WOLFVILLE NIGHTS

by

Alfred Henry Lewis

Author of "Wolfville", "Wolfville Days", "Peggy O'Nea", &c. 

1902, CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER

 DEDICATION SOME COWBOY FACTS I. THE DISMISSAL OF SILVER PHIL II. COLONEL STERETT'S PANTHER HUNT III. HOW FARO NELL DEALT BANK IV. HOW THE RAVEN DIED V. THE QUEERNESS OF DAVE TUTT VI. WITH THE APACHE'S COMPLIMENTS VII. THE MILLS OF SAVAGE GODS VIII. TOM AND JERRY; WHEELERS IX. THE INFLUENCE OF FARO NELL X. THE GHOST OF THE BAR-B-8 XI. TUCSON JENNIE'S CORRECTION XII. BILL CONNORS OF THE OSAGES XIII. WHEN TUTT FIRST SAW TUCSON XIV. THE TROUBLES OF DAN BOGGS XV. BOWLEGS AND MAJOR BEN XVI. TOAD ALLEN'S ELOPEMENT XVII. THE CLIENTS OF AARON GREEN XVIII. COLONEL STERETT'S MARVELS XIX. THE LUCK OF HARDROBE XX. LONG AGO ON THE RIO GRANDE XXI. COLONEL COYOTE CLUBBS

To

William Greene Sterett

this volume is

inscribed. 

NEW YORK CITY, August 1, 1902

MY DEAR STERETT:--

In offering this book to you I might have advantage of the occasionto express my friendship and declare how high I hold you as ajournalist and a man. Or I might speak of those years at Washingtonwhen in the gallery we worked shoulder to shoulder; I might recall toyou the wit of Hannum, or remind you of the darkling Barrett, themighty Decker, the excellent Cohen, the vivid Brown, the imaginativeMiller, the volatile Angus, the epigrammatic Merrick, the quietlysatirical Splain, Rouzer the earnest, Boynton the energetic, Carsonthe eminent, and Dunnell, famous for a bitter, frank integrity. Imight remember that day when the gifted Fanciulli, with no moredelicate inspiration than crackers, onions, and cheese, and no moresplendid conservatory than Shoemaker's, wrote, played and consecratedto you his famous "Lone Star March" wherewith he so disquieted thepublic present of the next concert in the White House grounds. Or Imight hark back to the campaign of '92, when together we struggledagainst national politics as evinced in the city of New York; I mightrepaint that election night when, with one hundred thousand whirlingdervishes of democracy in Madison Square, dancing dances, and singingsongs of victory, we undertook through the hubbub to send from the"Twenty-third street telegraph office" half-hourly bulletins to ourpapers in the West; how you, accompanied of the dignified RichardBright, went often to the Fifth Avenue Hotel; and how at last youdictated your bulletins--a sort of triumphant blank verse, theywere--as Homeric of spirit as lofty of phrase--to me, who caught themas they came from your lips, losing none of their fire, and soflashed them all burning into Texas, far away. But of what availwould be such recount? Distance separates us and time has comebetween. Those are the old years, these are the new, with neweryears beyond. Life like a sea is filling from rivers of experience. Forgetfulness rises as a tide and creeps upward to drown within usthose stories of the days that were. And because this is true, itcomes to me that you as a memory must stand tallest in the midst ofmy regard. For of you I find within me no forgetfulness. I have metothers; they came, they tarried, they departed. They came again; andon this second encounter the recollection of their existences smoteupon me as a surprise. I had forgotten them as though they had notbeen. But such is not your tale. Drawn on the plates of memory, aswith a tool of diamond, I carry you both in broadest outline and ineach least of shade; and there hangs no picture in the gallery ofhours gone, to which I turn with more of pleasure and of good. Noram I alone in my recollection. Do I pass through the Fifth AvenueHotel on my way to the Hoffman, that vandyked dispenser leanspleasantly across his counter, to ask with deepest interest: "Do youhear from the Old Man now?" Or am I belated in Shanley's, a beamingring of waiters--if it be not an hour overrun of custom--willhalf-circle my table, and the boldest, "Pat, " will question timidly, yet with a kindly Galway warmth: "How's the Old Man?" Old Man! Thatis your title: at once dignified and affectionate; and by it you comeoften to be referred to along Broadway these ten years after itsconference. And when the latest word is uttered what is there moreto fame! I shall hold myself fortunate, indeed, if, departing, I'mremembered by half so many half so long. But wherefore extendourselves regretfully? We may meet again; the game is not playedout. Pending such bright chance, I dedicate this book to you. It isthe most of honour that lies in my lean power. And in so doing, I amalmost moved to say, as said Goldsmith of Johnson in his offering of_She Stoops to Conquer_: "By inscribing this slight performance toyou, I do not mean to so much compliment you as myself. It may do mesome honour to inform the public that I have lived many years inintimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also toinform them that the greatest wit may be found in a character withoutimpairing the most unaffected piety. " I repeat, I am all but movedto write these lines of you. It would tell my case at least; andwhile description might limp in so far as you lack somewhat of thatsnuffle of "true piety" so often engaging the Johnsonian nose, youmake up the defect with possession of a wider philosophy, a betterhumour and a brighter, quicker wit than visited or dwelt beneath thecandle-scorched wig of our old bully lexicographer. 

ALFRED HENRY LEWIS. 

Some Cowboy Facts. 

There are certain truths of a botanical character that are notgenerally known. Each year the trees in their occupation creepfurther west. There are regions in Missouri--not bottom lands--whichsixty years ago were bald and bare of trees. Today they are heavywith timber. Westward, beyond the trees, lie the prairies, andbeyond the prairies, the plains; the first are green with longgrasses, the latter bare, brown and with a crisp, scorched, sparsevesture of vegetation scarce worth the name. As the trees marchslowly westward in conquest of the prairies, so also do the prairies, in their verdant turn, become aggressors and push westward upon theplains. These last stretches, extending to the base of that bluffand sudden bulwark, the Rocky Mountains, can go no further. TheRockies hold the plains at bay and break, as it were, the teeth ofthe desert. As a result of this warfare of vegetations, the plainsare to first disappear in favour of the prairies; and the prairies togive way before the trees. These mutations all wait on rain; and asthe rain belt goes ever and ever westward, a strip of plains eachyear surrenders its aridity, and the prairies and then the treespress on and take new ground. 

These facts should contain some virtue of interest; the more sincewith the changes chronicled, come also changes in the character ofboth the inhabitants and the employments of these regions. With acivilised people extending themselves over new lands, cattle formever the advance guard. Then come the farms. This is the processionof a civilised, peaceful invasion; thus is the column marshalled. First, the pastoral; next, the agricultural; third and last, themanufacturing;--and per consequence, the big cities, where thetreasure chests of a race are kept. Blood and bone and muscle andheart are to the front; and the money that steadies and stays andprotects and repays them and their efforts, to the rear. 

Forty years ago about all that took place west of the Mississipi of amoney-making character was born of cattle. The cattle were worked inhuge herds and, like the buffalo supplanted by them, roamed inunnumbered thousands. In a pre-railroad period, cattle were killedfor their hides and tallow, and smart Yankee coasters went constantlyto such ports as Galveston for these cargoes. The beef was left tothe coyotes. 

Cattle find a natural theatre of existence on the plains. There, likewise, flourishes the pastoral man. But cattle herding, confinedto the plains, gives way before the westward creep of agriculture. Each year beholds more western acres broken by the plough; each yearwitnesses a diminution of the cattle ranges and cattle herding. Thisneed ring no bell of alarm concerning a future barren of a beefsupply. More cattle are the product of the farm-regions than of theranges. That ground, once range and now farm, raises more cattle nowthan then. Texas is a great cattle State. Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, and Missouri are first States of agriculture. The area ofTexas is about even with the collected area of the other five. Yetone finds double the number of cattle in Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, and Missouri than in Texas, to say nothing of tenfold the sheepand hogs. No; one may be calm; one is not to fall a prey to anyhunger of beef. 

While the farms in their westward pushing do not diminish the cattle, they reduce the cattleman and pinch off much that is romantic andpicturesque. Between the farm and the wire fence, the cowboy, asonce he flourished, has been modified, subdued, and made partially todisappear. In the good old days of the Jones and Plummer trail therewere no wire fences, and the sullen farmer had not yet arrived. Yourcowboy at that time was a person of thrill and consequence. He worea broad-brimmed Stetson hat, and all about it a rattlesnake skin byway of band, retaining head and rattles. This was to be potentagainst headaches--a malady, by the way, which swept down no cowboysave in hours emergent of a spree. In such case the snake curedidn't cure. The hat was retained in defiance of winds, by aleathern cord caught about the back of the head, not under the chin. This cord was beautiful with a garniture of three or four perforatedpoker chips, red, yellow, and blue. 

There are sundry angles of costume where the dandyism of a cowboy ofspirit and conceit may acquit itself; these are hatband, spurs, saddle, and leggins. I've seen hatbands made of braided gold andsilver filigree; they were from Santa Fe, and always in the form of arattlesnake, with rubies or emeralds or diamonds for eyes. Suchgauds would cost from four hundred to two thousand dollars. Also, I've encountered a saddle which depleted its proud owner a roundtwenty-five hundred dollars. It was of finest Spanish leather, stamped and spattered with gold bosses. There was gold-capping onthe saddle horn, and again on the circle of the cantle. It was adream of a saddle, made at Paso del Norte; and the owner had itcinched upon a bronco dear at twenty dollars. One couldn't have soldthe pony for a stack of white chips in any faro game of thatneighbourhood (Las Vegas) and they were all crooked games at that. 

Your cowboy dandy frequently wears wrought steel spurs, inlaid withsilver and gold; price, anything you please. If he flourish a trueBrummel of the plains his leggins will be fronted from instep to beltwith the thick pelt, hair outside, of a Newfoundland dog. These"chapps, " are meant to protect the cowboy from rain and cold, as wellas plum bushes, wire fences and other obstacles inimical, and againstwhich he may lunge while riding headlong in the dark. The hair ofthe Newfoundland, thick and long and laid the right way, defies therains; and your cowboy loathes water. 

Save in those four cardinals of vanity enumerated, your cowboy wearsnothing from weakness; the rest of his outfit is legitimate. Thelong sharp heels of his boots are there to dig into the ground andhold fast to his mother earth while roping on foot. His gay ponywhen "roped" of a frosty morning would skate him all across and aboutthe plains if it were not for these heels. The buckskin gloves tiedin one of the saddle strings are used when roping, and to keep thehalf-inch manila lariat--or mayhap it's horsehair or rawhidepleated--from burning his hands. The red silken sash one was wontaforetime to see knotted about his waist, was used to hogtie and holddown the big cattle when roped and thrown. The sash--strong, softand close--could be tied more tightly, quickly, surely than anythingbesides. In these days, with wire pastures and branding pens and thefine certainty of modern round-ups and a consequent paucity ofmavericks, big cattle are seldom roped; wherefor the sash has beenmuch cast aside. 

The saddle-bags or "war-bags, "--also covered of dogskin to match theleggins, and worn behind, not forward of the rider--are the cowboy'sofficial wardrobe wherein he carries his second suit of underclothes, and his other shirt. His handkerchief, red cotton, is looselyknotted about the cowboy's neck, knot to the rear. He wipes thesweat from his brow therewith on those hot Texas days when in abranding pen he "flanks" calves or feeds the fires or handles theirons or stands off the horned indignation of the cows, resentfulbecause of burned and bawling offspring. 

It would take two hundred thousand words to tell in half fashion thestory of the cowboy. His religion of fatalism, his courage, hisrides at full swing in midnight darkness to head and turn and hold aherd stampeded, when a slip on the storm-soaked grass by his unshodpony, or a misplaced prairie-dog hole, means a tumble, and a tumblemeans that a hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of cattle, withhoofs like chopping knives, will run over him and make him look andfeel and become as dead as a cancelled postage stamp; his troubles, his joys, his soberness in camp, his drunkenness in town, and hisfeuds and occasional "gun plays" are not to be disposed of in apreface. One cannot in such cramped space so much as hit the highplaces in a cowboy career. 

At work on the range and about his camp--for, bar accidents, whereveryou find a cowboy you will find a camp--the cowboy is a youth ofsober quiet dignity. There is a deal of deep politeness and nothingof epithet, insult or horseplay where everybody wears a gun. 

There are no folk inquisitive on the ranges. No one asks your name. If driven by stress of conversation to something akin to it thecowboy will say: "What may I call you, sir?" And he's as careful toadd the "sir, " as he is to expect it in return. 

You are at liberty to select what name you prefer. Where you hailfrom? where going? why? are queries never put. To look at the brandon your pony--you, a stranger--is a dangerous vulgarity to which nogentleman of the Panhandle or any other region of pure southwesternpoliteness would stoop. And if you wish to arouse an instantcombination of hate, suspicion and contempt in the bosom of a cowboyyou have but to stretch forth your artless Eastern hand and ask: "Letme look at your gun. "

Cowboys on the range or in the town are excessively clannish. Theynever desert each other, but stay and fight and die and storm a jailand shoot a sheriff if needs press, to rescue a comrade made captivein their company. Also they care for each other when sick orinjured, and set one another's bones when broken in the falls andtumbles of their craft. On the range the cowboy is quiet, just andpeaceable. There are neither women nor cards nor rum about the cowcamps. The ranches and the boys themselves banish the two latter;and the first won't come. Women, cards and whiskey, the three warcauses of the West, are confined to the towns. 

Those occasions when cattle are shipped and the beef-herds, perconsequence, driven to the shipping point become the only times whenthe cowboy sees the town. In such hours he blooms and lives fully upto his opportunity. He has travelled perhaps two hundred miles andhas been twenty days on the trail, for cattle may only be drivenabout ten miles a day; he has been up day and night and slept halfthe time in the saddle; he has made himself hoarse singing "Sam Bass"and "The Dying Ranger" to keep the cattle quiet and stave offstampedes; he has ridden ten ponies to shadows in his twenty days ofdriving, wherefore, and naturally, your cowboy feels like relaxing. 

There would be as many as ten men with each beef-herd; and the herdwould include about five thousand head. There would be six "riders, "divided into three watches to stand night guard over the herd anddrive it through the day; there would be two "hoss hustlers, " to holdthe eighty or ninety ponies, turn and turn about, and carry themalong with the herd; there would be the cook, with four mules and thechuck wagon; and lastly there would be the herd-boss, a cow experthe, and at the head of the business. 

Once the herd is off his hands and his mind at the end of the drive, the cowboy unbuckles and reposes himself from his labours. Hebecomes deeply and famously drunk. Hungering for the excitement ofplay he collides amiably with faro and monte and what other deadfallsare rife of the place. Never does he win; for the games aren'tarranged that way. But he enjoys himself; and his losses do not preyon him. 

Sated with faro bank and monte--they can't be called games of chance, the only games of chance occurring when cowboys engage with eachother at billiards or pool--sated, I say, with faro and Mexicanmonte, and exuberant of rum, which last has regular quick renewal, our cowboy will stagger to his pony, swing into the saddle, and withgladsome whoops and an occasional outburst from his six shooterdirected toward the heavens, charge up and down the street. Thislast amusement appeals mightily to cowboys too drunk to walk. For, be it known, a gentleman may ride long after he may not walk. 

If a theatre be in action and mayhap a troop of "Red StockingBlondes, " elevating the drama therein, the cowboy is sure to attend. Also he will arrive with his lariat wound about his body under hiscoat; and his place will be the front row. At some engaging crisis, such as the "March of the Amazons, " having first privily unwound andorganised his lariat to that end, he will arise and "rope" an Amazon. This will produce bad language from the manager of the show, andcompel the lady to sit upon the stage to the detriment of herwardrobe if no worse, and all to keep from being pulled across thefootlights. Yet the exercise gives the cowboy deepest pleasure. Having thus distinguished the lady of his admiration, later he willmeet her and escort her to the local dancehall. There, mingling withtheir frank companions, the two will drink, and loosen the boards ofthe floor with the strenuous dances of our frontier till daylightdoes appear. 

For the matter of a week, or perchance two--it depends on how fasthis money melts--in these fashions will our gentleman of cows engagehis hours and expand himself. He will make a deal of noise, drink adeal of whiskey, acquire a deal of what he terms "action"; but heharms nobody, and, in a town toughened to his racket and which needsand gets his money, disturbs nobody. 

"Let him whoop it up; he's paying for it, ain't he?" will be theprompt local retort to any inquiry as to why he is thus permitted todisport. 

So long as the cowboy observes the etiquette of the town, he will notbe molested or "called down" by marshal or sheriff or citizen. Thereare four things your cowboy must not do. He must not insult a woman;he must not shoot his pistol in a store or bar-room; he must not ridehis pony into those places of resort; and as a last proposal he mustnot ride his pony on the sidewalks. Shooting or riding intobar-rooms is reckoned as dangerous; riding on the sidewalk comes moreunder the head of insult, and is popularly regarded as a tauntingdefiance of the town marshal. On such occasions the marshal neverfails to respond, and the cowboy is called upon to surrender. If hecomplies, which to the credit of his horse-sense he commonly does, heis led into brief captivity to be made loose when cooled. Does heresist arrest, there is an explosive rattle of six shooters, a madscattering of the careful citizenry out of lines of fire, and acowboy or marshal is added to the host beyond. At the close of thefestival, if the marshal still lives he is congratulated; if thecowboy survives he is lynched; if both fall, they are buried with thehonours of frontier war; while whatever the event, the communalripple is but slight and only of the moment, following which thecurrents of Western existence sweep easily and calmly onward asbefore. 

 A. H. L. 

WOLFVILLE NIGHTS

CHAPTER I. 

The Dismissal of Silver Phil. 

"His name, complete, is 'Silver City Philip. ' In them socialobservances of the Southwest wherein haste is a feacher an' brev'ty thebull's eye aimed at, said cognomen gets shortened to 'Silver Phil. '"

The Old Cattleman looked thoughtfully into his glass, as if by thatmethod he collected the scattered elements of a story. There was apause; then he lifted the glass to his lips as one who being now evenlyequipped of information, proposed that it arrive hand in hand with theinspiration which should build a tale from it. 

"Shore, this Silver Phil is dead now; an' I never yet crosses up withthe gent who's that sooperfluous as to express regrets. It's Dan Boggswho dismisses Silver Phil; Dan does it in efforts he puts forth tofaithfully represent the right. 

"Doc Peets allers allows this Silver Phil is a 'degen'rate;' leastwisethat's the word Peets uses. An' while I freely concedes I ain't nonetoo cl'ar as to jest what a degen'rate is, I stands ready to backPeets' deescription to win. Peets is, bar Colonel William GreeneSterett, the best eddicated sharp in Arizona; also the wariest as toexpressin' views. Tharfore when Peets puts it up, onflinchin', thatthis yere Silver Phil's a degen'rate, you-all can spread your blanketsan' go to sleep on it that a degen'rate he is. 

"Silver Phil is a little, dark, ignorant, tousled-ha'red party, nonetoo neat in costume. He's as black an' small an' evil-seemin' as aMexican; still, you sees at a glance he ain't no Greaser neither. An'with all this yere surface wickedness, Silver Phil has a quick, hyster'cal way like a woman or a bird; an' that's ever a grin on hisface. You can smell 'bad' off Silver Phil, like smoke in a house, an'folks who's on the level--an' most folks is--conceives a notion ag'inhim the moment him an' they meets up. 

