it the idee likewise that onder thesurface they holds each other in esteem to a p'int which isromantic. 

"Doby an' Billy lives on for a year after 'Doby plugs Billy in thelaig, keepin' wide apart an' not speakin'. Willyum is got so he putsin most of his nights an' all of his days with Billy; which thespectacle of Billy packin' Willyum about camp nights is frequent. 'Doby never 'pears to file no protest; I reckons he looks on it as afore-ordained an' hopeless play. However, Billy's a heap careful ofWillyum's morals, an' is shorely linin' him up right. 

"Once a new barkeep in the dance-hall allows he'll promote Willyum'sfeelin's some with a spoonful of nose-paint. 

"'No, you don't, ' says Billy, plenty savage; 'an' since the mattercomes up I announces cold that, now or yereafter, the first gent whosaws off nose-paint on Willyum, or lays for the morals of thisinnocent infant to corrupt 'em, I'll kill an' skelp him so shore asI packs gun or knife. '

"'Which shows, ' said Dan Boggs later, when he hears of Billy'sblazer, '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 onthis deal to keep Willyum from strong drinks. '

"'I thinks myse'f he's right, ' says Cherokee Hall. 'Willyum is nowbut three years old, which is shore not aged. My idee would be toraise 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 noencouragement about how he conducts Willyum's habits; an', followin'his remarks, Willyum allers gets ignored complete on invitations tolicker. Packin' the kid 'round that a-way shortens up Billy's boozea lot, too. He don't feel so free to get tanked expansive withWillyum 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 outenthe hole, I beholds him playin' poker, or mebby it's farebank, withWillyum curled up on his lap an' shirt-front, snorin' away all soundan' genial, an' Billy makin' his raises an' callin' his draw to thedealer in whispers, for fear he wakes Willyum. 

"But thar comes a time when the feud is over, an' 'Doby an' Billyturns in better friends than before. For a month mebby thar's aMexican girl--which she's a cousin that a-way or some kin to 'Doby'swife--who's been stayin' at 'Doby's house, sorter backin' theirplay. 

"It falls out frequent this Mexican girl, Marie, trails over toBilly's, roundin' up an' collectin' of Willyum to put another shirtonto him, or some sech benefit. Billy never acts like he's impressedby this yere girl, an', while he relinquishes Willyum every time, hegrowls an' puts it up he's malev'lent over it. 

"But the seniorita is game, an' don't put no store by Billy'sgrowls. She ropes up Willyum an' drags him away mighty decisive. Willyum howls an' calls on Billy for aid, which most likely is painto Billy's heart; but he don't get it none. The senorita harnessesWillyum into a clean shirt, an' then she throws Willyum loose on therange ag'in, an' he drifts back to Billy. 

"It's the general view that Billy never once thinks of wedlock withthe senorita if he's let alone. But one day Doc Peets waxesfacetious. 

"'In a month, ' says Peets to Billy, while we-alls is renooin' ourspcrits in the Red Light, 'this yere Marie'll quit comin' over forWillyum. '

"'Why?' says Billy, glarin' at Peets s'picious. 

"'Cause, ' replies Peets, all careless, ''cause you ups an' weds herby then. I sees it in your eye. Then, when she's thar for good, Ireckons 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 yereMarie. 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 goespullin' off any nuptial ceremonies with his wife's relative that a-way. '

"Billy looks hard as granite at this. He ain't sayin' nothin', buthe gets outside of another drink in a way which shows his mind'smade up, an' then he goes p'intin' off towards his camp, same as agent who entertains designs. 

"'I offers three to one, ' says Cherokee Hall, lookin' after Billysorter thoughtful that a-way, 'that Billy weds this yere Mexicangirl in a week; an' I'll go five hundred dollars even money he getsher before night. '

"'An' no takers, ' says Doc Peets, 'for I about thinks you calls theturn. '

"An' that's what happens. In two hours after this impulsive Billyprances out of the Red Light on the heels of Texas Thompson'sremarks about how hostile 'Doby would be if he ever gets Marie, he'sdone lured her before the padre over in Chihuahua, an' the padremarries 'em as quick as you could take a runnin'-iron an' burn abrand on a calf. 

"'Which this is not all. Like they was out to add to the excitementa 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 asBilly 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' backto 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 heapdecorous an' respectful for a three-year-old--'my pore child, ' saysBilly 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 likethey 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. Youknows that talk in Holy Writ. If your father an' mother shakes you, your Uncle Billy takes you up. I'm powerful 'fraid, Willyum, you'llhave to have action on them promises. "

"Willyum listens to Billy plenty grave an' owly, but he don't makeno observations on his luck or communicate no views to Billy exceptthat he's hungry. This yere ain't relevant none, but Billy at oncepastures him out on a can of sardines an' some crackers, while hekeeps on bein' liberal to himse'f about whiskey. 

"'I don't feel like denyin' myse'f nothin', ' he says. 'Yere I getsmarried, an' in less'n an hour my wife is ravaged away at the whoopof dooty to ride herd on another gent's fam'ly, ; leavin' me, herhusband, with that other gent's abandoned progeny on my hands. Thisyere'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 hurtnone after all. When Doc Peets trails in from 'Doby's, where he'sbeen in the interests of science that a-way, Billy at once drug himaside for a pow-wow. They talks over in one corner of the Red Lightawhile, 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 onthe camp. '

"Then Billy goes on whisperin' to Doc Peets an' layin' downsomethin', like his heart's sot on it. At last Doc says:

"'The best way, Billy, is for me to bring 'Doby over. ' With this DocPeets 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 linesout, `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 comesback, bringin' 'Doby. 

"Thar's nothin' what you-alls calls dramatic about 'Doby an' Billycomin' together. They meets an' shakes, that's all. They takes adrink 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 meyour 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 erasof peace. Standin' as we do on the brink of one of said eras, an' asshowin' sincerity, I yereby commits to you my son Willyum. Yereafter, when he calls you "Pop, " it goes, an' the same will notbe 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 inluck. " 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. Nowyou 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 whichsaid notice, however, ' concloods Billy, turnin' to us after 'Dobystarts back, 'Willyum an' me entertains. '"

CHAPTER XIX. 

MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF. 

"And so you think the trouble lies with the man and not with thewhiskey?" I said. 

The Old Cattleman and I were discussing "temperance. "

"Right you be. This yere whiskey-drinkin', " continued the oldgentleman as he toyed with his empty glass, "is a mighty cur'ousplay. I knows gents as can tamper with their little old forty dropsfrequent an' reg'lar. As far as hurtin' of 'em is concerned, itdon't come to throwin' water on a drowned rat. Then, ag'in, I've cutgents's trails as drinkin' whiskey is like playin' a harp with ahammer. Which we-alls ain't all upholstered alike; that's whatever. We don't all show the same brands an' y'earmarks nohow: What'smed'cine for one is p'isen for t'other; an' thar you be. 

"Bein' a reg'lar, reliable drunkard that a-way comes mighty nearbein' 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 campfor 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 oncewhich he ain't outheld. But for grim nerve as'll never shiver, thisyere Bowman is at par every time. 

"Bowman dies a prey to his ambition. He starts in once to drink allthe whiskey in Wolfville. By his partic'lar request most of thewhite male people of the camp stands in on the deal, a-backin' hisplay for to make Wolfville a dry camp. At the close of them twolurid 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 haveroped at a smaller outfit, but that wouldn't be Mace nohow. Ifthar's a bigger camp than Wolfville anywhere about, that's wherehe'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 younever meets no outfits comin' back, an' that settles it. The boys, not havin' no leader, with Mace petered, gives up the game, an' thebig raid on nose-paint in Wolfville is only hist'ry now. 

"When I knows Bowman first he's sheriff over in northeast NewMexico. A good sheriff Mace is, too. Thar ain't nothin' gets run offwhile he's sheriff, you bet. When he allows anythin's his dooty, helays for it permiscus. He's a plumb sincere offishul that a-way. 

"One time I recalls as how a wagon-train with households of folksinto it camps two or three days where Mace is sheriff. These yerepeople's headin' for some'ers down on the Rio Grande, aimin' tosettle a whole lot. Mebby it's the third mornin' along of sun-upwhen 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 oldwoman 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 layclaim 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 roughcrossin', 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 thesame he'pmeet to me onless I finds him ag'in. '

"'Oh, well, ' says Mace, tryin' to cheer this bereft person up, 'welose kyards in the shuffle which the same turns up all right in thedeal; 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 adipper, that a-way, bringin' him up proper. That's all I remembersquick. '

"Mace tells the party to take a cinch on his feelin's, an' stampedesover to the Mexican part of camp, which is called Chilili, on ascout 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 thename of hoss-stealin' he ever yearns for that young-one is allerstoo many for me. 