"The first time I observes Silver Phil, he's walkin' down the lickerroom of the Red Light. As he goes by the bar, Black Jack--who'srearrangin' the nosepaint on the shelf so it shows to advantage--getscareless an' drops a bottle. 

"'Crash!' it goes onto the floor. 

"With the sound, an' the onexpected suddenness of it stampedin' hisnerves, that a-way, Silver Phil leaps into the air like a cat; an' whenhe 'lights, he's frontin' Black Jack an' a gun in each hand. 

"'Which I won't be took!' says Silver Phil, all flustered. 

"His eyes is gleamin' an' his face is palin' an' his ugly grin getseven uglier than before. But like a flash, he sees thar's nothin' togo in the air about--nothin' that means him; an' he puts up hishardware an' composes himse'f. 

"'You-all conducts yourse'f like a sport who has something on hismind, ' says Texas Thompson, who's thar present at the time, an' can'trefrain from commentin' on the start that bottle-smashin' gives SilverPhil. 

"This Silver Phil makes no response, but sort o' grins plenty ghastly, while his breath comes quick. 

"Still, while you-all notes easy that this person's scared, it's plainhe's a killer jest the same. It's frequent that a-way. I'm never muchafraid of one of your cold game gents like Cherokee Hall; you cangamble the limit they'll never put a six-shooter in play till it'sshorely come their turn. But timid, feverish, locoed people, whosejedgment is bad an' who's prone to feel themse'fs in peril; they're thekind who kills. For myse'f I shuns all sech. I won't say themerratic, quick-to-kill sports don't have courage; only it strikesme--an' I've rode up on a heap of 'em--it's more like a fear-bitf'rocity than sand. 

"Take Enright or Peets or Cherokee or Tutt or Jack Moore or Boggs orTexas Thompson; you're plumb safe with sech gents--all or any. An' yetthar ain't the first glimmer of bein' gun-shy about one of 'em; they'reas clean strain as the eternal granite, an' no more likely to hide outfrom danger than a hill. An' while they differs from each other, yetthey're all different from sech folks as Silver Phil. Boggs, goin' towar, is full of good-humoured grandeur, gala and confident, ready tostart or stop like a good hoss. Cherokee Hall is quiet an' wordless;he gets pale, but sharp an' deadly; an' his notion is to fight for afinish. Peets is haughty an' sooperior on the few o'casions when heonbends in battle, an' comports himse'f like a gent who fightsdownhill; the same, ondoubted, bein' doo to them book advantages ofPeets which elevates him an' lifts him above the common herd a wholelot. Enright who's oldest is of course slowest to embark in blood, an'pulls his weepons--when he does pull 'em--with sorrowful resignation. 

"'Which I'm shorely saddest when I shoots, ' says Enright to me, as hereloads his gun one time. 

"These yere humane sentiments, however, don't deter him from shootin'soon an' aimin' low, which latter habits makes Wolfville's honouredchief a highly desp'rate game to get ag'inst. 

"Jack Moore, bein' as I explains former, the execyootive of theStranglers, an' responsible for law an' order, has a heap of shootin'shoved onto him from time to time. Jack allers transacts thesefireworks with a ca'm, offishul front, the same bein' devoid, equal, ofanger or regrets. Tutt, partic'lar after he weds Tucson Jennie, an'more partic'lar still when he reaps new honours as the originator ofthat blessed infant Enright Peets Tutt, carries on what shootin' comeshis way in a manner a lot dignified an' lofty; while TexasThompson--who's mebby morbid about his wife down in Laredo demandin'she be divorced that time--although he picks up his hand in a fracas, ready an' irritable an' with no delays, after all is that well-balancedhe's bound to be each time plumb right. 

"Which, you observes, son, from these yere settin's forth, that thar'sa mighty sight of difference between gents like them pards of mine an'degen'rates of the tribe of Silver Phil. It's the difference betweenright an' wrong; one works from a impulse of pure jestice, the other ismoved of a sperit of crime; an' thar you be. 

"Silver Phil, we learns later--an' it shore jestifies Peets in histheories about him bein' a degen'rate--has been in plenty of blood. But allers like a cat; savage, gore-thirsty, yet shy, prideless, an'ready to fly. It seems he begins to be homicidal in a humble way bydownin' a trooper over near Fort Cummings. That's four years before hevisits us. He's been blazin' away intermittent ever since, and allerscrooel, crafty an' safe. It's got to be a shore thing or Silver Philquits an' goes into the water like a mink. 

"This yere ondersized miscreant ain't ha'nted about Wolfville more'nfour days before he shows how onnecessary he is to our success. Whichhe works a ha'r copper on Cherokee Hall. What's a ha'r copper? I'llonfold, short and terse, what Silver Phil does, an' then you saveys. Cherokee's dealin' his game--farobank she is; an' if all them nationalbanks conducts themse'fs as squar' as that enterprise of Cherokee's, the fields of finance would be as safely honest as a church. Cherokee's turnin' his game one evenin'; Faro Nell on the lookout stoolwhere she belongs. Silver Phil drifts up to the lay-out, an' campsover back of the king-end. He gets chips, an' goes to takin' chancesalternate on the king, queen, jack, ten; all side an' side they be. Cherokee bein' squar' himse'f ain't over-prone to expect a devious playin others. He don't notice this Silver Phil none speshul, an' shovesthe kyards. 

"Silver Phil wins three or four bets; it's Nell that catches on to hisracket, an' signs up to Cherokee onder the table with her little foot. One glance an' Cherokee is loaded with information. This Silver Phil, it seems, in a sperit of avarice, equips himse'f with a copper--littlewooden checker, is what this copper is--one he's done filched fromCherokee the day prior. He's fastened a long black hoss-ha'r to it, an' he ties the other end of the hoss-ha'r to his belt in front. Thisha'r is long enough as he's planted at the table that a-way, so itreaches nice to them four nearest kyards, --the king, queen, jack, ten. An' said ha'r is plumb invisible except to eyes as sharp as FaroNell's. The deceitful Silver Phil will have a stack on one of 'em, coppered with this yere ha'r copper. He watches the box. As the turnsis made, if the kyards come his way, well an' good. Silver Phil doesnothin' but garners in results. When the kyards start to show ag'inhim, however, that's different. In sech events Silver Phil draws inhis breath, sort o' takin' in on the hoss-ha'r, an' the copper comesoff the bet. When the turn is made, thar's Silver Phil's bet--byvirchoo of said fraud--open an' triumphant an' waitin' to be paid. 

"Cherokee gets posted quick an with a look. As sharp as winkin'Cherokee has a nine-inch bowie in his hand an' with one slash cuts thehoss-ha'r clost up by Silver Phil's belt. 

"'That's a yoonique invention!" observes Cherokee, an' he's sarcasticwhile he menaces with the knife at Silver Phil; 'that contraption isshorely plenty sagacious! But it don't go here. Shove in your chips. 'Silver Phil obeys: an' he shows furtive, ugly, an' alarmed, an' all of'em at once. He don't say a word. 'Now pull your freight, ' concloodsCherokee. 'If you ever drifts within ten foot of a game of mine ag'inI'll throw this knife plumb through you--through an' through. ' An'Cherokee, by way of lustration lets fly the knife across the bar-room. It comes like a flash. 

"'Chuck!'

"Thar's a picture paper pasted onto the wooden wall of the Red Light, displayin' the liniaments of some party. That bowie pierces thepicture--a shot in the cross it is--an' all with sech fervour that thep'int of the blade shows a inch an' a half on the other side of thatindividyool board. 

"'The next time I throws a knife in your presence, ' remarks Cherokee toSilver Phil, an' Cherokee's as cold an' p'isonous as a rattlesnake, 'it'll be la'nched at you. '

"Silver Phil don't say nothin' in retort. He's aware by the lib'ralway Cherokee sep'rates himse'f from the bowie that said weepon can'tconstitoote Cherokee's entire armament. An' as Silver Phil don't packthe sperit to face no sech flashlight warrior, he acts on Cherokee'shint to _vamos_, an fades into the street. Shore, Cherokee don't cashthe felon's chips none; he confiscates 'em. Cherokee ain't quite sotenderly romantic as to make good to a detected robber. Moreover, helets this Silver Phil go onharmed when by every roole his skelp isforfeit. It turns out good for the camp, however, as this yereexperience proves so depressin' to Silver Phil he removes his blanketsto Red Dog. Thar among them purblind tarrapins, its inhabitants, it'slikely he gets prosperous an' ondetected action on that little old ha'rcopper of his. 

"It's not only my beliefs, but likewise the opinions of sech joodicialsports as Enright, Peets, an' Colonel Sterett, that this maverick, Silver Phil, is all sorts of a crim'nal. An' I wouldn't wonder if he'sa pure rustler that a-way; as ready to stand up a stage as snake a playat farobank. This idee settles down on the Wolfville intell'gence onthe heels of a vicissitoode wherein Dan Boggs performs, an' which getspulled off over in the Bird Cage Op'ry House. Jack Moore ain't tharnone that time. Usual, Jack is a constant deevotee of the dramy. Jack's not only a first-nighter, he comes mighty clost to bein' aevery-nighter. But this partic'lar evenin' when Boggs performs, Jack'srummagin' about some'ers else. 

"If Jack's thar, it's even money he'd a-had that second shot instead ofBoggs; in which event, the results might have been something graverthan this yere minoote wound which Boggs confers. I'm confident Jackwould have cut in with the second shot for sech is his offishul system. Jack more'n once proclaims his position. 

"'By every roole of law, ' says Jack at epocks when he declar's himse'f, 'an' on all o'casions, I, as kettle-tender to the Stranglers, isentitled to the first shot. When I uses the term 'o'casion, ' I wouldbe onderstood as alloodin' to affairs of a simply social kind, an' notto robberies, hold-ups, hoss-larcenies, an' other an' sim'lartransactions in spec'latif crime when every gent defends his own. Speakin' social, however, I reasserts that by every roole of guidance, I'm entitled to the first shot. Which a doo regyard for these plainrights of mine would go far to freein' Wolfville upper circles of thebullets which occurs from time to time, an' which even the mostonconventional admits is shore a draw-back. All I can add as acloser, ' concloods Jack, 'is that I'll make haste to open on any sportwho transgresses these fiats an' goes to shootin' first. Moreover, it's likely that said offender finds that when I'm started once, what Imisses in the orig'nal deal I'll make up in the draw, an' I tharforetrusts that none will prove so sooicidal as to put me to the test. '

"This Bird Cage Op'ry House evenin', however, Jack is absent a heap. Dan Boggs is present, an' is leanin' back appreciatin' the show an' theValley Tan plenty impartial. Dan likes both an' is doin' 'em evenjestice. Over opp'site to Dan is a drunken passel of sports from RedDog, said wretched hamlet bein' behind Wolfville in that as in allthings else an' not ownin' no op'ry house. 

"As the evenin' proceeds--it's about sixth drink time--a casyooal gungoes off over among the Red Dog outfit, an' the lead tharfrom bores ahole in the wall clost to Dan's y'ear. Nacherally Dan don't like it. The show sort o' comes to a balk, an' takin' advantages of the lull Danarises in a listless way an' addresses the Red Dogs. 

"'I merely desires to inquire, ' says Dan 'whether that shot isinadvertent; or is it a mark of innocent joobilation an' approval ofthe show; or is it meant personal to me?'

"'You can bet your moccasins!' shouts one of the Red Dog delegation, 'thar's no good fellowship with that gun-play. That shot's formal an'serious an' goes as it lays. '

"'My mind bein' now cl'ar on the subject of motive, ' says Dan; 'theproper course is plain. '"

With this retort Dan slams away gen'ral--shoots into the flock like--atthe picnickers from Red Dog, an' a party who's plenty drunk an' has hisfeet piled up on a table goes shy his off big toe. 

"As I remarks yeretofore it's as well Jack Moore ain't thar. Jackwould have corralled something more momentous than a toe. Which Jackwould have been shootin' in his capac'ty as marshal, an' couldn't ondersech circumstances have stooped to toes. But it's different with Dan. He is present private an' only idlin' 'round; an' he ain't driven totake high ground. More partic'lar since Dan's playin' a return game inthe nacher of reproofs an' merely to resent the onlicensed libertieswhich Red Dog takes with him, Dan, as I says, is free to accept toes ifhe so decides. 

"When Dan busts this yere inebriate, the victim lams loose a yellag'inst which a coyote would protest. That sot thinks he's shorekilled. What with the scare an' the pain an' the nosepaint, an'regyardin' of himse'f as right then flutterin' about the rim ofeternity, he gets seized with remorse an' allows he's out to confesshis sins before he quits. As thar's no sky pilot to confide in, thisdrunkard figgers that Peets 'll do, an' with that he onloads on Peetshow, bein' as he is a stage book-keep over in Red Dog, he's in cahootswith a outfit of route agents an' gives 'em the word when it's worthwhile to stand-up the stage. An' among other crim'nal pards of histhis terrified person names that outlaw Silver Phil. Shore, when herounds to an' learns it ain't nothin' but a toe, this party's chagrinedto death. 

"This yere confidin' sport's arrested an' taken some'ers--Prescottmebby--to be tried in a shore-enough co't for the robberies; the RedDog Stranglers not bein' game to butt in an' hang him a lot themse'fs. They surrenders him to the marshal who rides over for him; an' theywould have turned out Silver Phil, too, only that small black outcastdon't wait, but goes squanderin' off to onknown climes the moment hehears the news. He's vamoosed Red Dog before this penitent bookkeepceases yelpin' an' sobbin' over his absent toe. 

"It ain't no time, however, before we hears further of Silver Phil;that is, by way of roomer. It looks like a couple of big cow outfitssome'ers in the San Simon country--they're the 'Three-D' an' the'K-in-a-box' brands--takes first to stealin' each, other's cattle, an', final, goes to war. Each side retains bands of murderers an' proceedsbuoyantly to lay for one another. Which Silver Phil enlists with the'Three-D' an' sneaks an' prowls an' bushwhacks an' shoots himse'f intomore or less bloody an' ignoble prom'nence. At last the mainwar-chiefs of the Territory declar's themse'fs in on the riot an'chases both sides into the hills; an' among other excellent deeds theymakes captive Silver Phil. 

"It's a great error they don't string this Silver Phil instanter. Butno; after the procrastinatin' fashion of real law, they permits thevillain--who's no more use on the surface of Arizona that a-way thanone of them hydrophoby polecats whose bite is death--to get a law sharpto plead an' call for a show-down before a jedge an' jury. It takesdays to try Silver Phil, an' marshals an' sheriff gents is two weekssquanderin' about gettin' witnesses; an' all to as much trouble an'loss of time an' dinero as would suffice to round-up the cattle ofCochise county. Enright an' the Stranglers would have turned thetrick in twenty minutes an' never left the New York Store ontil withSilver Phil an' a lariat they reepairs to the windmill to put thefinishin' touches on their lucoobrations. 

"Still, dooms slow an' shiftless as they shore be, at the wind-upSilver Phil's found guilty, an' is put in nom'nation by the presidin'alcade to be hanged; the time bein' set in a crazy-hoss fashion for amonth away. As Silver Phil--which he's that bad an' hard he comesmighty clost to bein; game--is leavin' the co't-room with the marshalwho's ridin' herd on him, he says:

"'I ain't payin' much attention at the time, '--Silver Phil's talkin' tothat marshal gent, --'bein' I'm thinkin' of something else, but do Ionderstand that old grey sport on the bench to say you-all is to hangme next month?'

"'That's whatever!' assents this marshal gent, 'an' you can gamble abloo stack that hangin' you is a bet we ain't none likely to overlook. Which we're out to put our whole grateful souls into the dooty. '

"'Now I thinks of it, ' observes Silver Phil, 'I'm some averse to bein'hanged. I reckons, speakin' free an' free as between fellow sports, that in order for that execootion to be a blindin' success I'll have tobe thar personal?'

"'It's one of the mighty few o'casions, ' responds the marshal, 'whenyour absence would shorely dash an' damp the gen'ral joy. As you says, you'll have to be thar a heap personal when said hangin' occurs. '

"'I'm mighty sorry, ' says Silver Phil, 'that you-all lays out your gamein a fashion that so much depends on me. The more so, since the longerI considers this racket, the less likely it is I'll be thar. It'salmost a cinch, with the plans I has, that I'll shore be some'ers else. '

"They corrals Silver Phil in the one big upper room of a two-story'doby, an' counts off a couple of dep'ty marshals to gyard him. Thesegyards, comin' squar' down to cases, ain't no improvement, moral, onSilver Phil himse'f; an' since they're twice his age--Silver Phil notbein' more'n twenty--it's safe as a play to say that both of 'emoughter have been hanged a heap before ever Silver Phil is born. Thesetwo hold-ups, however, turns dep'ty marshals in their old age, an' isput in to stand watch an' watch an' see that Silver Phil don't workloose from his hobbles an' go pirootin' off ag'in into parts onknown. Silver Phil is loaded with fetters, --handcuffs an' laig-locks both--an'these hold-up sentries is armed to the limit. 

"It's the idee of Doc Peets later, when he hears the details, that ifthe gyards that time treats Silver Phil with kindness, the little felonmost likely would have remained to be hanged. But they don't: theyabooses Silver Phil; cussin' him out an' herdin' him about like he'scattle. They're a evil-tempered couple, them dep'ties, an' they don'tgive Silver Phil no sort o' peace. 

"'As I su'gests yeretofore, ' says Doc Peets, when he considers thecase, 'this Silver Phil is a degen'rate. He's like a anamile. Hedon't entertain no reg'lar scheme to work free when he waxes sardonicwith the marshal; that's only a bluff. Later, when them gyards takesto maltreatin' him an' battin' him about, it wakes up the venom in him, an' his cunnin' gets aroused along with his appetite for revenge. '

"This Silver Phil, who's lean an' slim like I explains at the jump, hashands no bigger than a cat's paws. It ain't no time when he discoversthat by cuttin' himse'f a bit on the irons, he can shuck the handcuffswhenever he's disposed. Even then, he don't outline no campaign forliberty; jest sort o' roominates an' waits. 

"It's one partic'lar mornin', some two weeks after Silver Phil'ssentenced that a-way. The marshal gent himse'f ain't about, bein' onsome dooty over to Tucson. Silver Phil is upsta'rs on the top floor ofthe 'doby with his gyards. Which he's hotter than a wildcat; thegyards an' him has been havin' a cussin' match, an' as Silver Philoutplays 'em talkin', one of 'em's done whacked him over the skelp withhis gun. The blood's tricklin' down Silver Phil's fore'erd as he sitsglowerin'. 

"One of the gyards is loadin' a ten-gauge Greener--a whole mouthful ofbuckshot in each shell. He's grinnin' at Silver Phil as he shoves theshells in the gun an' slams her shet. 

"'Which I'm loadin' that weepon for you, ' says the gyard, contemplatin'Silver Phil derisive. 

"'You be, be you!' replies Silver Phil, his eyes burnin' with rage. 'Which you better look out a whole lot; you-all may get it yourse'f. '

"The gyard laughs ugly an' exasperatin' an' puts the ten-gauge in alocker along with two or three Winchesters. Then he turns the key onthe firearms an' goes caperin' off to his feed. 

"The other gyard, his _compadre_, is settin' on a stool lookin' out awindow. Mebby he's considerin' of his sins. It would be more in hishand at this time if he thinks of Silver Phil. 

"Silver Phil, who's full of wrath at the taunts of the departed gyard, slips his hands free of the irons. Most of the hide on his wristscomes with 'em, but Silver Phil don't care. The gyard's back is to himas that gent sits gazin' out an' off along the dusty trail where itwinds gray an' hot toward Tucson. Silver Phil organises, stealthy an'cat-cautious; he's out for the gyard's gun as it hangs from his belt, the butt all temptin' an' su'gestive. 

"As Silver Phil makes his first move the laig-locks clanks. It ain'tlouder than the jingle of a brace of copper _centouse_ knockin'together. It's enough, however; it strikes on the y'ear of thatthoughtful gyard like the roar of a '44. He emerges from his reveriewith a start; the play comes cl'ar as noonday to him in a moment. 

"The gyard leaps, without even lookin' 'round, to free himse'f from theclutch of Silver Phil. Which he's the splinter of a second too late. Silver Phil makes a spring like a mountain lion, laig-locks an' all, an' grabs the gun. As the gyard goes clatterin' down sta'rs. SilverPhil pumps two loads into him an' curls him up at the foot. ThenSilver Phil hurls the six-shooter at him with a volley of mal'dictions. 

"Without pausin' a moment, Silver Phil grabs the stool an' smashes toflinders the locker that holds the 10-gauge Greener. He ain't forgotnone; an' he's fair locoed to get that partic'lar weepon for the othergyard. He rips it from the rack an' shows at the window as his preycomes runnin' to the rescoo of his pard:

"'Oh, you! Virg Sanders!' yells Silver Phil. 

"The second gyard looks up; an' as he does, Silver Phil gives him bothbar'ls. Forty-two buckshot; an' that gyard's so clost he stops 'emall! As he lays dead, Silver Phil breaks the Greener in two, an'throws, one after the other, stock an' bar'l at him. 

"'Which I'll show you-all what happens when folks loads a gun for me!'says Silver Phil. 

"Nacherally, this artillery practice turns out the entire plaza. Thefolks is standin' about the 'doby which confines Silver Phil, wonderin'whatever that enthoosiast's goin' to do next. No, they don't comeafter him, an' I'll tell you why. Shore, thar's twenty gents lookin'on, any one of whom, so far as personal apprehensions is involved, would trail Silver Phil single-handed into a wolf's den. Which he'dfeel plumb confident he gets away with Silver Phil an' the wolvesthrown in to even up the odds. Still, no one stretches forth tocapture Silver Phil on this yere voylent o'casion. An' these is thereasons. Thar's no reg'lar offishul present whose dooty it is to ropeup this Silver Phil. If sech had chanced to be thar, you can put downa stack he'd come a-runnin', an' him or Silver Phil would have caughtup with the two gyards on their journey into the beyond. But when itgets down to private people volunteerin' for dooty as marshals, folksin the Southwest goes some slothful to work. Thar's the friends of theaccoosed--an' as a roole he ain't none friendless--who would mightylikely resent sech zeal. Also, in the case of Silver Phil, hiscaptivity grows out of a cattle war. One third the public so far as itstands about the 'doby where Silver Phil is hived that time is'Three-D' adherents, mebby another third is 'K-in-a-box' folks, whilethe last third is mighty likely nootral. Whichever way it breaks, however, thar's a tacit stand-off, an' never a sport of 'em lifts afinger or voice to head off Silver Phil. 

"'Which she's the inalien'ble right of Americans onder theconstitootion to escape with every chance they gets, ' says one. 

"'That's whatever!' coincides his pard; 'an' moreover this ain't ourround-up nohow. '

"It's in that fashion these private citizens adjusts their dooty to thestate while pausin' to look on, in a sperit of cur'osity while SilverPhil makes his next play. 

"They don't wait long. Silver Phil comes out on the roof of a stoop infront. He's got a Winchester by now, an' promptly throws the muzzletharof on a leadin' citizen. Silver Phil allows he'll plug thisdignitary if they don't send up a sport with a file to cut loose thelaig-locks. Tharupon the pop'lace, full of a warm interest by thistime, does better. They gropes about in the war-bags of the VirgSanders sharp who stops the buckshot an' gets his keys; a moment after, Silver Phil is free. 

"Still, this ontirin' hold-up goes on menacin' the leadin' citizen asformer. Which now Silver Phil demands a bronco, bridled an' saddled. He gives the public ten minutes; if the bronco is absent at the end often minutes Silver Phil allows he'll introdooce about a pound of leadinto where that village father does his cogitating. The bronco appearswith six minutes to spar'. As it arrives, the vivacious Silver Philjumps off the roof of the stoop--the same bein' low--an' is in thesaddle an' out o' sight while as practised a hand as Huggins is pourin'out a drink. Where the trail bends 'round a mesa Silver Phil pulls up. 

"'Whoop! whoop! whoopee! for Silver Phil, ' he shouts. 

"Then he waves the Winchester, an' as he spurs 'round the corner of thehill it's the last that spellbound outfit ever sees of Silver Phil. 

"Nacherally now, " remarked my old friend, as he refreshed himself witha mouthful of scotch, "you-all is waitin' an' tryin' to guess whereverdoes Dan Boggs get in on this yere deal. An' it won't take no time topost you; the same bein' a comfort. 

"Not one word do we-all wolves of Wolfville hear of the divertin'adventures of Silver Phil--shootin' up his gyards an' fetchin' himse'ffree--ontil days after. No one in camp has got Silver Phil on his mindat all; at least if he has he deems him safe an' shore in hock, a-waitin' to be stretched. Considerin' what follows, I neverexperiences trouble in adoptin' Doc Peets' argyments that the eepisodeswherein this onhappy Silver Phil figgers sort o' aggravates hisintellects ontil he's locoed. 

"'Bein' this Silver Phil's a degen'rate, ' declar's Peets, explanatory, 'he's easy an' soon to loco. His mind as well as his moral nacher isonbalanced congenital. Any triflin' jolt, much less than what thatSilver Phil runs up on, an' his fretful wits is shore to leave thesaddle. 

"Now that Silver Phil's free, but loonatic like Peets says, an' doublyvicious by them tantalisin' gyards, it looks like he thinks of nothin'but wreckin' reprisals on all who's crossed his trail. An' so withvengeance eatin' at his crim'nal heart he p'ints that bronco's muzzlestraight as a bird flies for Wolfville. Whoever do you-all reckon nowhe wants? Cherokee Hall? Son, you've followed off the wrong waggontrack. Silver Phil--imagine the turpitoode of sech a ornerywretch!--is out for the lovely skelp of Faro Nell who detects him inhis ha'r-copper frauds that time. 

"Which the first intimations we has of Silver Phil after that escape, is one evenin' about fifth drink time--or as you-all says 'fouro'clock. ' The sun's still hot an' high over in the west. Thar's nogame goin'; but bein' it's as convenient thar as elsewhere an' somecooler, Cherokee's settin' back of his layout with Faro Nell as usualon her lookout perch. Dan Boggs is across the street in the dancehalldoor, an' his pet best bronco is waitin' saddled in front. Hot an'drowsy; the street save for these is deserted. 

"It all takes place in a moment. Thar's a clattering rush; an' then, pony a-muck with sweat an' alkali dust, Silver Phil shows in theportals of the Red Light. Thar's a flash an' a spit of white smoke ashe fires his six-shooter straight at Faro Nell. 

"Silver Phil is quick, but Cherokee is quicker. Cherokee sweeps FaroNell from her stool with one motion of his arm an' the bullet that'ssearchin' for her lifts Cherokee's ha'r a trifle where he 'most getshis head in its way. 

"Ondoubted, this Silver Phil allows he c'llects on Faro Nell asplanned. He don't shoot twice, an' he don't tarry none, but wheels hiswearied pony, gives a yell, an' goes surgin' off. 

"But Silver Phil's got down to the turn of that evil deal of hisexistence. He ain't two hundred yards when Dan Boggs is in the saddlean' ridin' hard. Dan's bronco runs three foot for every one of thepony of Silver Phil's; which that beaten an' broken cayouse is eightymiles from his last mouthful of grass. 

"As Dan begins to crowd him, Silver Phil turns in the saddle an'shoots. The lead goes 'way off yonder--wild. Dan, grim an' silent, rides on without returnin' the fire. 

"'Which I wouldn't dishonour them guns of mine, ' says Dan, explainin'later the pheenomenon of him not shootin' none, 'which I wouldn'tdishonour them guns by usin' 'em on varmints like this yere SilverPhil. '

"As Silver Phil reorganises for a second shot his bronco stumbles. Silver Phil pitches from the saddle an' strikes the grass to one side. As he half rises, Dan lowers on him like the swoop of a hawk. It's asthough Dan's goin' to snatch a handkerchief from the ground. 

"As Dan flashes by, he swings low from the saddle an' his right handtakes a troo full grip on that outlaw's shoulder. Dan has the thewsan' muscles of a cinnamon b'ar, an' Silver Phil is only a scrap of aman. As Dan straightens up in the stirrups, he heaves this Silver Philon high to the length of his long arm; an' then he dashes him ag'instthe flint-hard earth; which the manoover--we-all witnesses it frommebby a quarter of a mile--which the manoover that a-way is shoreremorseless! This Silver Phil is nothin' but shattered bones an'bleedin' pulp. He strikes the plains like he's crime from the cloudsan' is dead without a quiver. 

"'Bury him? No!' says Old Man Enright to Dave Tutt who asks thequestion. 'Let him find his bed where he falls. 

"While Enright speaks, an' as Dan rides up to us at the Red Light, aprompt raven drops down over where this Silver Phil is layin'. Thenanother raven an' another--black an' wide of wing--comes floatin' down. A coyote yells--first with the short, sharp yelp, an' then with thatmultiplied patter of laughter like forty wolves at once. That daylighthowl of the coyote alters tells of a death. Shore raven an' wolf isgatherin'. As Enright says: 'This yere Silver Phil ain't likely to belonesome none to-night. '

"'Did you kill him, Dan?' asks Faro Nell. 

"'Why, no, Nellie, ' replies Dan, as he steps outen the stirrups an'beams on Faro Nell. She's still a bit onstrung, bein' only a littlegirl when all is said. 'Why, no, Nellie; I don't kill him speecific asWolfville onderstands the word; but I dismisses him so effectual thekyard shore falls the same for Silver Phil. '"

CHAPTER II. 

Colonel Sterett's Panther Hunt, "Panthers, what we-all calls 'mountain lions, '" observed the OldCattleman, wearing meanwhile the sapient air of him who feels equippedof his subject, "is plenty furtive, not to say mighty sedyoolous toskulk. That's why a gent don't meet up with more of 'em whilepirootin' about in the hills. Them cats hears him, or they sees him, an' him still ignorant tharof; an' with that they bashfully withdraws. Which it's to be urged in favour of mountain lions that they neverforces themse'fs on no gent; they're shore considerate, that a-way, an'speshul of themse'fs. If one's ever hurt, you can bet it won't be aaccident. However, it ain't for me to go 'round impugnin' the motivesof no mountain lion; partic'lar when the entire tribe is strangers tome complete. But still a love of trooth compels me to concede that ifmountain lions ain't cowardly, they're shore cautious a lot. Cattlean' calves they passes up as too bellicose, an' none of 'em ever facesany anamile more warlike than a baby colt or mebby a half-grown deer. I'm ridin' along the Caliente once when I hears a crashin' in thebushes on the bluff above--two hundred foot high, she is, an' as sheeras the walls of this yere tavern. As I lifts my eyes, a fear-frenziedmare an' colt comes chargin' up an' projects themse'fs over theprecipice an' lands in the valley below. They're dead as JooliusCaesar when I rides onto 'em, while a brace of mountain lions isskirtin' up an' down the aige of the bluff they leaps from, mewin' an'lashin' their long tails in hot enthoosiasm. Shore, the cats has beenchasin' the mare an' foal, an' they locoes 'em to that extent theydon't know where they're headin' an' makes the death jump I relates. Ibangs away with my six-shooter, but beyond givin' the mountain lions aconvulsive start I can't say I does any execootion. They turns an'goes streakin' it through the pine woods like a drunkard to a barnraisin'. 

"Timid? Shore! They're that timid seminary girls compared to 'em isas sternly courageous as a passel of buccaneers. Out in Mitchell'scanyon a couple of the Lee-Scott riders cuts the trail of a mountainlion and her two kittens. Now whatever do you-all reckon this oldtabby does? Basely deserts her offsprings without even barin' a tooth, an' the cow-punchers takes 'em gently by their tails an' beats outtheir joovenile brains. That's straight; that mother lion goesswarmin' up the canyon like she ain't got a minute to live. An' youcan gamble the limit that where a anamile sees its children perishwithout frontin' up for war, it don't possess the commonest roodimentsof sand. Sech, son, is mountain lions. 

"It's one evenin' in the Red Light when Colonel Sterett, who's gotthrough his day's toil on that Coyote paper he's editor of, onfoldsconcernin' a panther round-up which he pulls off in his yooth. 

"'This panther hunt, ' says Colonel Sterett, as he fills his thirdtumbler, 'occurs when mighty likely I'm goin' on seventeen winters. I'm a leader among my young companions at the time; in fact, I allersis. An' I'm proud to say that my soopremacy that a-way is doo to thedom'nant character of my intellects. I'm ever bright an' sparklin' asa child, an' I recalls how my aptitoode for learnin' promotes me to beregyarded as the smartest lad in my set. If thar's visitors, to theschool, or if the selectmen invades that academy to sort o' size us up, the teacher allers plays me on 'em. I'd go to the front for theoutfit. Which I'm wont on sech harrowin' o'casions to recite aode--the teacher's done wrote it himse'f--an' which is entitledNapoleon's Mad Career. Thar's twenty-four stanzas to it; an' whilethese interlopin' selectmen sets thar lookin' owley an' sagacious, I'dwallop loose with the twenty-four verses, stampin' up and down, an'accompanyin' said recitations with sech a multitood of recklessgestures, it comes plenty clost to backin' everybody plumb outen theroom. Yere's the first verse:

 I'd drink an' sw'ar an' r'ar an' t'ar An' fall down in the mud, While the y'earth for forty miles about Is kivered with my blood. 

"'You-all can see from that speciment that our schoolmaster ain'tsimply flirtin' with the muses when he originates that epic; no sir, hemeans business; an' whenever I throws it into the selectmen, I does itjestice. The trustees used to silently line out for home when Ifinishes, an' never a yeep. It stuns 'em; it shore fills 'em to thebrim!

"'As I gazes r'arward, ' goes on the Colonel, as by one rapt impulse heuplifts both his eyes an' his nosepaint, 'as I gazes r'arward, I says, on them sun-filled days, an' speshul if ever I gets betrayed intotalkin' about 'em, I can hardly t'ar myse'f from the subject. Iexplains yeretofore, that not only by inclination but by birth, I'm ashore-enough 'ristocrat. This captaincy of local fashion I assoomes ata tender age. I wears the record as the first child to don shoesthroughout the entire summer in that neighbourhood; an' many a time an'oft does my yoothful but envy-eaten compeers lambaste me for theinsultin' innovation. But I sticks to my moccasins; an' to-day shoesin the Bloo Grass is almost as yooniversal as the licker habit. 

"'Thar dawns a hour, however, when my p'sition in the van of Kaintucky_ton_ comes within a ace of bein' ser'ously shook. It's on my way toschool one dewey mornin' when I gets involved all inadvertent in aonhappy rupture with a polecat. I never does know how themisonderstandin' starts. After all, the seeds of said dispoote is byno means important; it's enough to say that polecat finally has methoroughly convinced. 

Followin' the difference an' my defeat, I'm witless enough to keepgoin' on to school, whereas I should have returned homeward an' castmyse'f upon my parents as a sacred trust. Of course, when I'm inschool I don't go impartin' my troubles to the other chil'en; Iemyoolates the heroism of the Spartan boy who stands to be eat by afox, an' keeps 'em to myself. But the views of my late enemy is not tobe smothered; they appeals to my young companions; who tharupon puts upa most onneedful riot of coughin's an' sneezin's. But nobody knows meas the party who's so pungent. 

"'It's a tryin' moment. I can see that, once I'm located, I'm goin' tobe as onpop'lar as a b'ar in a hawg pen; I'll come tumblin' from mypinnacle in that proud commoonity as the glass of fashion an' the moldof form. You can go your bottom peso, the thought causes me to feelplenty perturbed. 

"'At this peril I has a inspiration; as good, too, as I ever entertainswithout the aid of rum. I determines to cast the opprobrium on someother boy an' send the hunt of gen'ral indignation sweepin' along histrail. 

"'Thar's a innocent infant who's a stoodent at this temple of childishlearnin' an' his name is Riley Bark. This Riley is one of them giantchildren who's only twelve an' weighs three hundred pounds. An' inproportions as Riley is a son of Anak, physical, he's dwarfed mental;he ain't half as well upholstered with brains as a shepherd dog. That's right; Riley's intellects, is like a fly in a saucer of syrup, they struggles 'round plumb slow. I decides to uplift Riley to thepublic eye as the felon who's disturbin' that seminary's sereenity. Comin' to this decision, I p'ints at him where he's planted four seatsahead, all tangled up in a spellin' book, an' says in a loud whisper toa child who's sittin' next:

"'Throw him out!'

"'That's enough. No gent will ever realise how easy it is to direct apeople's sentiment ontil he take a whirl at the game. In two minutesby the teacher's bull's-eye copper watch, every soul knows it's poreRiley; an' in three, the teacher's done drug Riley out doors by theha'r of his head an' chased him home. Gents, I look back on thatyoothful feat as a triumph of diplomacy; it shore saves my standin' asthe Beau Brummel of the Bloo Grass. 

"'Good old days, them!' observes the Colonel mournfully, 'an' onesnever to come ag'in! My sternest studies is romances, an' theperoosals of old tales as I tells you-all prior fills me full of mossan' mockin' birds in equal parts. I reads deep of _Walter Scott_ an'waxes to be a sharp on Moslems speshul. I dreams of the Siege of Acre, an' Richard the Lion Heart; an' I simply can't sleep nights for honin'to hold a tournament an' joust a whole lot for some fair lady's love. 

"'Once I commits the error of my career by joustin' with my brotherJeff. This yere Jeff is settin' on the bank of the Branch fishin' forbullpouts at the time, an' Jeff don't know I'm hoverin' near at all. Jeff's reedic'lous fond of fishin'; which he'd sooner fish than read_Paradise Lost_. I'm romancin' along, sim'larly bent, when I notesJeff perched on the bank. To my boyish imagination Jeff at once turnsto be a Paynim. I drops my bait box, couches my fishpole, an' emittin'a impromptoo warcry, charges him. It's the work of a moment; Jeff'sonhossed an' falls into the Branch. 

"'But thar's bitterness to follow vict'ry. Jeff emerges like Dianafrom the bath an' frales the wamus off me with a club. Talk of puttin'a crimp in folks! Gents when Jeff's wrath is assuaged I'm all on oneside like the leanin' tower of Pisa. Jeff actooally confers a skew-geeto my spinal column. 

"'A week later my folks takes me to a doctor. That practitioner putson his specs an' looks me over with jealous care. 

"'"Whatever's wrong with him, Doc?" says my father. 