"When the abductor hears how Mace is on his trail, which he doesfrom 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 Winchesterlike you'd whirl a rope, an' the way he gets a bullet onder thatblack-an'-tan's left wing don't worry him a little bit. The bullettears a hole through his lungs, an' the same bein' no further usefor 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' itplumb tickles the boy's sire. He allows he's lived in Arkansaw, an'shorely knows good shootin', an' this yere's speshul good. An' thenhe corrals the Greaser's skelp to take back with him. 

"'It'll come handy to humor up the old woman with, when I gets backto 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 shorthoss like that. '

"He shakes hands with the Arkansaw gent, an' we-alls rounds up toBob Step's an' gets a drink. 

"But the cat has quite a tail jest the same. A Mexican that a-way isplenty oncertain. For instance: You're settin' in on a little gameof monte all free an' sociable, an' one of 'em comes crowdin' 'roundfor trouble, an' you downs him. All good enough, says you. No otherMexican seems like he wants to assoome no pressure personal; no onegoes browsin' 'round to no sheriff; an' thar you be deluded intotheeries 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 orsomethin' down off Chaperita. Them relatives is rich. In a week--noone never saveys how--everybody knows that thar's five thousanddollars up for the first party who kills Mace. I speaks to him aboutit myse'f, allowin' he'd oughter be careful how he goes spraddlin'about permiscus. Mebby, when he's lookin' north some time, somebodygets him from the south. 

"'I ain't worryin' none, ' says Mace; 'I ain't got no friends aswould down me, nohow; an' my enemies ain't likely none to think it'senough 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. Oneday a little Mexican girl who Mace calls Bonita--she'd shorely givea hoss for a smile from him any time--scouts over an' whispers toMace as how three Greasers from down around Anton Chico is in campon 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, kinderinterested. 

"'Over camped in old Santa Anna's dance. Hall, a-drinkin' of mescalan' waitin' for dark, ' says the girl. 

"'All right, ' says Mace; 'I'll prance over poco tiempo, an' it'smighty likely them aliens from Anton Chico is goin' to have a fitfultime. '

"Mace kisses the little Bonita girl, an' tells her not to chirpnothin' to no Mexican; an' with the caress that a-way her black eyesgets blacker an' brighter, an' the red comes in her cheek, an' batscould 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, forhe's only one in his belt, an' in a case like this yere he's mightylikely to need two a lot. 

"'Some of us oughter go over with Mace, I reckons, ' says a partynamed Benson, sorter general to the crowd. 'What do you-alls thinkyourse'fs?'

"'Go nothin'!' retorts a gent who's called Driscoll, an' who's up tothe hocks into a game of poker, an' don't like to see it break upan' him behind. 'The hand Mace holds don't need no he'p. If Mace isout after two or three of the boys now, it would be plentydifferent; 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 couldbring 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 ismade, no one takes no interest. Bob Short puts it up he'd bet ahundred dollars even Mace gets one of 'em; a hundred to two hundredhe gets two, an' a hundred to five hundred he gets 'em all; an' someshort-kyard sharp who's up from Socorro, after figgerin' it allsilent to himse'f, takes 'em all. 

"'Now I don't reckon, stranger, ' says Benson, sorter reproachful, tothe 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 howhe sa'nters into Santa Anna's an' finds his three Anton Chico felonsall settin' alone at a table. They knows him, he says, an' he campsdown 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 playfor his gun, an', seein' thar's nothin' to be made waitin', Macejumps 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 otherMexicans allowin' for to call him--an' relates how it is, an'nacheral we says it's all right, which it shorely is. I asks oldSanta Anna for the details of the shake-up later, but he spreads hishands, 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 wasalready a crisp sentiment of coming cold in the air. The OldCattleman and I had given way to a taste for pedestrianism that hadlain dormant through the hot months. It was at the close of ourwalk, and we were slowly making our way homeward. 

"An' now the year's got into what hoss-folks calls the lastquarter, " remarked the old gentleman musingly. "You can feel thefrost in the atmosphere; you can see where it's bit the leaves alot, an' some of 'em's pale with the pain, an' others is blood-redfrom the wound. "Which I don't regard winter much, say twenty yearsago. Thar's many a night when I spreads my blankets in the Coloradohills, flakes of snow a-fallin' as soft an' big an' white as awoman's hand, an' never heeds 'em a little bit. But them days isgone. Thar's no roof needed in my destinies then. An' as for bed, aslicker an' a pair of hobbles is sumptuous. 

"When a gent rounds up seventy years he's mighty likely to get aheap 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 theseasons, and as well the old age of men, I offered nothing. Mysilence, however, seemed always to meet with his tacit approval; nordid he allow it to impede his conversational flow. 

"Well, " observed the old fellow, after a pause, "I reckons I'll seethe winter through all right; likewise the fall. I'm a mighty sightlike that old longhorn who allows he's allers noticed if he livesthrough the month of March he lives through the rest of the year; soI 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 drearinesssome. I alloods to them festivals sech as Thanksgivin' an' Christmasan' New Year. Do we-alls cel'brate these yere events in Wolfville?Which we shorely does. Take Christmas: You-all couldn't find a sobergent in Wolfville on that holy occasion with a search-warrant; thefeelin' to cel'brate is that wide-spread an' fervid. 

"Thanksgivin' ain't so much lotted on; which for one thing wefrequent forgets it arrives that a-way. Thar's once, though, when wetakes note of its approach, an' nacherally, bein' organized, weketches it squar' in the door. Them Thanksgivin' doin's is shorelygreat 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 theair he assooms it's shore plain he's on the brink of somethin'. 

"'What I'm thinkin' of, gents, is this, ' says Enright, final. 'Iobserves to-morrow to be Thanksgivin' by this yere paper Old Montepacks in from Tucson. The Great Father sets to-morrow for a nationalblow-out, a-puttin' of it in his message on the broad ground thateverybody's lucky who escapes death. Now, the question is, be we inthis? an' if so, what form the saturnalia takes?'

What's the matter of us hoppin' over an' shootin' up Red Dog?" saysDan Boggs. 'That bunch of tarrapins ain't been shook up none forthree months. '

"'Technical speakin', ' says Doc Peets--which Peets, he shorely isthe longest-headed sharp I ever sees, an' the galiest--'shootin' upRed Dog, while it's all right as a prop'sition an' highly creditableto 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 andBoggs waits on Missis Rucker at the O. K. Restauraw an' learns whatfor a banquet she can rustle an' go the limit. Pendin' the return ofPeets an' Boggs I allows the balance of this devoted band betterimbibe some. Barkeep, sort out some bottles. '

"The committee comes back after a little, an' allows Missis Ruckerreports 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 salthoss an' baked beans, with coffee an' biscuits for games on theside. '

"'That's good enough for a dog, ' says Jack Moore, 'to say nothin' ofmere people. Any gent who thinks he wants more is the effect victimof 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' nextthar's a big, shaggy-lookin' vagrant, a-settin' on his hoss in frontof the Red Light's door. 

"'Get an axe, somebody, ' he shouts, 'an' widen this yere portalsome. 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. Youwork in one wink too many now, an' I puts a hole in your face rightover the eye. '

"'Go slow, Jack, ' says Enright. 'Who may you-all be?' he goes on tothe locoed man on the hoss. 

"'Me?' says the locoed man. 'I'm Red Dog Bill. Tell that sot, ' hecontinues, p'intin' at Jack, ' to put down his gun an' not offer itat me no more. He's a heap too vivid with that weepon. Only I'm awhite-winged harbinger of peace, I shore ups an' makes him eat themuzzle offen it. '

"'Well, whatever be you thirstin' for, anyhow?' says Enright. 'Youcomes ridin' in yere like you ain't got no regards for nothin'. Isthis a friendly call, or be you present on a theery that you runsthe town?'

"'I'm the Red Dog committee on invitations, ' he says. 'Red Dog sendsits comps, an' asks Wolfville to bury the hatchet for one day inhonor 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 overlookno 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-allscalls air-tights, ' says the Red Dog man. 'But we has liquid, nolimit. '

"'Got any can tomatters?' says Boggs. 