"'"Nothin', " says the physician, "only your son Willyum's five inchesout o' plumb. "

"'Then he rigs a contraption made up of guy-ropes an' stay-laths, an' Ihas to wear it; an' mebby in three or four weeks he's got me warpedback into the perpendic'lar. '

"'But how about this cat hunt?" asks Dan Boggs. 'Which I don't aim tobe introosive none, but I'm camped yere through the second drinkwaitin' for it, an' these procrastinations is makin' me kind o' batty. '

"'That panther hunt is like this, ' says the Colonel turnin' to Dan. 'At the age of seventeen, me an' eight or nine of my intimate bravecomrades founds what we-all denom'nates as the "Chevy Chase Huntin'Club. " Each of us maintains a passel of odds an' ends of dogs, an' atstated intervals we convenes on hosses, an' with these fourscore cursat our tails goes yellin' an' skally-hootin' up an' down thecountryside allowin' we're shore a band of Nimrods. 

"'The Chevy Chasers ain't been in bein' as a institootion over longwhen chance opens a gate to ser'ous work. The deep snows in theEastern mountains it looks like has done drove a panther into ourneighbourhood. You could hear of him on all sides. Folks glimpses himnow an' then. They allows he's about the size of a yearlin' calf; an'the way he pulls down sech feeble people as sheep or lays desolate somehe'pless henroost don't bother him a bit. This panther spreads ahorror over the county. Dances, pra'er meetin's, an' even pokerparties is broken up, an' the social life of that region begins to bogdown. Even a weddin' suffers; the bridesmaids stayin' away lest thisferocious monster should show up in the road an' chaw one of 'em whileshe's _en route_ for the scene of trouble. That's gospel trooth! thepore deserted bride has to heel an' handle herse'f an' never a friendto yoonite her sobs with hers doorin' that weddin' ordeal. The oldladies present shakes their heads a heap solemn. 

"'"It's a worse augoory, " says one, "than the hoots of a score ofsquinch owls. "

"'When this reign of terror is at its height, the local eye is rolledappealin'ly towards us Chevy Chasers. We rises to the opportoonity. Day after day we're ridin' the hills an' vales, readin' the milk whitesnow for tracks. An' we has success. One mornin' I comes up on two ofthe Brackenridge boys an' five more of the Chevy Chasers settin' ontheir hosses at the Skinner cross roads. Bob Crittenden's gone to turnme out, they says. Then they p'ints down to a handful of close-wovebresh an' stunted timber an' allows that this maraudin' cat-o-mount ishidin' thar; they sees him go skulkin' in. 

"'Gents, I ain't above admittin' that the news puts my heart to acanter. I'm brave; but conflicts with wild an' savage beasts is to mea novelty an' while I faces my fate without a flutter, I'm yere to sayI'd sooner been in pursoot of minks or raccoons or some varmint whosegrievous cap'bilities I can more ackerately stack up an' in whose merryways I'm better versed. However, the dauntless blood of my grandsiremounts in my cheek; an' as if the shade of that old Trojan is tharpersonal to su'gest it, I searches forth a flask an' renoos my sperit;thus qualified for perils, come in what form they may, I resolootelystands my hand. 

"'Thar's forty dogs if thar's one in our company as we pauses at theSkinner crossroads. An' when the Crittenden yooth returns, he bringswith him the Rickett boys an' forty added dogs. Which it's worth aten-mile ride to get a glimpse of that outfit of canines! Thar's everysort onder the canopy: thar's the stolid hound, the alert fice, thesapient collie; that is thar's individyool beasts wherein the hound, orfice, or collie seems to preedominate as a strain. The trooth isthar's not that dog a-whinin' about our hosses' fetlocks who ain'tproudly descended from fifteen different tribes, an' they shorely makesa motley mass meetin'. Still, they're good, zealous dogs; an' asthey're going to go for'ard an' take most of the resks of that panther, it seems invidious to criticise 'em. 

"'One of the Twitty boys rides down an' puts the eighty or more dogsinto the bresh. The rest of us lays back an' strains our eyes. Tharhe is! A shout goes up as we descries the panther stealin' off by afar corner. He's headin' along a hollow that's full of bresh an' babytimber an' runs parallel with the pike. Big an' yaller he is; we cantell from the slight flash we gets of him as he darts into a secondclump of bushes. With a cry--what young Crittenden calls a "viewhalloo, "--we goes stampedin' down the pike in pursoot. 

"'Our dogs is sta'nch; they shore does themse'fs proud. Singin' intwenty keys, reachin' from growls to yelps an' from yelps to shrillestscreams, they pushes dauntlessly on the fresh trail of their terrifiedquarry. Now an' then we gets a squint of the panther as he skulks fromone copse to another jest ahead. Which he's goin' like a arrow; nomistake! As for us Chevy Chasers, we parallels the hunt, an'continyoos poundin' the Skinner turnpike abreast of the pack, ever an'anon givin' a encouragin' shout as we briefly sights our game. 

"'Gents, ' says Colonel Sterett, as he ag'in refreshes himse'f, 'it'sneedless to go over that hunt in detail. We hustles the flyin' demonfull eighteen miles, our faithful dogs crowdin' close an' breathless athis coward heels. Still, they don't catch up with him; he streaks itlike some saffron meteor. 

"'Only once does we approach within strikin' distance; that's when hecrosses at old Stafford's whiskey still. As he glides into view, Crittenden shouts:

"'"Thar he goes!"

"'For myse'f I'm prepared. I've got one of these misguidedcap-an'-ball six-shooters that's built doorin' the war; an' I cuts thathardware loose! This weepon seems a born profligate of lead, for thesix chambers goes off together. Which you should have seen the ChevyChasers dodge! An' well they may; that broadside ain't in vain! Myaim is so troo that one of the r'armost dogs evolves a howl an' rollsover; then he sets up gnawin' an' lickin' his off hind laig in franticalternations. That hunt is done for him. We leaves him doctorin'himse'f an' picks him up two hours later on our triumphant return. 

"'As I states, we harries that foogitive panther for eighteen miles an'in our hot ardour founders two hosses. Fatigue an' weariness begins tooverpower us; also our prey weakens along with the rest. In the halfglimpses we now an' ag'in gets of him its plain that both pace an'distance is tellin' fast. Still, he presses on; an' as thar's no spurlike fear, that panther holds his distance. 

"'But the end comes. We've done run him into a rough, wild stretch ofcountry where settlements is few an' cabins roode. Of a sudden, thepanther emerges onto the road an' goes rackin' along the trail. Wepushes our spent steeds to the utmost. 

"'Thar's a log house ahead; out in the stump-filled lot in front is afrowsy woman an' five small children. The panther leaps the ricketyworm-fence an' heads straight as a bullet for the cl'arin'! Horrors!the sight freezes our marrows! Mad an' savage, he's doo to bite a hunkouten that devoted household! Mutooally callin' to each other, wegoads our hosses to the utmost. We gain on the panther! He may woundbut he won't have time to slay that fam'ly. 

"'Gents, it's a soopreme moment! The panther makes for the femalesquatter an' her litter, we pantin' an' pressin' clost behind. Thepanther is among 'em; the woman an' the children seems transfixed bythe awful spectacle an' stands rooted with open eyes an' mouths. Ouremotions shore beggars deescriptions. 

"'Now ensooes a scene to smite the hardiest of us with dismay. Nosooner does the panther find himse'f in the midst of that he'pless bevyof little ones, than he stops, turns round abrupt, an' sets down on histail; an' then upliftin' his muzzle he busts into shrieks an' yells an'howls an' cries, a complete case of dog hysterics! That's what he is, a great yeller dog; his reason is now a wrack because we harasses himthe eighteen miles. 

"'Thar's a ugly outcast of a squatter, mattock in hand, comes tumblin'down the hillside from some'ers out back of the shanty where he's beengrubbin':

"'"What be you-all eediots chasin' my dog for?" demands this onkemptparty. Then he menaces us with the implement. 

"'We makes no retort but stands passive. The great orange brute whosenerves has been torn to rags creeps to the squatter an' with mournfulhowls explains what we've made him suffer. 

"'No, thar's nothin' further to do an' less to be said. Thatcavalcade, erstwhile so gala an' buoyant, drags itself wearilyhomeward, the exhausted dogs in the r'ar walkin' stiff an' sore liketheir laigs is wood. For more'n a mile the complainin' howls of thehysterical yeller dog is wafted to our y'ears. Then they ceases; an'we figgers his sympathizin' master has done took him into the shantyan' shet the door. 

"'No one comments on this adventure, not a word is heard. Each issilent ontil we mounts the Big Murray hill. As we collects ourse'fs onthis eminence one of the Brackenridge boys holds up his hand for ahalt. "Gents, " he says, as--hosses, hunters an' dogs--we-all gathers'round, "gents, I moves you the Chevy Chase Huntin' Club yereby standsadjourned _sine die_. " Thar's a moment's pause, an' then as by oneimpulse every gent, hoss an' dog, says "Ay!" It's yoonanimous, an'from that hour till now the Chevy Chase Huntin' Club ain't been nothin'save tradition. But that panther shore disappears; it's the end of hisvandalage; an' ag'in does quadrilles, pra'rs, an poker resoom theirwonted sway. That's the end; an' now, gents, if Black Jack will caperto his dooties we'll uplift our drooped energies with the usual fortydrops. "

CHAPTER III. 

How Faro Nell Dealt Bank. 

"Riches, " remarked the Old Cattleman, "riches says you! Neitheryou-all nor any other gent is competent to state whether in thefooture he amasses wealth or not. The question is far beyond thethrow of your rope. "

My friend's tone breathed a note of strong contradiction while hisglance was the glance of experience. I had said that I carried nohope of becoming rich; that the members of my tribe were born withtheir hands open and had such hold of money as a riddle has of water. It was this which moved him to expostulatory denial. 

"This matter of wealth, that a-way, " he continued, "is a mighty sighta question of luck. Shore, a gent has to have capacity to grasp achance an' savey sufficient to get his chips down right. But thischance, an' whether it offers itse'f to any specific sport, isfrequent accident an' its comin' or failure to come depends onconditions over which the party about to be enriched ain't got nocontrol. That's straight, son! You backtrack any fortune to itsbeginning an some'ers along the trail or at the farthest end you'llcome up with the fact that it took a accident or two, what we-alldarkened mortals calls 'luck, ' to make good the play. It's likegettin' shot gettin' rich is; all you has to do is be presentpersonal at the time, an' the bullet does the rest. 

"You distrusts these doctrines. You shore won't if you sets downhard an' thinks. Suppose twenty gents has made a surround an' ishuntin' a b'ar. Only one is goin' to down him. An' in his clumsyblunderin' the b'ar is goin' to select his execootioner himse'f. That's a fact; the party who downs the b'ar, final, ain't goin' topick the b'ar out; the b'ar's goin' to pick him out. An' it's thesame about wealth; one gent gets the b'ar an' the other nineteen--an'they're as cunnin' an' industr'ous as the lucky party--don't getnothing--don't even get a shot. I repeats tharfore, that you-allsettin' yere this evenin', firin' off aimless observations, don'tknow whether you'll quit rich or not. "

At the close of his dissertation, my talkative companion puffed acloud which seemed to hang above his venerable head in a fashion ofheavy blue approval. I paused as one impressed by the utter wisdomof the old gentleman. Then I took another tack. 

"Speaking of wealth, " I said, "tell me concerning the largest moneyyou ever knew to be won or lost at faro--tell me a gambling story. "

"Tell you-all a gamblin' tale, " he repeated, and then mused as iflost in retrospection. "If I hesitates it's because of a multitoodeof incidents from which to draw. I've beheld some mighty cur'ousdoin's at the gamblin' tables. Once I knows a party who sinks hishopeless head on the layout an' dies as he loses his last chip. Thisdon't happen in Wolfville none. No, I don't say folks ain't cashedin at farobank in that excellent hamlet an' gone singin' to theirhome above; but it ain't heart disease. Usual it's guns; the samebein' invoked by sech inadvertencies as pickin' up some other gent'sbet. 

"Tell you-all a story about gamblin'! Now I reckons the time FaroNell rescoos Cherokee Hall from rooin is when I sees the most_dinero_ changed in at one play. You can gamble that's a thrillin'eepisode when Faro Nell steps in between Cherokee an' the destroyer. It's the gossip of the camp for days, an' when Wolfville discussesanything for days that outfit's plumb moved. 

"This gent who crowds Cherokee to the wall performs the featdeliberate. He organises a sort o' campaign ag'in Cherokee; what youmight term a fiscal dooel, an' at the finish he has Cherokeecorralled for his last _peso_. It's at that p'int Nell cuts in an'redeems the sityooation a heap. It's all on the squar'; thisinvadin' sport simply outlucks the bank. That, an' the egreegiouslimit Cherokee gives him, is what does the trick. 

"In Wolfville, we-all allers recalls that sharp-set gent who comesafter Cherokee with respect. In fact he wins our encomiums before hesets in ag'in Cherokee--before ever he gets his second drink at theRed Light bar. He comes ramblin' over with Old Monte from Tucson oneevenin'; that's the first glimpse we has of him. An' for a hour, mebby, followin' his advent, seein' the gen'ral herd is busy with themail, he has the Red Light to himse'f. 

"On this yere o'casion, thar's likewise present in Wolfville--he'sbeen infringin' 'round some three days--a onsettled an' migratorymiscreant who's name is Ugly Collins. He's in a heap of ill repootein the territories, this Ugly Collins is; an' only he contreebutesthe information when he arrives in camp that his visit is to bemighty temp'rary, Enright would have signed up Jack Moore to take hisguns an' stampede him a lot. 

"At the time I'm talkin' of, as thar's no one who's that abandoned asto go writin' letters to Ugly Collins, it befalls he's plentyfootloose. This leesure on the part of Ugly Collins turns out somedisastrous for that party. Not havin' no missives to read leaves himfree to go weavin' about permiscus an' it's while he's strayin' herean' thar that he tracks up on this stranger who's come after Cherokee. 

"Ugly Collins sees our pilgrim in the Red Light an', except BlackJack, --who of course is present offishul--the stranger's alone. He'sweak an' meek an' shook by a cough that sounds like the overture to afooneral. Ugly Collins, who's a tyrannizin' cowardly form ofoutcast, sizes him up as a easy prey. He figgers he'll have a heapof evil fun with him, Ugly Collins does. Tharupon he approaches theconsumptive stranger:

"'You-all seems plenty ailin', pard, ' says Ugly Collins. 

"'Which I shore ain't over peart none, ' retorts the stranger. 

"'An' you-all can put down a bet, ' returns Ugly Collins, 'I learns ofyour ill-health with regrets. It's this a-way: I ain't had noexercise yet this evenin'; an' as I tracks in yere, I registers a vowto wallop the first gent I meets up with to whom I've not beenintrodooced ;--merely by way of stretchin' my muscles. Now I mustsay--an' I admits it with sorrow--that you-all is that onhappy sport. It's no use; I knows I'll loathe myse'f for crawlin' the hump of agent who's totterin' on the brink of the grave; but whatever else canI do? Vows is vows an' must be kept, so you might as well prepareyourse'f for a cloud of sudden an' painful vicissitoodes. '

"As Ugly Collins says this he kind o' reaches for the invalid gentwhere he's camped in a cha'r. It's a onfortunate gesture; theinvalid--as quick as a rattlesnake, --prodooces a derringer, same asDoc Peets allers packs, from his surtoot an' the bullet carries awaymost of Ugly Collins' lower jaw. 

"'You-all is goin' to be a heap sight more of a audience than aorator yereafter, Collins, ' says Doc Peets, as he ties up thevillain's visage that a-way. 'Also, you oughter be less reckless an'get the address of your victims before embarkin' on themskelp-collectin' enterprises of yours. That gent you goes ag'inst isDoc Holliday; as hard a game as lurks anywhere between the Slope an'the Big Muddy. '

"Does the Stranglers do anything to this Holliday? Why, no, notmuch; all they does is present him with a Colt's-44 along with thecompliments of the camp. 

"'An' it's to be deplored, ' says Enright, when he makes thepresentation speech to Holliday, 'that you-all don't have this weeponwhen you cuts loose at Collins instead of said jimcrow derringer. Insech events, that hoss-thief's death would have been assured. Shore!shootin' off Collins' jaw is good as far as it goes, but it can't beregyarded as no sech boon as downin' him complete. 

"It's after supper when this Holliday encounters Cherokee; the twohas a conference. This Holliday lays bar' his purpose. 

"'Which I'm yere, ' says this Holliday, 'not only for your money, butI wants the camp. ' Then he goes for'ard an' proposes that they playstill one is broke; an, if it's Cherokee who goes down, he is to vamosthe outfit while Holliday succeeds to his game. 'An' the winner isto stake his defeated adversary to one thousand dollars wherewith tobegin life anew, ' concloodes this Holliday. 

"'Which what you states seems like agreeable offers, ' says Cherokee, an' he smiles clever an' gentlemanly. 'How strong be you-all, may Iask?'

"'Thirty thousand dollars in thirty bills, ' replies this Holliday. 'An' now may I enquire how strong be you? I also likes to know howlong a trail I've got to travel. '

"'My roll is about forty thousand big, ' says Cherokee. Then he goeson: 'It's all right; I'll open a game for you at second drink timesharp. '

"'That's comfortin' to hear, ' retorts this Holliday. 'Thechances, --what with splits an' what with the ten thousand youoversizes me, --is nacherally with you; but I takes 'em. If I lose, Igoes back with a even thousand; if I win, you-all hits the trail witha thousand, while I'm owner of your roll an' bank. Does thatonderstandin' go?'

"'It goes!' says Cherokee. Then he turns off for a brief powwow withFaro Nell. 

"'But thar's one thing you-all forgets, Cherokee, ' says Nell. 'If hebreaks you, he's got to go on an' break me. I've a bundle of threethousand; he's got to get it all before ever the play is closed. Tell this yere Holliday party that. '

"Cherokee argues ag'in it; but Nell stamps 'round an' starts to weepsome, an' at that, like every other troo gent, he gives in abject. 

"'Thar's a bet I overlooks, ' observes Cherokee, when he resoomes histalk with this Holliday; 'it's my partner. It's only a little matterof three thousand, but the way the scheme frames itse'f up, after I'mdown an' out, you'll have to break my partner before Wolfville's allyour own. '

"'That's eminent satisfactory, ' returns this Holliday. 'An' I freelyadds that your partner is a dead game sport to take so brief afortune an'--win all, lose all--go after more'n twenty times as much. Your partner's a shore enough optimist that a-way. '

"Cherokee don't make no retort. This Holliday ain't posted none thatthe partner Cherokee's mentionin' is Faro Nell, an' Cherokee allowshe won't onbosom himse'f on that p'int onless his hand is forced. 

"When the time arrives to open the game, the heft of Wolfville'spublic is gathered at the Red Light. The word goes 'round as to theenterprisin' Holliday bein' out for Cherokee's entire game; an' theprospect of seein' a limit higher than a cat's back, an' a dooel tothe death, proves mighty pop'lar. The play opens to a full house, shore!