"'Can tomatters we-alls is 'speshul strong on, ' says the Red Dogman. 'It's where we-alls lives at; can tomatters is. '

"'I tells you what you-all do, ' says Enright, 'an' when I speaks, Irepresents for this yere camp. '

"'Which he shore does, ' says Jack. 'He's the Big Gray Wolf yere, youcan 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 wouldlook like it's beef-day at this yere agency, shore. '

"'You-all go back to Red Dog, ' says Enright, payin' no notice toJack's interruptions, 'an' tell 'em we plants the war-axe for oneday, an' to come over an' smoke ponies with us, instead of we-allscome thar. We're goin' to have baked beans an' salt hoss, an' welooks 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'ss'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 doyourse'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' ofa can of tomatters. An' let me impart right yere, son, we never hasa more free an' peacefuller day than said Thanksgivin'. 

"'Them beans is a little hard, ain't they?' says Doc Peets, whilewe-alls is eatin', bein' p'lite an' elegant like. 'Mebby they don'tget 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. Soit don't mush up beans like it should. '

"'That's c'rrect every time, ' says Enright; 'I mind bein' over backof Prescott once, an' up near timber-line, an' I can't b'ile nobeans at all. I'm up that high the water is so cold when it b'ilesthat ice forms on it some. I b'iles an' b'iles on some beans fourdays, an' it don't have no more effect than throwin' water on adrowned 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' upby Enright, 'I offers the toast: "Wolfville an' Red Dog, now an'yereafter. "'

"Of course we-alls drinks, an' Doc Peets makes a talk. He speaksmighty high of every gent present; which compliments gets big actionin sech a game. The Red Dog chief--an' he's a mighty civilized-lookin' gent--he talks back, an' calls Wolfville an' Red Dog greatcommercial centers, which they sore be. He says, 'We-alls isfriendly to-day, an' fights the rest of the year, ' which we-allsagrees to cordial. He says fightin'. Or, as he calls it, 'a generousrivalry, ' does camps good, an' I reckons he's right, too, 'cause itshore 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 offon each other would stampede stock. 

"Any day but Thanksgivin' sech tales would shore lead toreecriminations an' blood; but as it is, every gent seems relaxedan' onbuckled that a-way in honor of the hour, an' it looks likelyin' 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 inthe forties, when he's a boy, he puts in a Thanksgivin' in the GreatSalt Lake valley with Old Jim Bridger. This is before the Mormonsopens their little game thar. 

"'An' the snow falls to that extent, mebby it's six foot deep, ' saysTexas. 'Bridger an' me makes snow-shoes an' goes slidin' an'pesterin' 'round all fine enough. But the pore animals in the valleygets a rough time. 

"'It's a fact; Bridger an' me finds a drove of buffalos bogged downin the snow, --I reckons now thar's twenty thousand of 'em, --andnever a buffalo can move a wheel or turn a kyard. Thar they beplanted in the snow, an' only can jest wag their y'ears an' battheir eyes. 

"'Well, to cut it brief, Bridger an' me goes projectin' 'round an'cuts the throats of them twenty-thousand buffalo; which we-alls isout for them robes a whole lot. Of course we don't skin 'em nonewhile they's stuck in the snow; but when the snow melts in thespring, 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 thawthe 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 abuffalo, we rolls his carcass down hill into Salt Lake, an' what doyou-alls reckons takes place? The water's that briny, it picklessaid buffalo-meat plumb through, an' every year after, when Bridgeran' me is back thar--we're trappin' an' huntin' them times, --all wehas to do is haul one of them twenty thousand pickled buffalosashore an' eat him. 

"'When the Mormons comes wanderin' along, bein' short on grub thata-way, they nacherally jumps in an' consooms up the whole outfit inone season, which is why you-alls don't find pickled buffalo in SaltLake no more. 

"'Bridger an' me starts in, when we learns about it, to fuss withthem 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 himshorely tumbles to his talents. 

"This yere Lyin' Jim fills a tin cup with nose-paint, an' leans backlistless-like an' looks at Enright. 

"'I never tells you-alls, ' he says, 'about how the Ratons gets afiremighty pecooliar, an' comes near a-roastin' of me up some, do I?It's this a-way: I'm pervadin' 'round one afternoon tryin' tocompass a wild turkey, which thar's bands of 'em that Fall in theRatons 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 seeno turks, none whatever. Now an' then I hears some little oldgobbler, 'cross a canyon, a-makin' of sland'rous remarks about othergobblers to some hen he's deloodin', but I never manages a shot. AsI'm comin' back to camp--I'm strollin' down a draw at the time wherethar's no trees nor nothin'--thar emanates a black-tail buck fromover among the bushes on the hill, an' starts to headin' my way awhole lot. His horns is jest gettin' over bein' velvet, an' he'sfeelin' plenty good an' sassy. I sees that buck--his horns eetchesis what makes him--jump eighteen feet into the air an' comb themantlers of his'n through the hangin' pine limbs. Does it to stop theeetchin' an' rub the velvet off. Of course I cuts down on him withthe Sharp's. It's a new gun that a-way, an' the sights is toocoarse--you drags a dog through the hind sights easy--an' I holdshigh. The bullet goes plumb through the base of his horn, close intothe ha'r, an' all nacheral fetches him sprawlin'. I ain't waitin' toload my gun none, which not waitin' to load, I'm yere to mention, iserroneous. I'm yere to say thar oughter be an act of Congress ag'innot loadin' your gun. They oughter teach it to the yearlin's in theschools, an' likewise in the class on the Sabbath. Allers load yourgun. Who is that sharp, Mister Peets, who says, "Be shore you'reright, then go ahead"? He once ranches some'ers down on theGlorieta. 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' thebottle; '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 withinten 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' lopsone of his front laigs over his antlers, an' thar I has him; no moreharm left in him than a chamber-maid. Mine's a white-tailed deerover 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 'fraidof. 

"`The buck he stands thar sorter dazed an' battin' of his eyes. Iain't no time to go back for my Sharp's, an' my six-shooter is leftin camp. Right near is a high rock with a steep face about fifteenfeet straight up an' down. I scrambles on to this an' breathesag'in, 'cause I knows no deer is ever compiled yet who makes thetrip. The buck's come to complete by now, an' when he observes me onthe rock, his rage is as boundless as the glory of Texas. '

"'Gents, we-alls takes another cow-swaller, right yere, ' shoutsTexas Thompson. 'It's a rool with me to drink every time I hears thesacred name of Texas. '

"When we-alls conceals our forty drops in the usual place, Lyin' Jimproceeds:

"'When this buck notes me, he's that frenzied he backs off an' jumpsag'in the face of the rock stiff-laiged, an' strikes it with themhoofs of him. Which he does this noomerous times, an' every hoofcuts 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' tofetch loose, when I notices them sparks from his hoofs sets the pinetwigs an' needles a-blazin' down by the base of the rock. 

"'That's what comes to my relief. In two minutes this yere spreadsto a general conflagration, and the last I sees of my deer he'sflyin' 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 billiondollars worth of mountains, I'm a coyote if some folks don't talk oflawin' me about it. '

"'That's a yarn which has the year-marks of trooth, but all the sameit's deer as saves my life once, ' says Doc Peets, sorter trailin' ininnocent-like when this Lyin' Jim gets through; 'leastwise theirmeat saves it. I'm out huntin' same as you is, this time to which Ialloods. 

"'I'm camped on upper Red River; up where the river is only abouttwelve feet wide. It ain't deep none, only a few inches, but it'sdug its banks down about four feet. The river runs along the centerof a mile-wide valley, which they ain't no trees in it, but allcl'ar an' open. It's snowin' powerful hard one, evenin' about 3o'clock when I comes back along the ridge towards my camp onder thepines. 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' Iknows these is close or their tracks would be covered, the way itsnows. 

"'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 thepines begins ag'in, up jumps a black. Tail from behind a yaller-pinelog, 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 abig, flat floor of rocks--big as the dance-hall floor--an' allprotected by a high rock-faced bluff, so no snow don't get tharnone; 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 overbetween the log an' bluff, an' takes things as ba'my as summer. Ihas 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 himabout a bushel of quakin'-ash bark, an' he's doin' well 'nough. Lord! how it snows outside! When I peers out in the mornin' itscares me. I saddles up, 'cause my proper camp is in the pinest'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 fivefeet deep. I'm walkin' along all comfortable, a-holdin' of his tail, when "swish" he goes plumb outen sight. I peers into the orificewhich ketches him, an' finds he's done slumped off that four-footbank 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 twomonths. It snows a heap after I gets back, an' makes things deeper'never. I has my deer to eat, not loadin' my pony with it when Istarts, an' I peels some sugar-pines, like I sees Injuns, an'scrapes off the white skin next the trees, an' makes a pasty kind ofbread of it, an' I'm all right. 