"'What limit do you give me?' says this Holliday, with a sort o'cough, at the same time settin' in opposite to Cherokee. 'Belib'ral; I ain't more'n a year to live, an' I've got to play 'em highan' hard to get average action. If I'm in robust health now, with along, useful life before me, the usual figgers would do. Considerin'my wasted health, however, I shore hopes you'll say something likethe even thousand. '

"'Which I'll do better than that, ' returns Cherokee, as he snaps thedeck in the box, 'I'll let you fix the limit to suit yourse'f. Makeit the ceilin' if the sperit moves you. '

"'That's gen'rous!' says Holliday. 'An' to mark my appreciationtharof, I'll jest nacherally take every resk of splits an' put tenthousand in the pot, coppered; ten thousand in the big squar'; an'ten thousand, coppered, on the high kyard. '

"Son, we-all sports standin' lookin' on draws a deep breath. Thirtythousand in three ten thousand dollar bets, an' all on the layout atonce, marks a epock in Wolfville business life wherefrom folks canonblushin'ly date time! Thar it lays however, an' the two sharpsmost onmoved tharby is Cherokee an' Holliday themse'fs. 

"'Turn your game!' says this Holliday, when his money is down, an'leanin' back to light a seegyar. 

"Cherokee makes the turn. Never does I witness action so sudden an'complete! It's shore the sharpest! The top kyard as the deck laysin the box is a ten-spot. An' as the papers is shoved forth, how doyou-all reckon they falls! I'm a Mexican! if they don't comeseven-king! This Holliday wins all along; Cherokee is out thirtythousand an' only three kyards showed! How's that for perishin'flesh an' blood!

"I looks at Cherokee; his face is as ca'm as a Injun's; he's toofinely fibred a sport to so much as let a eyelash quiver. ThisHolliday is equally onemotional. Cherokee shoves over three yallerchips. 

"'Call 'em ten thousand each, ' says Cherokee. Then he waits for thisHolliday to place his next bets. 

"'Since you-all has exackly that sum left in your treasury, ' observesthis Holliday, puffin' his seegyar, 'I reckons I'll let one of theseyaller tokens go, coppered, on the high kyard ag'in. You-all doublesor breaks right yere. '

"The turn falls trey-eight. Cherokee takes in that ten thousanddollar chip. 

"'Bein's that I'm still playin' on velvet, ' remarks this Holliday, an' his tone is listless an' languid like he's only half interested, 'I'll go twenty thousand on the high kyard, open. This trip we omitsthe copper. '

"The first kyard to show is a deuce. It's better than ten to oneCherokee will win. But disapp'intment chokes the camp; the nextkyard is a ace, an' Cherokee's swept off his moccasins. The bank isbroke; and to signify as much, Cherokee turns his box on its side, counts over forty thousand dollars to this Holliday an' gets up fromthe dealer's cha'r. 

"As Cherokee rises, Faro Nell slides off the lookout's stool an' intothe vacated cha'r. When Cherokee loses the last bet I hears Nell'steeth come together with a click. I don't dare look towards her atthe time; but now, when she turns the box back, takes out the deck, riffles an' returns it to its place I gives her a glance. Nell's asgame as Cherokee. As she sets over ag'inst this lucky invalid hercolour is high an' her eyes like two stars. 

"'An' now you've got to break me, ' says Nell to this Holliday. 'Also, we restores the _statu quo_, as Colonel Sterett says in that_Coyote_ paper, an' the limit retreats to a even hundred dollars. '

"'Be you-all the partner Mister Hall mentions?' asks this Holliday, at the same time takin' off his sombrero an' throwin' away hisseegyar. 

"Nell says she is. 

"'Miss, ' says this Holliday, 'I feels honoured to find myse'f acrossthe layout from so much sperit an' beauty. A limit of one hundred, says you; an' your word is law! As a first step then, give me threethousand dollars worth of chips an' make 'em fifty dollars each. I'll take the same chance with you on that question of splits I doesformer, an' I wants a hundred on every kyard, middle to win ag'in theends. '

"The deal begins; Nell is winner from the jump; she takes in threebets to lose one plumb down to the turn. This Holliday calls theturn for the limit; an' loses. The kyards go into the box ag'in an'a next deal ensooes. So it continyoos; an' Nell beats this Hollidayhard for half a hour. Nell sees she's in luck; an' she feels thatstrong she concloods to press it some. 

"'The limit's five hundred!' says Nell to this Holliday. 'Come afterme!'

"Holliday bows like he's complimented. 'I'm after you; an' I comesa-runnin', ' he says. 

"Down goes his money all over the lay-out; only now its five hundredinstead of one hundred. 

"It's no avail, this Holliday still loses. At the end of a hour Nellsizes up her roll; she's a leetle over forty thousand strong; jestwhere Cherokee stands at the start. 

"Nell pauses as she's about to put the deck in the box for a deal. She looks at this Holliday a heap thoughtful. That look excites DanBoggs who's been on the brink of fits since ever the play begins, he's that 'motional. 

"'Don't raise the limit, Nell!' says Dan in a awful whisper. 'That'swhere Cherokee's weak at the go-off. He ought never to have thrownaway the limit. '

"Nell casts her eyes--they're burnin' like coals!--on Dan. I can seehis bluff about Cherokee bein' weak has done decided her mind. 

"'Cherokee does right, ' says Nell to Dan, 'like Cherokee allers does. An' I'll do the same as Cherokee. Stranger, ' goes on Nell, turnin'from Dan to this Holliday; 'go as far as you likes. The bridle's offthe hoss. '

"'An' much obleeged to you, Miss!' says this Holliday, with anotherof them p'lite bows. 'As the kyards goes in the box, I makes you thesame three bets I makes first to Mister Hall. Ten thousand, coppered, in the pot; ten thousand, open, in the big squar'; an' tenthousand on the high kyard, coppered. '

"'An' now as then, ' says Nell, sort o' catchin' her breath, 'theten-spot's the soda kyard!'

"Son, it won't happen ag'in in a billion years! Nell's right handshakes a trifle--she's only a child, mind, an' ain't got the nervesthat goes with case-hardened sports--as she shoves the ten-spotforth. But it's comin' her way; her luck holds; as certain as we allsets yere drinkin' toddy, the same two kyards shows for her as forCherokee, but this time they falls 'king-seven'; the bank wins, an'pore Holliday is cleaned out. 

"'Thar, Cherokee, ' says Nell, an' thar's a soft smile an' a sigh ofdeep content goes with the observation, 'thar's your bank ag'in; onlyit's thirty thousand stronger than it is four hours ago. '

"'Your bank, ladybird, you means!' says Cherokee. 

"'Well, our bank, then, ' retorts Nell. 'What's the difference?Don't you-all tell me we're partners?' Then Nell motions to BlackJack. 'The drinks is on me, Jack, ' she says; 'see what the housewill have. '"

CHAPTER IV. 

How The Raven Died. 

"Which if you-all is out to hear of Injuns, son, " observed the OldCattleman, doubtfully, "the best I can do is shet my eyes an' push alongregyardless, like a cayouse in a storm of snow. But I don't guarantee nofacts; none whatever! I never does bend myse'f to severe study ofsavages an' what notions I packs concernin' 'em is the casual frootes ofwhat I accidental hears an' what I sees. It's only now an' then, as Iobserves former, that Injuns invades Wolfville; an' when they does, we-all scowls 'em outen camp--sort o' makes a sour front, so as to break'em early of habits of visitin' us. We shore don't hone none to have 'emhankerin' 'round. 

"Nacherally, I makes no doubt that if you goes clost to Injuns an'studies their little game you finds some of 'em good an' some bad, somegaudy an' some sedate, some cu'rous an' some indifferent, same as youfinds among shore-enough folks. It's so with mules an' broncos;wherefore, then, may not these differences exist among Injuns? Comesquar' to the turn, you-all finds white folks separated the same. Somegents follows off one waggon track an' some another; some even makes anew trail. 

"Speakin' of what's opposite in folks, I one time an' ag'in sees twowhite chiefs of scouts who frequent comes pirootin' into Wolfville fromthe Fort. Each has mebby a score of Injuns at his heels who pertains tohim personal. One of these scout chiefs is all buck-skins, fringes, beads an' feathers from y'ears to hocks, while t'other goes garbed in astiff hat with a little jim crow rim--one of them kind you deenom'natesas a darby--an' a diag'nal overcoat; one chief looks like a dime novel ona spree an' t'other as much like the far East as he saveys how. An' yet, son, this voylent person in buckskins is a Second Lootenent--a mere boy, he is--from West P'int; while that outcast in the reedic'lous hat isfoaled on the plains an' never does go that clost to the risin' sun as toglimpse the old Missouri. The last form of maverick bursts frequent intoWestern bloom; it's their ambition, that a-way, to deloode you intodeemin' 'em as fresh from the States as one of them tomatter airtights. 

"Thar's old gent Jeffords; he's that sort. Old Jeffords lives for longwith the Apaches; he's found among 'em when Gen'ral Crook--the old 'GreyFox'--an' civilisation and gatlin' guns comes into Arizona arm in arm. Iused to note old Jeffords hibernatin' about the Oriental over in Tucson. I shore reckons he's procrastinatin' about thar yet, if the Great Speritain't done called him in. As I says, old Jeffords is that long among theApaches back in Cochise's time that the mem'ry of man don't run none tothe contrary. An' yet no gent ever sees old Jeffords wearin' anythingmore savage than a long-tail black surtoot an' one of them stove pipehats. Is Jeffords dangerous? No, you-all couldn't call him a distinctperil; still, folks who goes devotin' themse'fs to stirrin' Jeffords upjest to see if he's alive gets disasterous action. He has long grey ha'ran' a tangled white beard half-way down his front; an' with that old plughat an' black coat he's a sight to frighten children or sour milk!Still, Jeffords is all right. As long as towerists an' other inquisitivepeople don't go pesterin' Jeffords, he shore lets 'em alone. Otherwise, you might as well be up the same saplin' with a cinnamon b'ar; whichyou'd most likely hear something drop a lot!

"For myse'f, I likes old Jeffords, an' considers him a pleasin'conundrum. About tenth drink time he'd take a cha'r an' go camp byhimse'f in a far corner, an' thar he'd warble hymns. Many a time as Ifiles away my nosepaint in the Oriental have I been regaled with, Jesus, Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high, as emanatin' from Jeffords where he's r'ared back conductin' somepersonal services. Folks never goes buttin' in interferin' with theseconcerts; which it's cheaper to let him sing. 

"Speakin' of Injuns, as I su'gests, I never does see over-much of 'em inWolfville. An' my earlier experiences ain't thronged with 'em neither, though while I'm workin' cattle along the Red River I does carom onInjuns more or less. Thar's one old hostile I recalls speshul; he's afool Injun called Black Feather;--Choctaw, he is. This Black Feather'sweakness is fire-water; he thinks more of it than some folks does ofchildren. 

"Black Feather used to cross over to where Dick Stocton maintains a storean' licker house on the Upper Hawgthief. Of course, no gent sells theseInjuns licker. It's ag'in the law; an' onless you-all is onusual eagerto make a trip to Fort Smith with a marshal ridin' herd on you doorin'said visit, impartin' of nosepaint to aborigines is a good thing not todo. But Black Feather, he'd come over to Dick Stocton's an' linger'round the bar'ls of Valley Tan, an' take a chance on stealin' a snifteror two while Stocton's busy. 

"At last Stocton gets tired an' allows he'll lay for Black Feather. Thisyere Stocton is a mighty reckless sport; he ain't carin' much whatever hedoes do; he hates Injuns an' shot guns, an' loves licker, seven-up, an'sin in any form; them's Stocton's prime characteristics. An' he getsmighty weary of the whiskey-thievin' Black Feather, an' lays for him. 

"One evenin' this aggravatin' Black Feather crosses over an' takes toha'ntin' about Dick Stocton's licker room as is his wont. It looks likeBlack Feather has already been buyin' whiskey of one of them boot-laigparties who takes every chance an' goes among the Injuns an' sells 'emnosepaint on the sly. 'Fore ever he shows up on the Upper Hawgthief thattime, this Black Feather gets nosepaint some'ers an' puts a whole quartof it away in the shade; an' he shore exhibits symptoms. Which for onething he feels about four stories tall!

"Stocton sets a trap for Black Feather. He fills up the tin cup intowhich he draws that Valley Tan with coal-oil--karoseen you-all callsit--an' leaves it, temptin' like, settin' on top a whiskey bar'l. Shore!it's the first thing Black Feather notes. He sees his chance an' grabsan' downs the karoseen; an' Stocton sort o' startin' for him, this BlackFeather gulps her down plump swift. The next second he cuts loose theyell of that year, burns up about ten acres of land, and starts for RedRiver. No, I don't know whether the karoseen hurts him none or not; buthe certainly goes squatterin' across the old Red River like a woundedwild-duck, an' he never does come back no more. 

"But, son, as you sees, I don't know nothin' speshul or much touchin'Injuns, an' if I'm to dodge the disgrace of ramblin' along in thisdesultory way, I might better shift to a tale I hears Sioux Sam relate toDoc Peets one time in the Red Light. This Sam is a Sioux, an a mightydecent buck, considerin' he's Injun; Sam is servin' the Great Father as ascout with the diag'nal-coat, darby-hat sharp I mentions. Peets givesthis saddle-tinted longhorn a 4-bit piece, an' he tells this yarn. Itsounds plenty childish; but you oughter b'ar in mind that savages, mental, ain't no bigger nor older than ten year old young-ones among thepalefaces. 

"'This is the story my mother tells me, ' says Sioux Sam, 'to show me theevils of cur'osity. "The Great Sperit allows to every one the right toask only so many questions, " says my mother, "an' when they ask one morethan is their right, they die. "

"'This is the story of the fate of _Kaw-kaw-chee_, the Raven, a SiouxChief who died long ago exackly as my mother told me. The Raven diedbecause he asked too many questions an' was too cur'ous. It began whenSublette, who was a trader, came up the _Mitchi-zoor-rah_, the Big-Muddy, an' was robbed by the Raven's people. Sublette was mad at this, an' saidnext time he would bring the Sioux a present so they would not rob him. So he brought a little cask of fire-water an' left it on the bank of theBig-Muddy. Then Sublette went away, an' twenty of the Raven's young menfound the little cask. An' they were greedy an' did not tell the camp;they drank the fire-water where it was found. 

"'The Raven missed his twenty young men an' when he went to spy for them, behold! they were dead with their teeth locked tight an' their faces an'bodies writhen an' twisted as the whirlwind twists the cottonwoods. Thenthe Raven thought an' thought; an' he got very cur'ous to know why hisyoung men died so writhen an' twisted. The fire-water had a whirlwind init, an' the Raven was eager to hear. So he sent for Sublette. 

"'Then the Raven an' Sublette had a big talk. They agreed not to hurteach other; an' Sublette was to come an' go an' trade with the Sioux; an'they would never rob him. 

"'At this, Sublette gave the Raven some of the whirlwind that so killedan' twisted the twenty young men. It was a powder, white; an' it had nosmell. Sublette said its taste was bitter; but the Raven must not tasteit or it would lock up his teeth an' twist an' kill him. For to swallowthe white powder loosed the whirlwind on the man's heart an' it bent himan' twisted him like the storms among the willows. 

"'But the Raven could give the powder to others. So the Raven gave it insome deer's meat to his two squaws; an' they were twisted till they died;an' when they would speak they couldn't, for their teeth were held tighttogether an' no words came out of their mouths, --only a great foam. Thenthe Raven gave it to others that he did not love; they were twisted an'died. At last there was no more of the powder of the whirlwind; theRaven must wait till Sublette came up the Big-Muddy again an' brought himmore. 

"'There was a man, the Gray Elk, who was of the Raven's people. The GrayElk was a _Choo-ayk-eed_, a great prophet. And the Gray Elk had a wife;she was wise an' beautiful, an' her name was Squaw-who-has-dreams. ButGray Elk called her _Kee-nee-moo-sha_, the Sweetheart. 

"'While the Raven waited for Sublette to bring him more powder of thewhirlwind, a star with a long tail came into the sky. This star with thetail made the Raven heap cur'ous. He asked Gray Elk to tell him aboutit, for he was a prophet. The Raven asked many questions; they fell fromhim like leaves from a tree in the month of the first ice. So the GrayElk called _Chee-bee_, the Spirit; an' the Spirit told the Gray Elk. Then the Gray Elk told the Raven. '

"'It was not a tail, it was blood--star blood; an' the star had been bitan' was wounded, but would get well. The Sun was the father of thestars, an' the Moon was their mother. The Sun, _Gheezis_, tried ever topursue an' capture an' eat his children, the stars. So the stars all ranan' hid when the Sun was about. But the stars loved their mother who wasgood an' never hurt them; an' when the Sun went to sleep at night an'_Coush-ee-wan_, the Darkness, shut his eyes, the Moon an' her childrencame together to see each other. But the star that bled had been caughtby the Sun; it got out of his mouth but was wounded. Now it wasfrightened, so it always kept its face to where the Sun was sleeping overin the west. The bleeding star, _Sch-coo-dah_, would get well an' itswound would heal. 

"'Then the Raven wanted to know how the Gray Elk knew all this. An' theGray Elk had the Raven into the medicine lodge that night; an' the Ravenheard the spirits come about an' heard their voices; but he could notunderstand. Also, the Raven saw a wolf all fire, with wings like theeagle which flew overhead. Also he heard the Thunder, _Boom-wa-wa_, talking with the Gray Elk; but the Raven couldn't understand. The GrayElk told the Raven to draw his knife an' stab with it in the air outsidethe medicine lodge. An' when he did, the Raven's blade an' hand cameback covered with blood. Still, the Raven was cur'ous an' kept askin' tobe told how the Gray Elk knew these things. An' the Gray Elk at lasttook the Raven to the Great Bachelor Sycamore that lived alone, an' askedthe Raven if the Bachelor Sycamore was growing. An' the Raven said itwas. Then Gray Elk asked him how he knew it was growing. An' the Ravensaid he didn't know. Then Gray Elk said he did not know how he knewabout _Sch-coo-dah_, the star that was bit. This made the Raven angry, for he was very cur'ous; an' he thought the Gray Elk had two tongues. 

"'Then it came the month of the first young grass an' Sublette was backfor furs. Also he brought many goods; an' he gave to the Raven more ofthe powder of the whirlwind in a little box, At once the Raven made afeast of ducks for the Gray Elk; an' he gave him of the whirlwind powder;an' at once his teeth came together an' the Gray Elk was twisted till hedied. 

"'Now no one knew that the Raven had the powder of the whirlwind, so theycould not tell why all these people were twisted and went to the GreatSpirit. But the Squaw-who-has-dreams saw that it was the Raven whokilled her husband, the Gray Elk, in a vision. Then theSquaw-who-has-dreams went into the mountains four days an' talked with_Moh-kwa_, the Bear who is the wisest of the beasts. The Bear said itwas the Raven who killed the Gray Elk an' told the Squaw-who-has-dreamsof the powder of the whirlwind. 

"'Then the Bear an' the Squaw-who-has-dreams made a fire an' smoked an'laid a plot. The Bear did not know where to find the powder of thewhirlwind which the Raven kept always in a secret place. But the Beartold the Squaw-who-has-dreams that she should marry the Raven an' watchuntil she found where the powder of the whirlwind was kept in its secretplace; an' then she was to give some to the Raven, an' he, too, would betwisted an' die. There was a great danger, though; the Raven would, after the one day when they were wedded, want to kill theSquaw-who-has-dreams. So to protect her, the Bear told her she mustbegin to tell the Raven the moment she was married to him theStory-that-never-ends. Then, because the Raven was more cur'ous thaneven he was cruel, he would put off an' put off giving the powder of thewhirlwind to the Squaw-who-has-dreams, hoping to hear the end of theStory-that-never-ends. Meanwhile the Squaw-who-has-dreams was to watchthe Raven until she found the powder of the whirlwind in its secret place. 