"'One mornin', jest before I gets out of meat, I sees trouble out inthe 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 dressesabout 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, themdeer's that grateful they won't leave none? It's a fact, they simplyhangs 'round all the time I'm snowed in. 

"'In two months the snow melts down, an' I says adios to my twelvedeer an' starts for camp. Which you-alls mebby imagines my s'prisewhen 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 ofRed River onder that snow tunnel for two months. Oh! he feeds easyenough. Jest bites the yerbage along the banks. This snow tunnel isfour 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 mytwelve deer, which comes cavortin' along all genial an' cordial an'never leaves me. No, my hoss is sound, only his feet is a littlewater-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 getsthrough, we-alls eats an' drinks all we can, an' then goes over tothe dance-hall an' whoops her up in honor of Red Dog. Nothin' couldgo 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 toRed 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 inthe matter, back they comes with us. 

"I don't know how often we makes this yere round trip from one campto t'other, cause my mem'ry is some dark on the later events of thatThanksgivin'. 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 gowith them Red Dog folks no further, but nacherally camps down backof 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 smalland cowardly measure, "I thoroughly saveys that taste for battlethat lurks in the deefiles of folk's nacher like a wolf in the hillsWhich I reckons now that I, myse'f, is one of the peacefullestpeople as ever belts on a weepon; but in my instincts--while I neverjestifies or follows his example--I cl'arly apprehends the emotionsof a gent who convenes with another gent all sim'lar, an' expresseshis views with his gun. Sech is human nacher onrestrained, an' thesame, while deplorable, is not s'prisin'. 

"But this yere Olson I has in my mem'ry don't have no sech manlyfeelin's as goes with a gun play. Olson is that cowardly he's evenfurtive; an' for a low-flung measly game let me tell you-all whatOlson does. It's shorely ornery. 

"It all arises years ago, back in Tennessee, an' gets its firststart out of a hawg which is owned by Olson an' is downed by a gentnamed Hoskins--Bill Hoskins. It's this a-way. 

"Back in Tennessee in my dream-wreathed yooth, when livestock goesprojectin' about permiscus, a party has to build his fences 'bullstrong, hawg tight, an' hoss high, ' or he takes results. WhichHoskins 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 througheasy; an' the way that invadin' animal turns Bill's potatoes bottomup don't hinder him a bit. He shorely loots Bill's lot; that'swhatever. 

"But Bill, perceivin' of Olson's hawg layin' waste his crop, reachesdown a 8-squar' rifle, 30 to the pound, an' stretches the hawg. Which this is where Bill falls into error. Layin' aside themdeeficiencies in Bill's fence, it's cl'ar at a glance a hawg can'tbe held responsible. Hawgs is ignorant an' tharfore innocent; an'while hawgs can be what Doc Peets calls a' CASUS BELLI, ' they can'tbe regarded as a foe legitimate. 

"Now what Bill oughter done, if he feels like this yore hawg's doneput it all over him, is to go an' lay for Olson. Sech action by Billwould have been some excessive, --some high so to speak; but it wouldhave been a line shot. Whereas killin' the hawg is 'way to one sideof the mark; an' onder. 

"However, as I states, Bill bein' hasty that a-way, an' oncapable ofperhaps 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 Olsonbegins to shine. He's ugly as a wolf about Bill copperin' his hawgthat a-way, but he don't pack the nerve to go after Bill an' make around-up of them grievances. An' he ain't allowin' to pass it upnone onrevenged neither. Now yere's what Olson does; he 'sassinatesBill's pet raccoon. 

"That's right, son, jest massacres a pore, confidin' raccoon, whodon'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 araccoon. No? Well, a raccoon's like this: In the first place he'splumb easy, an' ain't lookin' for no gent to hold out kyards or ringa cold deck on him. That's straight; a raccoon is simple-minded thata-way; an' his impressive trait is, he's meditative. Besides bein'nacherally thoughtful, a raccoon is a heap melancholy, --he jest setsthar 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 whenhe's tamed, he's got mountainous confidence in men, an' will curl upto sleep where you be an' shet both eyes. He's plumb trustful; an'moreover, no matter how mournful a raccoon feels, or how plumbmelancholy he gets, he don't pester you with no yarns. 

"I reckons I converses with this yere identical raccoon of Bill'splenty frequent; when he feels blue, an' ag'in when he's at hisgailiest, an' he never remarks nothin' to me except p'litegeneral'ties. 

"If this yere Olson was a dead game party who regards himse'fwronged, 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 tobushwhack this he'pless, oninstructed raccoon. Olson figgers to takeadvantage of what's cl'arly a loop-hole in a raccoon'sconstitootion. 

"Mebby you never notices it about a raccoon, but once he getsinterested in a pursoot, he's rigged so he can't quit none ontil theproject's a success. Thar's herds an' bands of folks an' animalswho's fixed sim'lar. They can start, an' they can't let up. Thar'sbull-dogs: They begins a war too easy; but the c'pacity to quit isleft out of bull-dogs entire. Same about nose-paint with gents Iknows. They capers up to whiskey at the beginnin' like a kitten towarm milk; an' they never does cease no more. An' that's how thekyards falls to raccoons. 

"Knowin these yere deefects in raccoons, this Olson plots to takeadvantage tharof; an' by playin' it low on Bill's raccoon, get evenwith Bill about that dead hawg. Which Bill wouldn't have took adrove of hawgs; no indeed! not the whole Fall round-up of hawgs inall 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 todown Bill's pet. He goes injunnin' over to Bill's an' finds the campall deserted, except the raccoon's thar, settin', battin' his eyesmournful an' lonesome on the doorstep. This Olson camps down by thedoor an' fondles the raccoon, an' strokes his coat, an' lets himsearch his pockets with his black hands ontil he gets that friendlyan' confident about Olson he'd told him anythin'. It's then thisyere miscreant, Olson, springs his game. "H's got a couple ofcrawfish which he's fresh caught at the Branch. Now raccoons regardscrawfish as onusual good eatin'. For myse'f, I can't say I deemsnone high of crawfish as viands, but raccoons is different; an' theway they looks at it, crawfish is pie. 

"This Olson brings out his two crawfish an' fetchin' ajar of waterfrom the spring, he drops in a crawfish an' incites an' aggravatesZekiel--that's the name of Bill's raccoon--to feel in an' get him awhole lot. 

"Zekiel ain't none shy on the play. He knows crawfish like a gamblerdoes a red chip; so turnin' his eyes up to the sky, like a raccoondoes who's wropped in pleasant anticipations that a-way, he plungesin his paw an' gets it. 

"Once Zekiel acquires him, the pore crawfish don't last as long astwo-bits at faro-bank. When Zekiel has him plumb devoured he turnshis eyes on Olson, sorter thankful, an' 'waits developments. 

"Olson puts in the second crawfish, an' Zekiel takes him into campsame 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, goesafter 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 Zekielcan do is feel 'em with his foot, an' roll 'em about on the bottomof the jar. 

"Now as I remarks prior, when a raccoon gets embarked that a-way, hecan't quit. He ain't arranged so he can cease. Olson, who's plumbaware tharof, no sooner gets Zekiel started on them buckshot, thanknowin' that nacher can be relied on to play her hand out, hesa'nters off to his wickeyup, leavin' Zekiel to his fate. Bill won'tbe home till Monday, an' Olson knows that before then, onless Zekielis interrupted, he'll be even for that hawg Bill drops. As Olsoncones to a place in the trail where he's goin' to lose sight ofBill's camp, he turns an' looks back. The picture is all his revengecan ask. Thar sets Zekiel on the doorstep, with his happycountenance turned up to the dome above, an' his right paw elbowdeep 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 sungoes down, an' the Sunday sun comes up an' sets again; an' stillpore 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'sloser in a poker game; Zekiel can't. When Bill rides up to his doorabout second-drink time Monday afternoon, Olson is shorely even onthat hawg. Thar lays Zekiel, dead. He's jest set thar with thembuck-shot an' felt himse'f to death. 

"But speakin' of the sapiency of Bill Hoskins's Zekiel, " continuedthe old gentleman as we lighted pipes and lapsed into desultorypuffing, "while Zekiel for a raccoon is some deep, after all you-allis jest amazed at Zekiel 'cause I calls your attention to him awhole 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 allanimals be. 

"Now if thar's anythin' in Arizona for whose jedgement I don't haverespect nacheral, it's birds. Arizona for sech folks as you an' me, an' coyotes an' jack-rabbits, is a good range. Sech as we-allssorter fits into the general play an' gets action for our stacks. But whatever a bird can find entrancin' in some of them Southwesterndeserts is allers too many for me. 

"As I su'gests, I former holds fowls, who of free choice continues aresidence in Arizona, as imbeciles. Yet now an' then I observesthings that makes me oncertain if I'm onto a bird's system; an' ifafter all Arizona is sech a dead kyard for birds. It's possible agent might be way off on birds an' the views they holds of life. Hemight watch the play an' esteem 'em loser, when from a bird's p'intof view they's makin' a killin', an' even callin' the turn everydeal. 

"What he'ps to open my eyes a lot on birds is two Road Runners DocPeets an' me meets up with one afternoon comin' down from Lordsburg. These yere Road Runners is a lanky kind of prop'sition, jest a shadeoff from spring chickens for size. Which their arrangements as toneck an' laigs is onrestricted an' liberal, an' their long suit isrunnin' 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. ARoad Runner keeps up this exercise for miles, an' be about thelength 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, theRoad Runner onbuckles sim'lar an' exults tharat. You ain't goin' torun up on him while he can wave a laig, you can gamble your lastchip, an' you confers favors on him by sendin' your pony at him. Thar he stays, rackin' along ahead of you ontil satiated. Usualthar's two Road Run. Ners, an' they clips it along side by side asif thar's somethin' in it for 'em; an' I reckons, rightly saveyed, thar is. However, the profits to Road Runners of them excursionsain't obvious, none whatever; so I won't try to set 'em forth. Themjourneys they makes up an' down the trail shorely seems aimless tome. 

"But about Doc Peets an' me pullin' out from Lordsburg for Wolfvillethat evenin': Our ponies is puttin' the landscape behind 'em at agood road-gait when we notes a brace of them Road Runners with wingshalf lifted, pacin' to match our speed along the trail in front. AsRoad Runners is frequent with us, our minds don't bother with 'emnone. Now an' then Doc an' me can see they converses as they goesspeedin' along a level or down a slope. It's as if one says tot'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 sechshape. 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 aplumb easy game. I reckons, Bill, me an' you could keep ahead ofthem mavericks a year if we-alls feels like it. '

"'Bet a blue stack on it, ' Bill answers. ' I deems these yere gentssoft. Before I'd ride sech ponies as them, I'd go projectin' 'roundsome night an' steal one. '

"'Them ponies is shorely a heap slothful, ' Jim answers. 

"'At this mebby them Road Runners ruffles their feathers an' runs onswifter, jest to show what a slow racket keepin' ahead of me an'Peets is. An' these yere locoed birds keeps up sech conversationsfor hours. 

"Mind I ain't sayin' that what I tells you is what them Road Runnersreally remarks; but I turns it over to you-all the way it strikes mean' Doc at the time. What I aims to relate, how-ever, is an incidentas sheds light on how wise an' foxy Road Runners be. 

"Doc Peets an' me, as I states, ain't lavishin' no onreasonablenotice on these yere birds, an' they've been scatterin' along thetrail 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 astand-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 thisyere snake at, Bill? I don't note no rattlesnake. '

"'Come round yere by me, ' Bill says. 'Now on a line with the top ofyonder 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 hisbeady eye, 'an' he's some sunk in slumber. Bill, that serpent is ourmeat. '

"'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' notmakin' no more noise than shadows, they goes pokin' out on theplains ontil they finds a flat cactus which is dead; so they cantear off the leaves with their bills. Doc Peets an' me sets in oursaddles surveyin' their play; an' the way them Road Runners goesabout the labors of their snake killin' impresses us it ain't thefirst bootchery of the kind they appears in. They shorely don't needno soopervisin'. 

"One after the other, Jim an' Bill teeters up, all silent, with aflat cactus leaf in their beaks, an' starts to fence in therattlesnake with 'em. They builds a corral of cactus all about him, which the same is mebby six-foot across. Them engineerin' featstakes 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' Billknows the rattlesnake can't cross this thorny corral. 

"He don't look it none, but from the way he plays his hand, I takesit a rattlesnake is sensitive an' easy hurt onder the chin. 

"An' it's plain to me an' Peets them Road Runners is aware of saidweaknesses of rattlesnakes, an' is bankin' their play tharon. We-alls figgers, lookin' on, that Jim an' Bill aims to put therattlesnake in prison; leave him captive that a-way in a cactuscalaboose. But we don't size up Jim an' Bill accurate at all. Themtwo fowls is shorely profound. 

"No sooner is the corral made, than Jim an' Bill, without a word ofwarnin', opens up a warjig 'round the outside; flappin' theirpinions an' screechin' like squaws. Nacherally the rattlesnake wakesup. 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'fsscand'lous. The epithets they heaps on that pore ignorantrattlesnake, the taunts they flings at him, would have done Apachesproud. 

The rattlesnake buzzes an' quils up, an' onsheaths his fangs, an'makes bluffs to strike Bill an' Jim, but they only hops an' dancesabout, thinkin' up more ornery things to say. Every time therattlesnake goes to crawl away--which he does frequent--he strikesthe 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 ofthe 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 withrage 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 yeresooicide in view. They keeps pesterin' an' projectin' about ontilthe rattlesnake is plumb defunct, an' then they emits a whirlwind ofnew 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 mightyquiet an' sedate, an' Jim takes their prey by the tail an' yanks it. After the rattlesnake's drug out straight, him an' Bill runs theireyes 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 lowtones so Peets an' me never does hear what they says. When they's inwhat they takes to be the c'rrect p'sition, they stops an' looksback 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 topull their freight, or do they reckon they'll pitch camp rightyere?"'

CHAPTER XXII. 

OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE. "

"It mebby is, that romances comes to pass on the range when I'mthar, " remarked the Old Cattleman, meditatively, "but if so be, Inever notes 'em. They shorely gets plumb by me in the night. "

The old gentleman had just thrown down a daily paper, and even as hespoke I read on the upturned page the glaring headline: "Romance inReal Life. " His recent literature was the evident cause of hisreflections. 

"Of course, " continued the Old Cattleman, turning for comfort to hisinevitable tobacco pipe, "of course, at sech epocks as some degradedsharp takes to dealin' double in a poker game, or the kyards beginsto come two at a clatter at faro-bank, the proceedin's frequenttakes on what you-all might call a hue of romance; an' I admits theywas likely to get some hectic, myse'f. But as I states, for whatyou-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' evenwhile I'm ridin' an' ropin' at them young female persons, thar'snever no romance to it, onless it's in the fact that they allescapes. 

"But speakin' of love-tangles, Old Man Enright once recounts astory; which the same shows how female fancy is rootless an'onstable that a-way. 

"'Allers copper a female. ' says Cherokee Hall, one day, when TexasThompson is relatin' how his wife maltreats him, an' rounds up adivorce from him down at Laredo. 'Allers play 'em to lose. Nell, yere, ' goes on Cherokee, as he runs his hand over the curls of FaroNell, who's lookout for Cherokee, 'Nelly, yere, is the only one Iever meets who can be depended on to come winner every trip. '

"'Which females, ' says Old Man Enright, who's settin' thar at thetime, ' an' partic'lar, young females, is a heap frivolous, nacheral. A rainbow will stampede most of 'em. For myse'f, I'dshorely prefer to try an' hold a bunch of five hundred ponies on abad 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 ismigratory, same as buffaloes was before they was killed, an' sortergoes north like in the spring, an' south ag'in in the winter. '

"'As for me; says Texas Thompson, who's moody touchin' them divorceplays his wife is makin', 'you-alls can gamble I passes all femalesup. No matter how strong I holds, it looks like on the showdownsthey outlucks me every time. Wherefore I quits 'em cold, an' anygent who wants my chance with females can shorely have the same. '

"'Oh, I don't know!' remarks Doc Peets, gettin' in on what's ageneral play, 'I've been all through the herd, an' I must say Ideems 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 whatI'm allowin' is, they's fitful. They don't stay none. You-alls canhobble an'sideline'em both at night; an' when you rolls out in themornin', they's gone. '

"'What do you-all think, Nell?' says Doc Peets to Faro Nell, who'sperched up on her stool by Cherokee's shoulder. 'What do you-allreckon now of Texas yere, a-malignin' of your sex? Why don't youp'int him to Dave Tutt an' Tucson Jennie? Which they gets married, an' thar they be, gettin' along as peaceful as two six-shooters onthe same belt. '

"'I don't mind what Texas says, none, ' replies Faro Nell. 'Texas isall right, an' on the square". I shouldn't wonder none if this yereMissis Thompson does saw it off on him some shabby, gettin' thatsep'ration, an' I don't marvel at his remarks. But as long asCherokee yere thinks I'm right, I don't let nobody's views pester mea little bit, so thar. '

"'It's what I says awhile back, ' interrupts Enright. 'TexasThompson's wife's motives mighty likely ain't invidious none. It's aheap probable if the trooth is known, that she ain't aimin' nothin'speshul at Texas; she only changes her mind. About the earliestevent I remembers, ' goes on Enright, 'is concernin' a woman whochanges her mind. It's years ago when I'm a yearlin'. Our company ismakin' a round-up at a camp called Warwhoop Crossin', in Tennessee, organizin' to embark in the Mexican war a whole lot, an' thin outthe Greasers. No one ever does know why I, personal, declar's myse'fin 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 mypony. 