"'Then the wise Bear gave the Squaw-who-has-dreams a bowlful of words asseed, so she might plant them an' raise a crop of talk to tell theStory-that-never-ends. An' the Squaw-who-has-dreams planted theseed-words, an' they grew an' grew an' she gathered sixteen bundles oftalk an' brought them to her wigwam. After that she put beads in herhair, an' dyed her lips red, an' rubbed red on her cheeks, an' put on anew blanket; an' when the Raven saw her, he asked her to marry him. Sothey were wedded; an' the Squaw-who-has-dreams went to the teepee of theRaven an' was his wife. 

"'But the Raven was old an' cunning like _Yah-mee-kee_, the Beaver, an'he said, "He is not wise who keeps a squaw too long!" An' with that hethought he would kill the Squaw-who-has-dreams the next day with thepowder of the whirlwind. But the Squaw-who-has-dreams first told theRaven that she hated _When-dee-goo_, the Giant; an' that she should notlove the Raven until he had killed _When-dee-goo_. She knew the Giantwas too big an' strong for the Raven to kill with his lance, an' that hemust get his powder of the whirlwind; she would watch him an' learn itssecret place. The Raven said he would kill the Giant as the sun wentdown next day. 

"'Then the Squaw-who-has-dreams told the Raven the first of theStory-that-never-ends an' used up one bundle of talk; an' when the storyended for that night, the Squaw-who-has-dreams was saying: "An' so, outof the lake that was red as the sun came a great fish that was green, with yellow wings, an' it walked also with feet, an' it came up to me an'said: "But then she would tell no more that night; nor could the Raven, who was crazy with cur'osity, prevail on her. "I must now sleep an'dream what the green fish with the yellow wings said, " was the reply ofthe Squaw-who-has-dreams, an' she pretended to slumber. So the Raven, because he was cur'ous, put off her death. 

"'All night she watched, but the Raven did not go to the secret placewhere he had hidden the powder of the whirlwind. Nor the next day, whenthe sun went down, did the Raven kill the Giant. But theSquaw-who-has-dreams took up again the Story-that-never-ends an' toldwhat the green fish with the yellow wings said; an' she used up thesecond bundle of talk. When she ceased for that time, theSquaw-who-has-dreams was saying: "An' as night fell, _Moh-kwa_, the Bear, called to me from his canyon, an' said for me to come an' he would showme where the great treasure of fire-water was buried for you who are theRaven. So I went into the canyon, an' _Moh-kwa_, the Bear, took me bythe hand an' led me to the treasure of fire-water which was greater an'richer than was ever seen by any Sioux. "

"'Then the Squaw-who-has-dreams would tell no more that night, while theRaven eat his fingers with cur'osity. But he made up a new plan not totwist the Squaw-who-has-dreams until she showed him the treasure offire-water an' told him the end of the Story-that-never-ends. On herpart, however, the Squaw-who-has-dreams, as she went to sleep, wept an'tore the beads from her hair an' said the Raven did not love her; for hehad not killed the Giant as he promised. She said she would tell no moreof the Story-that-never-ends until the Giant was dead; nor would she showto a husband who did not love her the great treasure of fire-water which_Moh-kwa_, the Bear, had found. At this, the Raven who was hot to havethe treasure of firewater an' whose ears rang with cur'osity to hear theend of the Story-that-never-ends saw that he must kill the Giant. Therefore, when the Squaw-who-has-dreams had ceased to sob and revilehim, an' was gone as he thought asleep, the Raven went to his secretplace where he kept the powder of the whirlwind an' took a little an'wrapped it in a leaf an' hid the leaf in the braids of his long hair. Then the Raven went to sleep. 

"'When the Raven was asleep the Squaw-who-has-dreams went also herself tothe secret place an' got also a little of the powder of the whirlwind. An' the next morning she arose early an' gave the powder of the whirlwindto the Raven on the roast buffalo, the _Pez-hee-kee_, which was his food. 

"'When the Raven had eaten, the Squaw-who-has-dreams went out of theteepee among the people an' called all the Sioux to come an' see theRaven die. So the Sioux came gladly, and the Raven was twisted an'writhen with the power of the whirlwind wrenching at his heart; an' histeeth were tight like a trap; an' no words, but only foam, came from hismouth; an' at last the Spirit, the _Chee-bee_, was twisted out of theRaven; an' the Squaw-who-has-dreams was revenged for the death of theGray Elk whom she loved an' who always called her _Kee-nee-moo-sha_, theSweetheart, because it made her laugh. 

"'When the Raven was dead, the Squaw-who-has-dreams went to the secretplace an' threw the powder of the whirlwind into the Big-Muddy; an' afterthat she distributed her fourteen bundles of talk that were left amongall the Sioux so that everybody could tell how glad he felt because theRaven was twisted and died. An' for a week there was nothing buthappiness an' big talk among the Sioux; an' _Moh-kwa_, the Bear, camelaughing out of his canyon with the wonder of listening to it; while theSquaw-who-has-dreams now, when her revenge was done, went with_When-dee-goo_, the Giant, to his teepee and became his squaw. So noweverything was ended save the Story-that-never-ends. '

"When Sioux Sam gets this far, " concluded the Old Cattleman, "he says, 'an' my mother's words at the end were: "An' boys who ask too manyquestions will die, as did the Raven whose cur'osity was even greaterthan his cruelty. "'"

CHAPTER V. 

The Queerness of Dave Tutt. 

"Which these queernesses of Dave's, " observed the Old Cattleman, "hasalready been harrowin' an' harassin' up the camp for mighty likelyshe's two months, when his myster'ous actions one evenin' in the RedLight brings things to a climax, an' a over-strained public, feelin'like it can b'ar no more, begins to talk. 

"It's plumb easy to remember this Red Light o'casion, for jest prior toDave alarmin' us by becomin' melodious, furtive--melody bein' whollyonnacheral to Dave, that a-way--thar's a callow pin-feather party comescaperin' in an' takin' Old Man Enright one side, asks can he yootiliseWolfville as a strategic p'int in a elopement he's goin' to pull off. 

"'Which I'm out to elope a whole lot from Tucson, ' explains thispin-feather party to Enright, 'an' I aims to cinch the play. I'm amighty cautious sport, an' before ever I hooks up for actooalfreightin' over any trail, I rides her once or twice to locate wood andwater, an' pick out my camps. Said system may seem timorous, but it'sshore safer a heap. So I asks ag'in whether you-all folks has anyobjections to me elopin' into Wolfville with my beloved, like Isuggests. I ain't out to spring no bridals on a onprotected outfit, wherefore I precedes the play with these queries. '

"'But whatever's the call for you to elope at all?' remonstratesEnright. 'The simple way now would be to round up this lady's paternalgent, an' get his consent. '

"'Seein' the old gent, ' says the pin-feather party, ''speshully whenyou lays it smoothly off like that, shore does seem simplicity itse'f. But if you was to prance out an' try it some, it would be found plentycomplex. See yere!' goes on the pin-feather party, beginnin' to rollup his sleeve, 'you-all impresses me as more or less a jedge ofcasyooalities. Whatever now do you think of this? 'An' thepin-feather party exhibits a bullet wound in his left fore-arm, thesame bein' about half healed. 

"'Colt's six-shooter, ' says Enright. 

"'That's straight, ' says the pin-feather party, buttonin' up hissleeve; 'you calls the turn. I wins out that abrasion pleadin' withthe old gent. Which I tackles him twice. The first time he opens onme with his 44-gun before ever I ends the sentence. But he misses. Nacherally, I abandons them marital intentions for what you-all mightcall the "nonce" to sort o' look over my hand ag'in an' see be I right. Do my best I can't on earth discern no reasons ag'in the nuptials. Moreover, the lady--who takes after her old gent a heap--cuts in on theplay with a bluff that while she don't aim none to crowd my hand, she'sdoo to begin shootin' me up herse'f if I don't show more passionateanxiety about leadin' her to the altar. It's then, not seein' why theold gent should go entertainin' notions ag'in me, an' deemin' mebbythat when he blazes away that time he's merely pettish and don't reallymean said bullet none, that I fronts up ag'in. '

"'An' then, ' asks Enright, 'whatever does this locoed parent do?'

"'Which I jest shows you what, ' says the pin-feather party. 'He getsthe range before ever I opens my mouth, an' plugs me. At that I beginsto half despair of winnin' his indorsements. I leaves it to you-all;be I right?'

"'Why, ' says Enright, rubbin' his fore'erd some doobious, 'it wouldlook like the old gent is a leetle set ag'in you. Still, as theresponsible chief of this camp, I would like to hear why you reckonsWolfville is a good place to elope to. I don't s'ppose it's on accountof them drunkards over in Tucson makin' free with our good repoote an'lettin' on we're light an' immoral that a-way?'

"'None whatever!' says the pin-feather party. 'It's on account of youwolves bein' regyarded as peaceful, staid, an' law abidin' that I firstconsiders you. Then ag'in, thar ain't a multitood of places clostabout Tucson to elope to nohow; an' I can't elope far on account of myroll. '

"The replies of this pin-feather party soothes Enright an' engages himon that side, so he ups an' tells the 'swain, ' as Colonel Sterett callshim later in the Coyote, to grab off his inamorata an' come a-runnin'. 

"'Which, givin' my consent, ' says Enright when explainin' about itlater, 'is needed to protect this tempest-tossed lover in thepossession of his skelp. The old gent an' that maiden fa'r has got himbetween 'em, an' onless we opens up Wolfville as a refooge, it lookslike they'll cross-lift him into the promised land. '

"But to go back to Dave. "

Here my old friend paused and called for refreshments. I seized theadvantage of his silence over a glass of peach and honey, to suggest aneagerness for the finale of the Tucson love match. 

"No, " responded my frosty friend, setting down his glass, "we'll pursoothe queernesses of Dave. That Tucson elopement 'is another story aheap, ' as some wise maverick says some'ers, an' I'll onload it on youon some other day. 

"When Dave evolves the cadencies in the Red Light that evenin', thar'sEnright, Moore an' me along with Dan Boggs, bein' entertained byhearin' Cherokee Hall tell us about a brace game he gets ag'inst in LasVegas one time. 

"'This deadfall--this brace I'm mentionin', ' says Cherokee, 'is over onthe Plaza. Of course, I calls this crooked game a "brace" in speakin'tharof to you-all sports who ain't really gamblers none. That's to bep'lite. But between us, among a'credited kyard sharps, a brace game isallers allooded to as "the old thing. " If you refers to a game ofchance as "the old thing, " they knows at once that every chance is'liminated an' said deevice rigged for murder. '

"'That's splendid, Cherokee, ' says Faro Nell, from her lookout's roostby his shoulder; 'give 'em a lecture on the perils of gamblin' withstrangers. '

"Thar's no game goin' at this epock an' Cherokee signifies hiswillin'ness to become instructive. 

"'Not that I'm no beacon, neither, ' says Cherokee, 'on the rockywreck-sown shores of sport; an' not that I ever resorts to onderhandan' doobious deals myse'f; still, I'm cap'ble of p'intin' out thedangers. Scientists of my sort, no matter how troo an' faithful to thep'int of honour, is bound to savey all kyard dooplicities in theiruttermost depths, or get left dead on the field of finance. Every gentshould be honest. But more than honest--speshully if he's out to buckfaro-bank or set in on casyooal games of short-kyards--every gentshould be wise. In the amoosements I mentions to be merely honestcan't be considered a complete equipment. Wherefore, while I nevermakes a crooked play an' don't pack the par'fernalia so to do, I'mplenty astoote as to how said tricks is turned. 

"'Which sports has speshulties same as other folks. Thar's TexasThompson, his speshulty is ridin' a hoss; while Peets's speshulty isshootin' a derringer, Colonel Sterett's is pol'tics, Enright's isjestice, Dave's is bein' married, Jack Moore's is upholdin' law an'order, Boggs's is bein' sooperstitious, Missis Rucker's is composin'bakin' powder biscuits, an' Huggins's is strong drink. '

"'Whatever is my speshulty, Cherokee?' asks Faro Nell, who's asimmersed as the rest in these settin's forth; 'what do you-all reckonnow is my speshulty?'

"'Bein' the loveliest of your sex, ' says Cherokee, a heap emphatic, an'on that p'int we-all strings our game with his. 

"'That puts the ambrosia on me, ' says Faro Nell, blushin' withpleasure, an' she calls to Black Jack. 

"'As I observes, ' goes on Cherokee, 'every sport has his speshulty. Thar's Casino Joe; his is that he can "tell the last four. "Nacherally, bein' thus gifted, a game of casino is like so much moneyin the bank for Joe. Still, his gifts ain't crooked, they're genius;Joe's simply born able to "tell the last four. "

"'Which, you gents is familiar by repoote at least with the severalplans for redoocin' draw-poker to the prosaic level of shore-things. Thar's the "bug" an' the "foot-move" an' the "sleeve holdout" an'dozens of kindred schemes for playin' a cold hand. An' thar'soptimists, when the game is easy, who depends wholly on a handkerchiefin their laps to cover their nefariousness. If I'm driven to counsel agent concernin' poker it would be to never play with strangers; an'partic'lar to never spec'late with a gent who sneezes a lot, or turnshis head an' talks of draughts of cold air invading' the place, or sayshis foot's asleep an' gets up to stampede about the room after a handis dealt an' prior to the same bein' played. It's four to one thisafflicted sharp is workin' a holdout. Then that's the "punch" to marka deck, an' the "lookin' glass" to catch the kyards as they're dealt. Then thar's sech manoovers as stockin' a deck, an' shiftin' a cut, an'dealin' double. Thar's gents who does their work from the bottom of adeck---puts up a hand on the bottom, an' confers it on a pard or onthemse'fs as dovetails with their moods. He's a one-arm party--shy hisright arm, he is--who deals a hand from the bottom the best I everbeholds. 

"'No, I don't regyard crooked folks as dangerous at poker, only you'vegot to watch 'em. So long as your eye is on 'em a heap attentivethey're powerless to perform their partic'lar miracle, an' as a result, since that's the one end an' aim of their efforts, they becomes mightyinocuous. As a roole, crooked people ain't good players on the squar', an' as long as you makes 'em play squar', they're yours. 

"'But speakin' of this devious person on the Las Vegas Plaza that time:The outfit is onknown to me--I'm only a pilgrim an' a stranger an'don't intend to tarry none--when I sets up to the lay-out. I ain't gota bet down, however, before I sees the gent who's dealin', sign-up theseven to the case-keep, an' instanter I feels like I'd known that bevyof bandits since long before the war. Also, I realises their methodsafter I takes a good hard look. That dealer's got what postgradyooates in faro-bank robbery calls a "end squeeze" box; the deck istrimmed--"wedges" is the name--to put the odds ag'in the evens, an'sanded so as to let two kyards come at a clatter whenever saidpheenomenon is demanded by the exigencies of their crimes; an' thar yoube. No, it's a fifty-two-kyard deck all right, an' the dealer dependson "puttin' back" to keep all straight. An' I'm driven to concedethat the put-back work of said party is like a romance; puttin' back'shis speshulty. His left hand would sort o' settle as light as a deadleaf over the kyard he's after that a-way--not a tenth part of asecond--an' that pasteboard would come along, palmed, an' as his handfloats over the box as he's goin' to make the next turn the kyard wouldreassoome its cunnin' place inside. An' all as smoothly serene aspray'r meetin's. '

"'An', nacherally, you denounces this felon, ' says Colonel Sterett, who's come in an' who's integrity is of the active sort. 

"'Nacherally, I don't say a word, ' retorts Cherokee. 'I ain't foryears inhabited these roode an' sand-blown regions, remote as they befrom best ideals an' high examples of the East, not to long before havelearned the excellence of that maxim about lettin' every man kill hisown snakes. I says nothin'; I merely looks about to locate the victimof them machinations with a view of goin' ag'inst his play. '

"It's when Cherokee arrives at this place in his recitals that Daveevolves his interruptions. He's camped by himse'f in a reemote cornerof the room, an' he ain't been noticin' nobody an' nobody's beennoticin' him. All at once, in tones which is low but a heapdiscordant, Dave hums to himse'f something that sounds like:

 'Bye O babe, lie still in slumber, Holy angels gyard thy bed. '

"At this, Cherokee in a horrified way stops, an' we-all looks at eachother. Enright makes a dispar'in' gesture towards Dave an' says:

"'Gents, first callin' your attention to the fact that Dave ain'tover-drinkt an' that no nosepaint theery is possible in accountin' forhis acts, I asks you for your opinions. As you knows, this thing'sbeen goin' for'ard for some time, an' I desires to hear if from anystandp'int of public interest do you-all figger that steps should betook?'

"In order to fully onderstand Enright in all he means, I oughter laybar' that Dave's been conductin' himse'f in a manner not to beexplained for mighty likely she's eight weeks. Yeretofore, thar's nomore sociable sport an' none whose system is easier to follow in allWolfville than Dave. While holdin' himse'f at what you might call'par' on all o'casions, Dave is still plenty minglesome an' fraternalwith the balance of the herd, an' would no more think of donnin' airsor puttin' on dog than he'd think of blastin' away at one of us withhis gun. Yet eight weeks prior thar shorely dawns a change. 

"Which the first symptom--the advance gyard as it were of Dave'sgettin' queer--is when Dave's standin' in front of the post-office. Thar's a faraway look to Dave at the time, like he's tryin' to settlewhether he's behind or ahead on some deal. While thus wropped in thisfit of abstraction Dan Boggs comes hybernatin' along an' asks Dave top'int into the Red Light for a smell of Valley Tan. Dave sort o'rouses up at this an' fastens on Dan with his eyes, half truculent an'half amazed, same as if he's shocked at Dan's familiarity. Then heshakes his head decisive. 

"'Don't try to braid this mule's tail none!' says Dave, an' at that hestrides off with his muzzle in the air. Boggs is abashed. 

"'Which these insultin' bluffs of Dave's, ' says Boggs, as we canvassesthe play a bit later, 'would cut me to the quick, but I knows it ain'ton the level, Dave ain't himse'f when he declines said nosepaint--hisintellects ain't in camp. '

"This ontoward an' onmerited rebuke to Boggs is followed, by furtherbreaks as hard to savey. Dave ain't no two days alike. One time he'sthat haughty he actooally passes Enright himse'f in the street an' nomore heed or recognition than if Wolfville's chief is the last Mexicanto come no'th of the line. Then later Dave is effoosive an' goes aboutriotin' in the s'ciety of every gent whereof he cuts the trail. Oneday he won't drink; an' the next he's tippin' the canteen from sun-uptill he's claimed by sleep. Which he gets us mighty near distracted;no one can keep a tab on him. What with them silences an'volyoobilities, sobrieties an' days of drink, an' all in bewilderin'alternations, he's shore got us goin' four ways at once. 