"'But as I'm tellin', we-alls comes together at Warwhoop to make thestart. I reckons now thar's five hundred people thar. `'Which theoccasion, an' the interest the public takes in the business, jestcombs the region of folks for miles about. 

"'Thar's a heap of hand-shakin' an' well-wishin' goin' on; mothersan' sisters, an' sweethearts is kissin' us good-bye; an' whilethar's some hilarity thar's more sobs. It's not, as I looksback'ard, what you-alls would call a gay affair. 

"'While all this yere love an' tears is flowin', thar's a gent--he'sour 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 nameis 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 hissaddle, lookin' vague-like off at where the trees meets the sky, while the rest of us is goin' about permiscus, finishin' up ourkissin'. 

"'"Ain't he got no sweetheart to wish goodbye to him?" asks a girlof me. "Ain't thar no one to kiss him for good luck as he ridesaway?"

"'This yere maiden's name is Sanders, an' it's a shore fact she'sthe prettiest young female to ever make a moccasin track in WestTennessee. I'd a-killed my pony an' gone afoot to bring sech a lookinto her eyes, as shines thar when she gazes at the Captain wherehe's silent an' sol'tary on his hoss. 

"'No, " I replies, "he's a orphan, I reckons. He's plumb abandonedthat a-way, an' so thar's nobody yere to kiss him, or shake hishand. "

"'This yere pretty Sanders girl--an' I'm pausin' ag'in to stateshe's a human sunflower, that a-way--this Sanders beauty, I'msayin', looks at this party by himse'f for a moment, an' then thebig tears begins to well in her blue eyes. She blushes like asunset, 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 adiosmyse'f. "

"'Will you, my little lady?" says the lonesome Captain, as he swingsfrom his saddle to the ground by her side; an' thar's sunshine inhis 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 youyere. "

"'The little Sanders girl--she is shorely as handsome as a ace fullon kings--blushes a heap vivid at what she's done, an' looks warman' 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 awar, that a-way. 

"'Now yere, ' goes on Enright, at the same time callin' for red-eyeall '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 ladyoutlive the war?' asks Texas Thompson, who has braced up an' getsmighty 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. Iwill say for this yere Captain, that while I ain't with him plumbthrough, he's as game a sport as ever fought up hill. He's the sortwhich fights an goes for'ard to his man at the same time. Thar's nowhite feathers on that kind; they's game as badgers. An' bad. '

"'Which if he don't get downed none, ' says Texas Thompson, 'an' hitsTennessee alive, I offers ten to one he leads this yere Sandersfemale to the altar. '

"'Which you'd lose, a whole lot, ' says Enright, at the same timeraisin' 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 partycomes back to Warwhoop, say, it's two years an' a half later, an'what do you-alls reckon? That Sanders girl's been married mightynigh two yzars, an' has an infant child as big as a b'ar cub, whichis beginnin' to make a bluff at walkin. '

"'Now, on the squar', an' I'm as s'prised about it as you be--I'mmore'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 herblushin', an' all her tears, an' kissin' that Captain party good-bythat a-way, that the Sanders girl cares a hoss-h'ar rope for him ina week. An' it all proves what I remarks, that while females ain'tmalev'lent malicious, an' don't do these yere things to pierce agent with grief, their 'ffections is always honin' for the trail, an' is shorely prone to move camp. But, bless 'em! they can't he'pit 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' downhis glass, 'while the same is mere incident, an' don't have nodirect bearin' on what I relates; the fact in his case is he'swedded already. Nacherally after sayin' "howdy!" to the littleSanders girl, an' applaudin' of her progeny--which it looks like hefully endorses that a-way--this yere Captain gent hits the trail forNashville, where his wife's been keepin' camp an' waitin' for himall the time. "'

CHAPTER XXIII. 

PINON BILL'S BLUFF. 

"This narrative is what you-all might call some widespread, " saidthe Old Cattleman, as he beamed upon me, evidently in the best ofhumors. "It tells how Pinon Bill gets a hoss on Jack Moore; leavesthe camp bogged up to the saddle-girths in doubt about who downsBurke; an' stakes the Deef Woman so she pulls her freight for theStates. 

"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'sregarded 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'sstories about how he smuggles freight an' plunder various fromMexico, an' drives off Mexican cattle, an' once in awhile stretchesa Mexican himse'f who objects to them enterprises of Pinon Bill's;but thar's nothin' in sech tales to interest Americans, more'n tohear 'em an' comment on 'em as plays. 

"But while Pinon Bill never turns his talents to American, themliberties he takes with Greasers gives him a heap of bad repoote, asa mighty ornery an' oneasy person; an' most of us sorter keeps tabon him whenever he favors Wolfville with his presence. 

"'This time he collides with Jack Moore, an' so to speak, leaves thedrinks 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 beenhangin' about for even longer yet. Don't go to figgerin' on nohostilities between this Pinon Bill an' the Major, for their trailsnever does cross once. Another thing' Pinon Bill ain't nacheraliyhostile neither; ain't what you-all calls trailin' trouble; whereasthe Major's also a heap too drunk to give way to war, bein' tankedthat a-way continuous. 

"Which I don't reckon thar's the slightest doubt but the Major's abigger sot than Old Monte, though the same is in dispoote; CherokeeHall an' Boggs a-holdin' he is; an' Doc Peets an' Tutt playin' theother end; Enright an' Jack Moore, ondecided. 

"Peets confides in me of an' concernin' the Major that thar's atime--an' no further up the trail than five years--when the Major isshore-'nough a Major; bein' quartermaster or some sech bluff in thearmy. 

"But one day Uncle Sam comes along an' wants to cash in; an' tharthis yere crazy-hoss Major is with ten times as many chips out ashe's got bank-roll to meet, an' it all fatigues the gov'ment to thatextent 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 thattime. Peets says he sees him 'way back once over some'ers near theMohave Desert--Wingate, mebby--an' whiskey an' poker has the Majorroped; one by the horns, the other by the hoofs; an' they jestthrows him an' drug him, an' drug him an' throws him, alternate. TheMajor never shakes loose from the loops of them vices; nonewhatever. 

"An' that's mighty likely, jest as I says, how the Major findshimse'f cashiered an' afoot; an' nothin' but disgrace to get rid ofan' 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 getMexicans 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 Womancomes 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 howthe Deef Woman's the Major's wife. 

"It ain't no cinch play that this female's deef, neither; which it'sallers plain she hears the most feeblesome yelp of that infant, allthe way from the dance-hall to the O. K. House, an' that meansacross the camp complete. 

"Boggs puts it up she merely gives it out she's deef that a-way tocut 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'nshe tumbles into camp as onlooked for as Old Monte sober, an' it'seasy to note she s'prises an' dismays the Major a lot, even drunkan' 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' theshakiest I ever beholds him--the last bein' some strong as astatement--an' after beggin' a drink at the Red Light, p'ints outafoot for Red Dog, an' is seen no more. 

"What the Deef Woman says to the Major, or him to her; or what makeshim hit the trail for Red Dog that a-way no one learns. The DeefWoman ain't seemin' to regard the Major's jumpin' the outfit as noloss, however. Wherein she's plenty accurate, for that Major shorelyain't worth ropin' to brand. 

"After he's gone--an' the Major's moccasin track ain't never seen inWolfville no more, he's gone that good--the next we-alls hears ofthe deal, this yere Deef Woman's playin' the piano at the dance-hall. 

"Doc Peets an' Enright, likewise the rest, don't like this nonewhatever, for she don't show dance-hall y'ear marks, an' ain't thedance-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 femaleherse'f is rung in on the play--don't win out nothin' more. Lookslike all the Deef Woman wants is to be let alone, while she makes aplay the best she can for a home-stake. 