"'In spite of the fact, ' continyooes Dan Boggs when we're turnin'Dave's conduct over in our minds an' rummagin' about for reasons; 'inspite of the fact, I says, that I'm plenty posted in advance that I'mup ag'inst a gen'ral shout of derision on account of me bein'sooperstitious, I'm yere to offer two to one Dave's hoodooed. Moreover, I can name the hoodoo. '

"'Whatever is it then?' asks Texas Thompson; 'cut her freely loose an'be shore of our solemn consid'ration. '

"'It's opals, ' says Boggs. 'Them gems as every well-instructed gent isaware is the very spent of bad luck. Dave's wearin' one in his shirtright now. It's that opal pin wherewith he decks himse'f recent whilehe's relaxin' with nosepaint in Tucson. I'm with him at the time an' Isays to him: "Dave, I wouldn't mount that opal none. Which all opalsis implacable hoodoos, an' it'll likely conjure up your rooin. " But Imight as well have addressed that counsel to a buffalo bull for all therespectful heed I gains. Dave gives me a grin, shets one eye plentycunnin', an' retorts: "Dan, you're envious; you wants that ornamentyourse'f an' you're out to try an make me diskyard it in your favour. Sech schemes, Dan, can't make the landin'. Opals that a-way is asharmless as bull snakes. Also, I knows what becomes my looks; an'while I ain't vain, still, bein' married as you're aware, it's wisdomin me to seize every openin' for enhancin' my pulcritoode. The betterI looks, the longer Tucson Jennie loves me; an' I'm out to reetain thatlady's heart at any cost. " No, I don't onbend in no response, ' goes onBoggs. 'Them accoosations of Dave about me honin' for said bauble isoncalled for. I'd no more pack a opal than I'd cut for deal an' embarkon a game of seven-up with a ghost. As I states, the luck of opals isblack. '

"'I was wont to think so, ' says Enright, 'but thar once chances a play, the same comin' off onder my personal notice, that shakes myconvictions on that p'int. Thar's a broke-down sport--this yere's longago while I'm briefly sojournin' in Socorro--who's got a opal, an' heone day puts it in hock with a kyard sharp for a small stake. Thekyard gent says he ain't alarmed none by these charges made of opalsbein' bad luck. It's a ring, an' he sticks it on his little finger. Two days later he goes broke ag'in four jacks. 

"'This terrifies him; he begins to believe in the evil innocences ofopals. He presents the jewelry to a bar-keep, who puts it up, sincehis game limits itse'f to sellin' licker an', him bein' plenty carefulnot to drink none himse'f, his contracted destinies don't offer nofield for opals an' their malign effects. In less time than a week, however, his wife leaves him; an' also that drink-shop wherein heofficiates is blown down by a high wind. 

"'That bar-keep emerges from the rooms of his domestic hopes an' thedesolation of that gin mill, an' endows a lady of his acquaintance withthis opal ornament. It ain't twenty-four hours when she cuts loose an'weds a Mexican. 

"'Which by this time, excitement is runnin' high, an' you-all couldn'thave found that citizen in Socorro with a search warrant who declinesto believe in opals bein' bad luck. On the hocks of these catastrophesit's the common notion that nobody better own that opal; an' saidmalev'lent stone in the dooal capac'ty of a cur'osity an' a warnin' isput in the seegyar case at the Early Rose s'loon. The first day it'sthar, a jeweller sharp come in for his daily drinks--he runs thejewelry store of that meetropolis an' knows about diamonds an' sim'larjimcracks same as Peets does about drugs--an' he considers thistalisman, scrootinisin' it a heap clost. "Do you-all believe in thebad luck of opals?" asks a pard who's with him. "This thing ain't noopal, " says the jeweller sharp, lookin' up; "it's glass. "

"'An' so it is: that baleful gewgaw has been sailin' onder a alias; itain't no opal more'n a Colt's cartridge is a poker chip. An', ofcourse, it's plain the divers an' several disasters, from the loss ofthat kyard gent's bank-roll down to the Mexican nuptials of theill-advised lady to whom I alloodes, can't be laid to its charge. Thewhole racket shocks an' shakes me to that degree, ' concloods Enright, 'that to-day I ain't got no settled views on opals', none whatever. '

"'Jest the same, I thinks it's opals that's the trouble with Dave, 'declar's Boggs, plenty stubborn an' while the rest of us don't yoonitewith him, we receives his view serious an' respectful so's not to joltBoggs's feelin's. 

"Goin' back, however, to when Dave sets up the warble of 'Bye O baby!'that a-way, we-all, followin' Enright's s'licitation for our thoughts, abides a heap still an' makes no response. Enright asks ag'in: 'Whatdo you-all think?'

"At last Boggs, who as I sets forth frequent is a nervous gent, an' oneon whom silence soon begins to prey, ag'in speaks up. Bein' doubtfulan' mindful of Enright's argyment ag'in his opal bluff, however, Boggsdon't advance his concloosions this time at all emphatic. In a tonelike he's out ridin' for information himse'f, Boggs says:

"'Mebby, if it ain't opals, it's a case of straight loco. '

"'While I wouldn't want to readily think Dave locoed, ' says Enright, 'seein' he's oncommon firm on his mental feet, still he's shore gotsomething on his mind. An' bein' it is something, it's possible as yousays that Dave's intellects is onhossed. '

"'Whatever for a play would it be, ' says Cherokee, 'to go an' ask Davehimse'f right now?'

"'I'd be some slow about propoundin' sech surmises to Dave, ' saysBoggs. 'He might get hostile; you can put a wager on it, he'd turn outdisagree'ble to a degree, if he did. No, you-all has got to handle aloonatic with gloves. I knows a gent who entangles himse'f with aloonatic, askin' questions, an' he gets all shot up. '

"'I reckons, however, ' says Cherokee, 'that I'll assoome the resk. Dave an' me's friends; an' I allows if I goes after him in ways bothsoft an' careless, so as not to call forth no suspicions, he'll take itgood-humoured even if he is locoed. '

"We-all sets breathless while Cherokee sa'nters down to where Dave'sstill wropped in them melodies. 

"'Whatever be you hummin' toones for, Dave?' asks Cherokee allaccidental like. 

"'Which I'm rehearsin', ' says Dave, an' he shows he's made impatient. 'Don't come infringin' about me with no questions, ' goes on Dave. 'I'mlike the ancient Romans, I've got troubles of my own; an' no sport whocalls himse'f my friend will go aggravatin' me with ontimelyinquis'tiveness. ' Then Dave gets up an' pulls his freight an' leavesus more onsettled than at first. 

"For a full hour, we does nothin' but canvass this yere question ofDave's aberrations. At last a idee seizes us. Thar's times whenDave's been seen caucusin' with Missis Rucker an' Doc Peets. Mostlikely one of 'em would be able to shed a ray on Dave. By a excellentcoincidence, an' as if to he'p us out, Peets comes in as Texas Thompsonsu'gests that mebby the Doc's qualified to onravel the myst'ry. 

"'Tell you-all folks what's the matter with Dave?' says Peets. 'Pards, it's simply not in the deck. Meanin' no disrespects--for you gentsknows me too well to dream of me harborin' anything but feelin's of thehighest regyards for one an' all--I'll have to leave you camped inoriginal darkness. It would be breakin' professional confidences. Shore, I saveys Dave's troubles an' the causes of these vagaries ofhis; jest the same the traditions of the medical game forces me to hold'em sacred an' secret. '

"'Tell us at least, Doc, ' says Enright, 'whether Dave's likely to growvoylent. If he is, it's only proper that we arranges to tie him down. '

"'Dave may be boisterous later, ' says Peets, an' his reply comes slowan' thoughtful, like he's considerin'; 'he may make a joyful uproar, but he won't wax dangerous. ' This yere's as far as Peets'll go; hedeclines to talk longer, on professional grounds. 

"'Which suspense, this a-way, ' says Boggs, after Peets is gone, 'an' usno wiser than when he shows in the door, makes me desp'rate. I'lloffer the motion: Let's prance over in a bunch, an' demand aexplanation of Missis Rucker. Dave's been talkin' to her as much asever he has to Peets, an' thar's no professional hobbles on the lady;she's footloose, an' free to speak. '

"'We waits on you, Marm, ' says Enright, when ten minutes later Boggs, Cherokee, Texas Thompson an' he is in the kitchen of the O. K. Restauraw where Missis Rucker is slicin' salt hoss an' layin' thefragrant foundations of supper; 'we waits on you-all to ask youradvice. Dave Tutt's been carryin' on in a manner an' form at oncedoobious an' threatenin'. It ain't too much to say that we-all fearsthe worst. We comes now to invite you to tell us all you knows of Davean' whatever it is that so onsettles him. Our idee is that youonderstands a heap about it. '

"'See yere, Sam Enright, ' retorts Missis Rucker, pausin' over the salthoss, 'you ain't doin' yourse'f proud. You better round up this herdof inebriates an' get 'em back to the Red Light. Thar's nothin' thematter with Dave; leastwise if it was the matter with you, you'd besome improved. Dave Tutt's a credit to this camp; never more so thannow; the same bein' a mighty sight more'n I could say of any of you-allan' stick to the trooth. '

"'Then you does know, Missis Rucker, ' says Enright, 'the secret that'sgnawin' at Dave. '

"'Know it, ' replies Misses Rucker, 'of course, I knows it. But I don'tpropose to discuss it none with you tarrapins. I ain't got no patiencewith sech dolts! Now that you-all is yere, however, I'll give younotice that to-morry you can begin to do your own cookin' till youhears further word from me. I'm goin' to be otherwise an' morecongenially engaged. Most likely I'll be back in my kitchen ag'in in aday or two; but I makes no promises. An' ontil sech time as I showsup, you-all can go scuffle for yourse'fs. I've got more importantdooties jest now on my hands than cookin' chuck for sots. '

"As Missis Rucker speaks up mighty vigorous, an' as none of us has thenerve to ask her further an' take the resk of turnin' loose her temper, we lines out ag'in for the Red Light no cl'arer than what we was. 

"'I could ask her more questions, ' says Enright, 'but, gents, I didn'tdeem it wise. Missis Rucker is a most admirable character; but I'msooperstitious about crowdin' her too clost. Like Boggs says aboutopals, thar's plenty of bad luck lurkin' about Missis Rucker's environsif you only goes about its deevelopment the right way. '

"'The sityooation is too many for me, ' says Boggs, goin' up to the barfor a drink, 'I gives it up. I ain't got a notion left, onless it isthat Dave's runnin' for office; that is, I might entertain sech athought only thar ain't no office. '

"'The next day Missis Rucker abandons her post; an' we tharupon findsthat feedin' ourse'fs keeps us busy an' we don't have much time todiscuss Dave. Also, Dave disappears;--in fact, both Dave an' MissisRucker fades from view. 

"It's about fo'rth drink time the evenin' of the third day, an' most ofus is in the Red Light. Thar's a gloom overhangs us like a fog. Mebbyit's the oncertainties which envelops Dave, mebby it's because MissisRucker's done deserted an' left us to rustle for ourse'fs or starve. Most of us is full of present'ments that something's due to happen. 

"All at once, an' onexpected, Dave walks in. A sigh of relief goes up, for the glance we gives him shows he's all right--sane asEnright--clothed an' in his right mind as set fo'th in holy writ. Also, his countenance is a wrinkle of glee. 

"'Gents, ' says Dave, an' his air is that patronisin' it would have beenexasperatin' only we're so relieved, 'gents, I'm come to seekcongratyoolations an' set 'em up. Peets an' that motherly angel, Missis Rucker, allows I'll be of more use yere than in my own house, whereat I nacherally floats over. Coupled with a su'gestion that wedrinks, I wants to say that he's a boy, an' that I brands him "EnrightPeets Tutt. "'"

CHAPTER VI. 

With the Apache's Compliments. 

"Ondoubted, " observed the Old Cattleman, during one of our longexcursive talks, "ondoubted, the ways an' the motives of Injuns is pastthe white man's findin' out. He's shore a myst'ry, the Injun is! an'where the paleface forever fails of his s'lootion is that the latterropes at this problem in copper-colour from the standp'int of theCaucasian. Can a dog onderstand a wolf? Which I should remark not!

"It's a heap likely that with Injuns, the white man in his turn is jestas difficult to solve. An' without the Injun findin' onusual faultwith 'em, thar's a triangle of things whereof the savage accooses thepaleface. The Western Injuns at least--for I ain't posted none onEastern savages, the same bein' happily killed off prior to mytime--the Western Injuns lays the bee, the wild turkey, an' that weedfolks calls the 'plantain, ' at the white man's door. They-all descendsupon the Injun hand in hand. No, the Injun don't call the last-namedveg'table a 'plantain;' he alloodes to it as 'the White Man's Foot. '

"Thar's traits dominant among Injuns which it wouldn't lower thestandin' of a white man if he ups an' imitates a whole lot. I onceencounters a savage--one of these blanket Injuns with feathers in hisha'r--an' bein' idle an' careless of what I'm about, I staggers intocasyooal talk with him. This buck's been East for the first time inhis darkened c'reer an' visited the Great Father in Washin'ton. I askshim what he regyards as the deepest game he in his travels goesag'inst. At first he allows that pie, that a-way, makes the mostprofound impression. But I bars pie, an' tells him to su'gest thebiggest thing he strikes, not on no bill of fare. Tharupon, abandonin' menoos an' wonders of the table, he roominates a moment an'declar's that the steamboat--now that pie is exclooded--ought to getthe nomination. 

"'The choo-choo boat, ' observes this intelligent savage, 'is thepaleface's big medicine. '

"'You'll have a list of marvels, ' I says, 'to avalanche upon the peoplewhen you cuts the trail of your ancestral tribe ag'in?'

"'No, ' retorts the savage, shakin' his head ontil the skelp-lock whipshis y'ears, an' all mighty decisive; 'no; won't tell Injun nothin'. '

"'Why not?' I demands. 

"'If I tell, ' he says, 'they no believe. They think it all heap lie. '

"Son, consider what a example to travellers is set by that ontooteredsavage? That's what makes me say thar be traits possessed of Injuns, personal, which a paleface might improve himse'f by copyin'. 

"Bein' white myse'f, I'm born with notions ag'in Injuns. I learns oftheir deestruction with relief, an' never sees one pirootin' about, full of life an' vivacity, but the spectacle fills me with vainregrets. All the same thar's a load o' lies told East concernin' theInjun. I was wont from time to time to discuss these red folks withGen'ral Stanton, who for years is stationed about in Arizona, an'--merely for the love he b'ars to fightin'--performs as chief ofscouts for Gen'ral Crook. 

"'Our divers wars with the Apaches, ' says Gen'ral Stanton, 'comes moreas the frootes of a misdeal by a locoed marshal than anything elsebesides. When Crook first shows up in Arizona--this is in the longago--an' starts to inculcate peace among the Apaches, he gets oldJeffords to bring Cochise to him to have a pow-wow. Jeffords rounds upCochise an' herds him with soft words an' big promises into thepresence of Crook. The Grey Fox--which was the Injun name forCrook--makes Cochise a talk. Likewise he p'ints out to the chief thelandmarks an' mountain peaks that indicates the Mexican line. An' theGrey Fox explains to Cochise that what cattle is killed an' what skelpsis took to the south'ard of the line ain't goin' to bother him a bit. But no'th'ard it's different; thar in that sacred region cattle killin'an' skelp collectin' don't go. The Grey Fox shoves the information onCochise that every trick turned on the American side of the line hasdone got to partake of the characteristics of a love affair, or theGrey Fox with his young men in bloo--his walk-a-heaps an' hishoss-warriors--noomerous as the grass, they be--will come down onCochise an' his Apaches like a coyote on a sage hen or a pan of milkfrom a top shelf an' make 'em powerful hard to find. 

"'Cochise smokes an' smokes, an' after considerin' the bluff of theGrey Fox plenty profound, allows he won't call it. Thar shall be peacebetween the Apache an' the paleface to the no'th'ard of that line. Then the Grey Fox an' Cochise shakes hands an' says "How!" an' Cochise, with a bolt or two of red calico wherewith to embellish his squaws, goes squanderin' back to his people, permeated to the toes withfriendly intentions. 

"'Sech is Cochise's reverence for his word, coupled with his fear ofthe Grey Fox, that years float by an' every deefile an' canyon of theSouthwest is as safe as the aisles of a church to the moccasins of thepaleface. Thus it continyoos ontil thar comes a evenin' when a jimcrowmarshal, with more six-shooters than hoss sense, allows he'll apprehendCochise's brother a whole lot for some offense that ain't most likelydeuce high in the category of troo crime. This ediot offishul reachesfor the relative of Cochise; an' as the latter--bein' a savage an'tharfore plumb afraid of captivity--leaps back'ard like he's met upwith a rattlesnake, the marshal puts his gun on him an' plugs him sogood that he cashes in right thar. The marshal says later inexplanation of his game that Cochise's brother turns hostile an' dropshis hand on his knife. Most likely he does; a gent's hands--even aApache's--has done got to be some'ers. 

"'But the killin' overturns the peaceful programmes built up betweenthe Grey Fox an' Cochise. When the old chief hears of his brotherbein' downed, he paints himse'f black an' red an' sends a bundle ofarrows tied with a rattlesnake skin to the Grey Fox with a message tocount his people an' look out for himse'f. The Grey Fox, who realisesthat the day of peace has ended an' the sun gone down to rise on amornin' of trouble, fills the rattlesnake skin with cartridges an'sends 'em back with a word to Cochise to turn himse'f loose. From thatmoment the war-jig which is to last for years is on. After Cochisecomes Geronimo, an' after Geronimo comes Nana; an' one an' all, theyadds a heap of spice to life in Arizona. It's no exaggeration to putthe number of palefaces who lose their ha'r as the direct result ofthat fool marshal layin' for Cochise's brother an' that Injun'sconsequent cuttin' off, at a round ten thousand. Shore! thar's scoresan' scores who's been stood up an' killed in the hills whereof we nevergets a whisper. I, myse'f, in goin' through the teepees of a Apacheoutfit, after we done wipes 'em off the footstool, sees the long ha'rof seven white women who couldn't have been no time dead. 

"'Who be they? Folks onknown who's got shot into while romancin' alongamong the hills with schemes no doubt of settlement in Californy. 

"'With what we saveys of the crooelties of the Apaches, thar's likewisea sperit of what book-sharps calls chivalry goes with 'em an' albeit onone ha'r-hung o'casion I profits mightily tharby, I'm onable to give ita reason. You wouldn't track up on no sim'lar weaknesses among thepalefaces an' you-all can put down a stack on that. 

"'It's when I'm paymaster, ' says the Gen'ral, reachin' for the canteen, 'an' I starts fo'th from Fort Apache on a expedition to pay off thenearby troops. I've got six waggons an' a escort of twenty men. Formyse'f, at the r'ar of the procession, I journeys proudly in aamb'lance. Our first camp is goin' to be on top of the mesa out ahandful of miles from the Fort. 

"'The word goes along the line to observe a heap of caution an' notstraggle or go rummagin' about permiscus, for the mountains is alivewith hostiles. It's five for one that a frownin' cloud of 'em ishangin' on our flanks from the moment we breaks into the foothills. No, they'd be afoot; the Apaches ain't hoss-back Injuns an' only fondof steeds as food. He never rides on one, a Apache don't, but he'llcamp an' build a fire an' eat a corral full of ponies if you'll furnish'em, an' lick his lips in thankfulness tharfore. But bein' afoot won'thinder 'em from keepin' up with my caravan, for in the mountains thesnow is to the waggon beds an' the best we can do, is wriggle along thetrail like a hurt snake at a gait which wouldn't tire a papoose. 