"I pauses to mention, however, that durin' the week the Deef Womanturns her game at the piano--for she don't stay only a week as theplay runs out--she comes mighty near killin' the dance-hallbusiness. The fact is this were Deef Woman plays that remarkablesweet no one dances at all; jest nacherally sets'round hungerin' forthem melodies, an' cadences to that extent they actooally overlooksdrinks. 

"That's right; an' you can gamble your deepest chip when folksbegins to overlook drinks, an' a glass of whiskey lasts energeticpeople half an hour, they's shorely some rapt. 

"Even the coyotes cashes in an' quits their howls whenever the DeefWoman drug her chair up to that piano an' throws loose. An' themcoyotes afterward, when she turns up her box an' stops dealin', getsthat bashful an' taciturn they ain't sayin' a word; but jestwithholds all yells entire the rest of the night. 

"But thar's no use talkin' hours about the Deef Woman's music. Itonly 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 timeI 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 theback; plumb dead, an' is camped when we finds him all cold an' stiffout back of the New York store. 

"The day before, Burke, who's a miner, diggin' an' projectin' 'roundover in the Floridas, is in camp layin' in powder an' fuse a wholelot, with which he means to keep on shootin' up the he'pless bosomsof 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'snobody who ups an' imparts how Burke gets plugged. All Wolfvilleknows is that at first-drink time in the mornin', thar this Burke isplumb 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'ptell who drops this yere Burke. Nacrerally, everybody's deeply takento know who does it; for if thar's a party in camp who's out toshoot when your back's turned, findin' of him an' hangin' him can'tbe too pop'lar an' needful as a play. But, as I remarks, we'rebaffled, an' up ag'inst it absoloote. No one has the least notionwho 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 thecommittee goes through 'em prior to the obsequies. 

"It's two days the camp is talkin' over who does this crime, whenTexas Thompson begins to shed a beam of light. This last wasonlooked 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 atpoker. But nobody ever reckons before that Texas can think. Which Ieven yet deems this partic'lar time a inspiration, in which eventTexas Thompson don't have to think. 

"It's over in the Red Light the second after. Noon when Texas turnsloose a whole lot. 

"'Enright, ' he says, 'I shore has a preemonition this yere Burkegets 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 downsBurke; that's dead certain. Burke don't put that hole in the middleof 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 glibas wolves, 'yere's how I argues: You-all don't do it; Peets don't doit; Boggs don't do it; thar's not one of us who does it. An' tharyou 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. Itells 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 shootsup that miner gent Burke. '

"What Texas Thompson says makes an impression; which it's about thefirst thoughtful remark he ever makes, an' tharfore we're prone togive 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 itkeeps gettin' that mighty likely this yere Texas has struck thetrail. 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 hecomes into camp drunk an' locoed; an' bein' in the dark an' himhawg-hungry, he b'iles a kettle of pinon-nuts, a-holdin' of 'emerroneous to be beans, an' as sech aimin' to get some food outen 'ema 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 intothe street. The first thing he notes is this yere Pinon Bill's ponystandin' saddled over by the O. K. House, like he plans to pull hisfreight. 

"'Which that bronco standin' thar, ' says Jack to Enright, 'makes itlook like Texas calls the turn with them surmises. ' An' it shorelydoes. 

"This pony makes Jack's play plenty simple; all he does now is tosa'nter 'round the pony casooal like an' lay for Pinon Bill. 

"Jack's too well brought up to go surgin' into rooms lookin' forPinon 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 youallers opens the game with a gun-play. 

"'Hold up your hands!' says you, sorter indicatin' a whole lot atyour prey with a gun. 

"Which, by the way, if he don't enter into the sperit of the thingprompt an' p'int his paws heavenward an' no delay, you-all mustn'tfall into no abstractions an' forget to shoot some. When youobserves 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 yourlight out right thar. 

"An' jest as Jack Moore tells me once when we're puttin' in someleesure hours an' whiskey mingled, you don't want to go too close tostandup your gent. Over in the Gunnison country, Jack says, amarshal 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 blazersto run; that's why he's careless, mebby. When the party throws uphis hands, he is careful an knocks the marshal's gun one side withhis left hand, bein' he's too close as I says, at the same timepullin' his own wherewith he then sends that marshal to the happyhuntin' grounds in one motion. Before ever that Gunnison offishulgets it outen his head that that sport's holdin' up his hands, he'sreceivin' 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 thisyere Gunnison marshal bein over-played that time, 'takes an' hangsthe 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 eyesan' I can't run it a inch. "

"'"What for a racket, " says this yere Ed, "would it be to pick out asport 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, thata-way. Thar's nohody likes it, from the culprit, who's standin' tharwith 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 ofit in mine. Gimme a drink of whiskey, gents, an' swing me off. "

"'The committee, whose sympathies is all with this yere party who'sto hang, calls down the gent a heap who's prayin', gives the otherhis forty drops, an' cinches him up some free of the ground; whichthe 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 getscareless 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 looksnow like this yere Bill is aware of Jack's little game. He comes outshore-'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 breastan' face. 

"Jack gives him the word, but Pinon Bill only laughs. Then Jackmakes a bluff with his gun like he's goin' to shoot Pinon Bill, theinfant, an' all involved tharin. This yere last move rattles PinonBill, an' he ups an' slams loose at Jack. But the baby's in his wayas much mebby as it is in Jack's, an' he only grazes Jack's frame awhole lot, which amounts to some blood an' no deep harm. 

"'Down his pony, Jack!' shouts Dave Tutt, jumpin' outen the RedLight 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 thehead offen this yere blessed child. '

"An' tharupon he shoves his gun up agin that baby's left y'ear thata-way, so it shore curdles your blood. He does it as readily as ifit's grown-up folks. It shore sends a chill through me; an' DanBoggs is that 'fected he turns plumb sick. Boggs ain't eatin' athing, leastwise nothin' but whiskey, for two days after he seesPinon Bill do it. 

"'That's on the level, ' says this Pinon Bill ag'in. --The firstvestich of a gun-play I witnesses, or if any gent starts to followme ontil I'm a mile away, I'll send this yearlin' scoutin' afterBurke. An' you-alls hears me say it. '

"Thar it is; a squar' case of stand-off. Thar ain't a gent who'sgame to make a move. Seein' we ain't got a kyard left to play, thisyere Pinon Bill grins wide an' satisfactory, an' swings into thesaddle. 

"All this time--which, after all, it ain't so long--the baby ain'tsayin' nothin', and takes the deal in plumb silence. But jest asPinon Bill lands in the saddle it onfurls a yell like a wrongedpanther. 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' PinonBill 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! shecomes a-runnin'. 

"The second she sees where her baby's at, up in the saddle alongwith Pinon Bill, she makes a spring for the whole outfit. We-allsstands lookin' on. Thar ain't one of us dares crook a finger, forthis Pinon Bill is cool an' ca'm plumb through. He's still got thedrop on the kid, while he's holdin' baby an' bridle both with theother arm an' hand. His sharp eyes is on the Deef Woman, too. 

"She springs, but she never makes it. Pinon Bill jumps his ponysideways out of her reach, an' at that the Deef Woman c'lapses onher 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. 'Tenminutes from now you-alls finds this yere infant a mile from camp assafe 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 followsyou 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 goodhis 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 thatinfant nohow. '

"Enright gets the child, an' in no time later that Pinon Bill isfled from sight. You can believe it; it takes a load offen thepublic 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 isresoomed op'rations touchin' this Deef Woman, about gettin' herouten camp, an' she's beginnin' to recover her obduracy about notsayin' 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 aneven thousand dollars in my war-bags, when I stacks in her offspringag'inst the camp to win; an' I deems it only squar' to divide thepot 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 hersomehow; an' make her pull her freight. Wolfville's no good place toraise that baby. '

"'Which this Pinon Bill ain't so bad neither, ' says Dan Boggs, whenhe 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'tdodge 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'. Itall winds up by the Deef Woman p'intin' out on her way some'ersEast, 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. Iassured him that the details of the taking off of Crawfish Jim wereas a sealed book to me. But I would blithely listen. 

"What was the fate of Crawfish Jim?"I asked. The name seemed apromise in itself. 

"Nothin' much for a fate, Crawfish's ain't, " rejoined the OldCattleman. "Nothin' whatever compared to some fates I keeps tabsonto. It was this a-way: Crawfish Jim was a sheep-man, an' has acamp out in the foothills of the Tres Hermanas, mebby it's thirtymiles back from Wolfville. This yere Crawfish Jim was a pecooliarperson; plumb locoed, like all sheep-men. They has to be crazy orthey wouldn't pester 'round in no sech disrepootable pursoots assheep. 

You-all has seen these yere gents as makes pets of snakes. Mebbyit'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 athis camp one day when I'm huntin' a bunch of cattle. The first Inotes, snake sticks his head outen Crawfish's shirt, an' looks at memalev'lent and distrustful. Another protroods its nose out up byCrawfish's collar. 

"'Which you shore seems ha'nted of snakes?' I says, steppin' backan' p'intin' at the reptiles. 

"'Them's my dumb companions, ' says Crawfish Jim. 'They shares mysolitood. '

"'You-all do seem some pop'lar with 'em, ' I observes, for I saveysat once he's plumb off his mental reservation; an' when a party'slocoed that a-way it makes him hostile if you derides his littlegame or bucks his notions. 

"I takes grub with Crawfish that same day; good chuck, too; mainlysheep-meat, salt-hoss, an' bakin'-powder biscuit. I watches him somenarrow 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' mysecloosion none. 

"Well, son, this yere Crwafish Jim is as a den of serpents. Ireckons now he has a plumb dozen mowed away in his raiment. Thar'sno 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 reecreationssame as humans, so I allers gives 'em a play-spell while I'm busyround camp. '

'"Don't they ever stampede off none?' I asks. 

"'Shorely not, ' says Crawfish. 'Bull-snakes is the most domesticalsnake thar is. If I'd leave one of these yere tender creatures ereover night he'd die of homesickness. '

"When Crawfish gets ready to bile the coffee, he tumbles the biggestbullsnake I'd seen yet outen the coffee-pot onto the grass. Then hefills the kettle with water, dumps in the coffee, an' sets her onthe coals to stew. 

"'This yere partic'lar snake, ' says Crawfish, 'which I calls himJulius Caesar, is too big to tote 'round in my shirt, an' so helives in the coffee-pot while I'm away, an' keeps camp for me. '

"'Don't you yearn for no rattlesnakes to fondle?' I inquires, jestto see what kyard he'd play. 

"'No, ' he says, 'rattlesnakes is all right--good, sociable, moralsnakes enough; but in a sperit of humor they may bite you or someplay like that, an' thar you'd be. No; bull-snakes is as 'fectionateas rattles, an' don't run to p'ison. You don't have noinadvertencies 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 mouthevery day, lookin' up teeth, so I don't worry with 'em, but playsbull-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 olddog Crawfish has--one of them no-account nce-dogs--comes up an'makes a small uprisin' off to one side with Julius Caesar. The dogyelps an' snaps, an' Julius Caesar blows an' strikes at him, same asa rattle. Snake. However, they ain't doin' no harm, an' Crawfishdon't pay no heed. 

"'They's runnin' blazers on each other, ' says Crawfish, 'an' don'tmean nothin'. Bimeby Caribou Pete--which the same is the dog--willgo lie down an' sleep; an' Julius Caesar will quile up ag'in him tobe 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 overan' camps on Caribou, an' all the same puts his feet on him for tobe comfortable. '

"Of course, I'm a heap interested in this yere snake knowledge, an'tells Crawfish so. But it sorter coppers my appetite, an' Crawfishsaves on sheep-meat an' sow-belly by his discourse powerful. Thinkin' an' a-lookin' at them blessed snakes, speshul at JuliusCmsar, I shore ain't hungry much. But as you says: how aboutCrawfish Jim gettin' killed?

"One day Crawfish allows all alone by himse'f he'll hop intoWolfville 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 aburro 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 toWolfville. Yeretofore the old Cimmaron goes over to Red Dog for hisplunder, the same bein' a busted low-down camp on the Lordsburgtrail, which once holds it's a rival to Wolfville. It ain't, however; the same not bein' of the same importance, commercial, as aprairie-dog town. 

"This time, however, Crawfish pints up for Wolfville. An' to makehimse'f loved, I reckons, whatever does he do but bring along JuliusCaesar. 

"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. Iclings to this notion that Red Dog never sees Julius Caesar; for ifshe had, them drunkards which inhabits said camp wouldn't have quityellin' yet. Which Julius Caesar, with that Red Dog whiskey they wassoaked in, would have shore given 'em some mighty heenous visions. Fact is, Crawfish told Jack Moore later he never takes Julius Caesarnowhere before. 

"But all the same Crawfish prances into camp on this yere occasionwith Julius bushwacked 'way 'round back in his shirt, an' sechvacant 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, timidcattle; an' so none of us s'spects Crawfish is packin' any sechs'prises. None of the boys about town knows of Crawfish havin' thisbull-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. Thisyere is proper an' p'lite, an' everybody within hearin' of the yelllines up. 

"It's at this crisis Crawfish Jim starts in to make himse'f ageneral fav'ritc. Everybody's slopped out his perfoomcry, an' DanBoggs is jest sayin': 'Yere's lookin' at you, Crawfish, ' when thatcrazy-boss shepherd sorter swarms 'round inside his shirt with hishand, an' lugs out Julius Cesar be the scruff of his neck, a-squirmin' an' a-blowin', an' madder'n a drunken squaw. Once he getsJulius out, he spreads him 'round profuse on the Red Light bar an'sorter herds him with his hand to keep him from chargin' off amongthe bottles. 

"'Gents, ' says this locoed Crawfish, 'I ain't no boaster, but Ioffers a hundred to fifty, an' stands to make it up to a thousanddollars in wool or sheep, Julius Caesar is the fattest an' finestserpent in Arizona; also the best behaved. '

"Thar ain't no one takin' Crawfish's bet. The moment he slams Juliuson the bar, more'n ten of our leadin' citizens falls to the floor infits, 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 afullblown rose. '

"Jack Moore, bein' marshal, of course stands his hand. It's hisoffishul dooty to play a pat hand on bull-snakes an' danger in allan' 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 athim along the bar with his six-shooter, an' away goes JuliusCaesar's head like a puff of smoke. Then Moore rounds up Crawfish, an', perceivin' of the other bull-snakes, he searches 'em out one byone 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 YorkStore. They hears Moore's gun-play an' is cur'ous, nacheral 'nough, to know who calls it. Well, they turns in an' brings the otherinhabitants outen their fits; pendin' which Moore kills off the lastremainin' bull-snake in Crawfish's herd. 

"Son, I've seen people mad, an' I've seen 'em gay, an' I've seen 'embit by grief. But I'm yere to remark I never runs up on a gent whogoes plumb mad with sadness ontil I sees Crawfish that day JackMoore immolates his bull-snake pets. He stands thar, white, an'ain't sayin' a word. Looks for a minute like he can't move. Crawfishdon'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 overto the New York Store--is ca'm as a June day about it, too--an' getsa 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 forresults. New gun that a-way, an' Crawfish not up on his practice; ofcourse he overshoots. 

"Well, the pore old murderer never does get a second crack. Ireckons eight people he has interested shoots all at once, an'Crawfish Jim quits this earthly deal unanimous. He stops everybullet; 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'sthe 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. 'Seemslike he thought monstrous well of 'em, an' it would mighty likelyplease him to run up on 'em where he's gone. '

"Whatever did we do? Why, we digs a grave out back of the dance-hallan' plants Crawfish an' his pets tharin. 

"'I reckons we better bury them reptiles, too, ' says Doc Peets, aswe gets Crawfish stretched out all comfortable in the bottom. 'Ifhe's lookin' down on these yere ceremonies it'll make him feeleasier. '

"Doc Peets is mighty sentimental an' romantic that a-way, an' allersthinks of the touchin' things to do, which I more'n once noticeslikewise, that a gent bein' dead that a-way allers brings out thesoft side of Peets's nacher. You bet! he's plumb sympathetic. 

"We counts in the snakes. Thar's 'leven of 'em besides JuliusCaesar; which we lays him on Crawfish's breast. You can find thegrave 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 besteddicated 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 ofpore Crawfish that a-way, sorter settles down on the camp an' preyson us for mighty likely it's a week. It shorely is a source ofgloom. Moreover, it done gives Dan Boggs the fan-tods. As I relatesprior, Boggs is emotional a whole lot, an' once let him get whatyou-all calls a shock--same, for instance, as them bull-snakes--itsshore due to set Boggs's intellects to millin'. An' that's whathappens 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' upadministerin' things to him, 'which of course I'm plumb aware theseyere is mere illoosions; but all the same, as cl'ar as ever I notesan ace, no matter where I looks at, I discerns that Julius Caesarserpent 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' ofmy dreams. '

"That's all thar is to the death of Crawfish Jim. Thar ain't no harmin him, nor yet, I reckons, in Julius Caesar an' the rest ofCrawfish'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. "