"'We've been pushin' on our windin' uphill way for mighty likely half aday, an' I'm beginnin'--so dooms slows is our progress--to despair ofgettin' out on top the mesa before dark, when to put a coat of paint onthe gen'ral trouble the lead waggon breaks down. I turns out in thesnow with the rest, an' we-all puts in a heated an' highly profanehalf-hour restorin' the waggon to health. At last we're onder headwayag'in, an' I wades back through the snow to my amb'lance. 

"'As I arrives at the r'ar of my offishul waggon, it occurs to me thatI'll fill a pipe an' smoke some by virchoo of my nerves, the same bein'torn and frayed with the many exasperations of the day. I gives mydriver the word to wait a bit, an' searchin' forth my tobacco outfitloads an' lights my pipe. I'm planted waist deep in the mountainsnows, but havin' on hossman boots the snow ain't no hardship. 

"'While I'm fussin' with my pipe, the six waggons an' my twenty mencurves 'round a bend in the trail an' is hid by a corner of the canyon. I reflects at the time--though I ain't really expectin' no perils--thatI'd better catch up with my escort, if it's only to set the troops aexample. As I exhales my first puff of smoke and is on the verge oftellin' my driver to pull out--this yere mule-skinner is settin' sothat matters to the r'ar is cut off from his gaze by the canvas coverof my waggon--a slight noise attracts me, an' castin' my eye along thetrail we've been climbin', I notes with feelin's of disgust a fulldozen Apaches comin'. An' it ain't no hyperbole to say they're shorecomin' all spraddled out. 

"'In the lead for all the deep snow, an' racin' up on me like the wind, is a big befeathered buck, painted to the eyes; an' in his right fist, raised to hurl it, is a 12-foot lance. As I surveys this pageant, Irealises how he'pless, utter, I be, an' with what ca'mness I may, adjusts my mind to the fact that I've come to the end of my trails. He'pless? Shore! I'm stuck as firm in the snow as one of the pinesabout me; my guns is in the waggon outen immediate reach; thar I standsas certain a prey to that Apache with the lance as he's likely to go upag'inst doorin' the whole campaign. Why, I'm a pick-up! I remembersmy wife an' babies, an' sort o' says "Goodbye!" to 'em, for I'm ascertain of my finish as I be of the hills, or the snows beneath myfeet. However, since it's all I can do, I continyoos to smoke an'watch my execootioners come on. 

"'The big lance Injun is the dominatin' sperit of the bunch. As hedraws up to me--he's fifty foot in advance of the others--he makes hislance shiver from p'int to butt. It fairly sings a death song! I canfeel it go through an' through me a score of times. But I stands tharfacin' him; for, of course, I wants it to go through from the front. Idon't allow to be picked up later with anything so onfashionable as alance wound in my back. That would be mighty onprofessional!

"'You onderstands that what now requires minutes in the recital don'tcover seconds as a play. The lance Injun runs up to within a rod of mean' halts. His arm goes back for a mighty cast of the lance; theweepon is vibrant with the very sperit of hate an' malice. His eyes, through a fringe of ha'r that has fallen over 'em, glows out like acat's eyes in the dark. 

"We stands thar--I still puffin my pipe, he with his lance raised--an'we looks on each other--I an' that paint-daubed buck! I can't saywhatever is his notion of me, but on my side I never beholds a savagewho appeals to me as a more evil an' forbiddin' picture!

"'As I looks him over a change takes place. The fire in his eyes diesout, his face relaxes its f'rocity, an' after standin' for a moment an'as the balance of the band arrives, he turns the lance over his arm an'with the butt presented, surrenders it into my hand. You can gamble Idon't lose no time in arguin' the question, but accepts the lance withall that it implies. Bringin' the weepon to a 'Right Shoulder' an'with my mind relieved, I gives the word to my mule-skinner--who'sonconscious of the transactions in life an' death goin' on behind hisback--an' with that, we-all takes up our march an' soon comes up on theescort where it's ag'in fixed firm in the snow about a furlong to thefore. My savages follows along with me, an' each of 'em as grave assquinch owls an' tame as tabby cats. 

"'Joke? no; them Apaches was as hostile as Gila monsters! Butbeholdin' me, as they regyards it--for they don't in their ontaughtsimplicity make allowance for me bein' implanted in the snow, gunlessan' he'pless--so brave, awaitin' deestruction without a quiver, theiradmiration mounts to sech heights it drowns within 'em every thought ofcancellin' me with that lance, an' tharupon they pays me their savagecompliments in manner an' form deescribed. They don't regyardthemse'fs as surrenderin' neither; they esteems passin' me the lance asinauguratin' a armistice an' looks on themse'fs as guests of honor an'onder my safegyard, free to say "How!" an' vamos back to the warpathag'in whenever the sperit of blood begins to stir within their breasts. I knows enough of their ways to be posted as to what they expects; an'bein', I hopes, a gent of integrity, I accedes to 'em that exact statuswhich they believes they enjoys. 

"'They travels with me that day, eats with me that evenin' when wemakes our camp, has a drink with me all 'round, sings savage hymns tome throughout the night, loads up with chuck in the mornin', offers meno end of flattery as a dead game gent whom they respects, says_adios_; an' then they scatters like a flock of quail. Also, havin'resoomed business on old-time lines, they takes divers shots at us withtheir Winchesters doorin' the next two days, an' kills a hoss an'creases my sergeant. Why don't I corral an' hold 'em when they're inmy clutch? It would have been breakin' the trooce as Injuns an' Ionderstands sech things; moreover, they let me go free withoutconditions when I was loser by every roole of the game. '"

CHAPTER VII. 

The Mills of Savage Gods. 

"Thar might, of course, be romances in the West, " observed the OldCattleman, reflectively, in response to my question, "but the folksain't got no time. Romance that a-way demands leesure, an' a party hasto be more or less idlin' about to get what you-all might styleromantic action. Take that warjig whereof I recently relates an'wherein this yere Wild Bill Hickox wipes out the McCandlas gang--six tohis Colt's, four to his bowie, an' one to his Hawkins rifle; eleven inall--I asks him myse'f later when he's able to talk, don't he regyardthe eepisode as some romantic. An' Bill says, 'No, I don't notice noromance tharin; what impresses me most is that she's shore a zealousfight--also, mighty busy. '

"Injuns would be romantic, only they're so plumb ignorant they neveronce saveys. Thar's no Injun word for 'romantic'; them benightedsavages never tumblin' to sech a thing as romance bein' possible. An'yet said aborigines engages in plays which a eddicated Eastern tastewith leesure on its hands an' gropin' about for entertainment wouldpass on as romantic. 

"When I'm pesterin' among the Osages on that one o'casion that I'mtryin' to make a round-up of my health, the old buck Strike Axe relatesto me a tale which I allers looks on as possessin' elements. Shore;an' it's as simple an' straight as the sights of a gun. It's about asquaw an' three bucks, an' thar's enough blood in it to paint a waggon. Which I reckons now I'll relate it plain an' easy an' free of themfrills wherewith a professional racontoor is so prone to overload hisnarratives. 

"The Black Cloud is a Osage medicine man an' has high repoote aboutGreyhoss where he's pitched his teepee an' abides. He's got a squaw, Sunbright, an' he's plenty jealous of this yere little Sunbright. TheBlack Cloud has three squaws, an' Sunbright is the youngest. Theothers is Sunbright's sisters, for a Osage weds all the sisters of afam'ly at once, the oldest sister goin' to the front at the nuptials todeal the weddin' game for the entire outfit. 

"Now this Sunbright ain't over-enamoured of Black Cloud; he's only ahalf-blood Injun for one thing, his father bein' a buffalo-man (negro)who's j'ined the Osages, an' Sunbright don't take kindly to his nosewhich is some flatter than the best rools of Osage beauty demands; an'likewise thar's kinks in his ha'r. Still, Sunbright sort o' keeps heraversions to herse'f, an' if it ain't for what follows she most likelywould have travelled to her death-blankets an' been given a seat on ahill with a house of rocks built 'round her--the same bein' the usualburial play of a Osage--without Black Cloud ever saveyin' that so farfrom interestin' Sunbright, he only makes her tired. 

"Over south from Black Cloud's Greyhoss camp an' across the Arkansawan' some'ers between the Polecat an' the Cimmaron thar's livin' a youngCreek buck called the Lance. He's straight an' slim an' strong as theweepon he's named for; an' he like Black Cloud is a medicine sharp ofcel'bration an' stands way up in the papers. The Creeks is never wearyof talkin' about the Lance an' what a marvel as a medicine man he is;also, by way of insultin' the Osages, they declar's onhesitatin' thatthe Lance lays over Black Cloud like four tens, an' offers to bethosses an' blankets an' go as far as the Osages likes that this is troo. 

"By what Strike Axe informs me, --an' he ain't none likely to overplayin his statements--by what Strike Axe tells me, I says, the Lance mustshore have been the high kyard as a medicine man. Let it get dark withthe night an' no moon in the skies, an' the Lance could take you-allinto his medicine lodge, an' you'd hear the sperits flappin' theirpinions like some one flappin' a blanket, an' thar'd be whisperin's an'goin's on outside the lodge an' in, while fire-eyes would show an' burnan' glower up in the peak of the teepee; an' all plenty skeary an'mystifiyin'. Besides these yere accomplishments the Lance is one ofthem mesmerism sports who can set anamiles to dreamin'. He could calla coyote or a fox, or even so fitful an' nervous a prop'sition as aantelope; an' little by little, snuffin' an' snortin', or if it's acoyote, whinin', them beasts would approach the Lance ontil they'rethat clost he'd tickle their heads with his fingers while they standsshiverin' an' sweatin' with apprehensions. You can put a bet on it, son, that accordin' to this onbiassed buck, Strike Axe, the Lance isondoubted the big medicine throughout the Injun range. 

"As might be assoomed, the Black Cloud is some heated ag'in the Lancean' looks on him with baleful eye as a rival. Still, Black Cloud hashis nerve with him constant, an' tharfore one day when the Osages an'Creeks has been dispootin' touchin' the reespective powers of him an'the Lance, an' this latter Injun offers to come over to Greyhoss an'make medicine ag'in him, Black Cloud never hesitates or hangs back likea dog tied onder a waggon, but calls the bluff a heap prompt an' tellsthe Lance to come. 

"Which the day is set an' the Lance shows in the door, as monte sharpswould say. Black Cloud an' the Lance tharupon expands themse'fs, an'delights the assembled Creeks an' Osages with their whole box oftricks, an' each side is braggin' an' boastin' an' puttin' it up thattheir gent is most likely the soonest medicine man who ever buys blackpaint. It's about hoss an' hoss between the two. 

"Black Cloud accompanies himse'f to this contest with a pure white ponywhich has eyes red as roobies--a kind o' albino pony--an' he gives itforth that this milk-coloured bronco is his 'big medicine' or familiarsperit. The Lance observes that the little red-eyed hoss is mightyimpressive to the savages, be they Creeks or Osages. At last he saysto Black Cloud:

"'To show how my medicine is stronger than yours, to-morry I'll makeyour red-eyed big medicine bronco go lame in his off hind laig. '

"Black Cloud grins scornful at this; he allows that no sport can makehis white pony go lame. 

"He's plumb wrong; the next mornin' the white pony is limpin' an'draggin' his off hind hoof, an' when he's standin' still he p'ints thetoe down like something's fetched loose. Black Cloud is sore; but hecan't find no cactus thorn nor nothin' to bring about the lameness an'he don't know what to make of the racket. Black Cloud's up ag'inst it, an' the audience begins to figger that the Lance's' medicine is toostrong for Black Cloud. 

"What's the trouble with the red-eyed pony? That's simple enough, son. The Lance done creeps over in the night an' ties a hossha'r tight aboutthe pony's laig jest above the fetlock. Black Cloud ain't up to nosech move, the same bein' a trade secret of the Lance's an' bein' thehossha'r is hid in the ha'r on the pony's laig, no one notes itspresence. 

"After Black Cloud looks his red-eyed big medicine pony all over an'can't onderstand its lameness, the Lance asks him will he cure it. Black Cloud, who's sc'owlin' like midnight by now, retorts that hewill. So he gets his pipe an' fills it with medicine tobacco an' blowsa mouthful of smoke in the red-eyed pony's nose. Sech remedies don'twork; that pony still limps on three laigs, draggin' the afflictedmember mighty pensive. 

"At last the Lance gives Black Cloud a patronisin' smile an' says thathis medicine'll cure the pony sound an' well while you're crackin' offa gun. He walks up to the pony an' looks long in its red eyes; thepony's y'ears an' tail droops, its head hangs down, an' it goes mightynear to sleep. Then the Lance rubs his hand two or three times up an'down the lame laig above the fetlock an' elim'nates that hossha'rligature an' no one the wiser. A moment after, he wakes up thered-eyed pony an' to the amazement of the Osages an' the onboundeddelight of the Creeks, the pony is no longer lame, an' the laig so lateafflicted is as solid an' healthy as a sod house. What's biggermedicine still, the red-eyed pony begins to follow the Lance about likea dog an' as if it's charmed; an' it likewise turns in to bite an' r'aran' pitch an' jump sideways if Black Cloud seeks to put his paw on him. Then all the Injuns yell with one voice: 'The Lance has won the BlackCloud's big medicine red-eyed pony away from him. '

"The Lance is shore the fashion, an' Black Cloud discovers he ain't afour-spot by compar'son. His repootation is gone, an' the Lance isregyarded as the great medicine along the Arkansaw. 

"Sunbright is lookin' on at these manoovers an' her heart goes out tothe Lance; she falls more deeply in love with him than even thered-eyed bronco does. That evenin' as the Lance is goin' to his camponder the cottonwoods, he meets up with Sunbright standin' still as atree in his path with her head bowed like a flower that's gone tosleep. The Lance saveys; he knows Sunbright; likewise he knows whather plantin' herse'f in his way an' her droopin' attitoode explains. He looks at her, an' says;

"'I am a guest of the Osages, an' to-night is not the night. Waitontil the Lance is in his own teepee on the Polecat; then come. '

"Sunbright never moves, never looks up; but she hears an' she knowsthis is right. No buck should steal a squaw while he's a guest. TheLance walks on an' leaves her standin', head bowed an' motionless. 

"Two days later the Lance is ag'in in his own teepee. Sunbright countsthe time an' knows that he must be thar. She skulks from the camp ofBlack Cloud an' starts on her journey to be a new wife to a new husband. 

"Sunbright is a mile from camp when she's interrupted. It's BlackCloud who heads her off. Black Cloud may not be the boss medicine man, but he's no fool, an' his eyes is like a wolf's eyes an' can see in thedark. He guesses the new love which has stampeded Sunbright. 

"Injuns is a mighty cur'ous outfit. Now if Sunbright had succeeded ingettin' to the lodge of her new husband, the divorce between her an'Black Cloud would have been complete. Moreover, if on the dayfollowin' or at any time Black Cloud had found her thar, he wouldn't somuch as have wagged a y'ear or batted a eye in recognition. Hewouldn't have let on he ever hears of a squaw called 'Sunbright. ' Thisca'mness would be born of two causes. It would be ag'in Injunetiquette to go trackin' about makin' a onseemly uproar an' disturbin'the gen'ral peace for purely private causes. Then ag'in it would bebeneath the dignity of a high grade savage an' a big medicine sharp toconduct himse'f like he'd miss so trivial a thing as a squaw. 

"But ontil Sunbright fulfils her elopement projects an' establishesherse'f onder the protectin' wing of her new love, she's runnin' resks. She's still the Black Cloud's squaw; an' after she pulls her maritalpicket pin an' while she's gettin' away, if the bereaved Black Cloudcrosses up with her he's free, onder the license permitted to Injunhusbands, to kill her an' skelp her an' dispose of her as consists bestwith his moods. 

"Sunbright knows this; an' when she runs ag'in the Black Cloud in herflight, she seats herse'f in the long prairie grass an' covers her headwith her blanket an' speaks never a word. 

"'Does Sunbright so love me, ' says Black Cloud, turnin' aheap ugly, 'that she comes to meet me? Is it for me she has combed her h'ar an'put on a new feather an' beads? Does she wear her new blanket an'paint her face bright for Black Cloud? Or does she dress herse'f likethe sun for that Creek coyote, the Lance?'" Sunbright makes no reply, Black Cloud looks at her a moment an' then goes on: "It's for theLance! Good! I will fix the Sunbright so she will be a good squaw tomy friend, the Lance, an' never run from his lodge as she does now fromBlack Cloud's. ' With that he stoops down, an' a slash of his knifecuts the heel-tendons of Sunbright's right foot. She groans, andwrithes about the prairie, while Black Cloud puts his knife back in hisbelt, gets into his saddle ag'in an' rides away. 

"The next day a Creek boy finds the body of Sunbright where she rollsherse'f into the Greyhoss an' is drowned. 

"When the Lance hears the story an' sees the knife slash on Sunbright'sheel, he reads the trooth. It gives him a bad heart; he paints hisface red an' black an thinks how he'll be revenged. Next day he sendsa runner to Black Cloud with word that Black Cloud has stole his hoss. This is to arrange a fight on virtuous grounds. The Lance says that intwo days when the sun is overhead Black Cloud must come to the threecottonwoods near the mouth of the Cimmaron an' fight, or the Lance onthe third day an' each day after will hunt for him as he'd hunt a wolfontil Black Cloud is dead. The Black Cloud's game, an' sends word thaton the second day he'll be thar by the three cottonwoods when the sunis overhead; also, that he will fight with four arrows. 

"Then Black Cloud goes at once, for he has no time to lose, an' kills adog near his lodge. He cuts out its heart an' carries it to the rockycanyon where the rattlesnakes have a village. Black Cloud throws thedog's heart among them an' teases them with it; an' the rattlesnakesbite the dog's heart ag'in an' ag'in ontil it's as full of p'isen as abottle is of rum. After that, Black Cloud puts the p'isened heart inthe hot sun an' lets it fret an' fester ontil jest before he goes tohis dooel with the Lance. As he's about to start, Black Cloud dips thefour steel arrowheads over an' over in the p'isened heart, bein'careful to dry the p'isen on the arrowheads; an' now whoever is touchedwith these arrows so that the blood comes is shore to die. The biggestmedicine in the nation couldn't save him. 

"Thar's forty Osage and forty Creek bucks at the three cottonwoods tosee that the dooelists get a squar' deal. The Lance an' Black Cloud isthar; each has a bow an' four arrows; each has made medicine all nightthat he may kill his man. 

"But the dooel strikes a obstacle. 

"Thar's a sombre, sullen sport among the Osages who's troo name is the'Bob-cat, ' but who's called the 'Knife Thrower. ' The Bob-cat is one ofthe Osage forty. Onknown to the others, this yere Bob-cat--who itlooks like is a mighty impressionable savage--is himse'f in love withthe dead Sunbright. An' he's hot an' cold because he's fearful that inthis battle of the bows the Lance'll down Black Cloud an' cheat him, the Bob-cat, of his own revenge. The chance is too much; the Bob-catcan't stand it an' resolves to get his stack down first. An' so ithappens that as Black Cloud an' the Lance, painted in their warcolours, is walkin' to their places, a nine-inch knife flickers like agleam of light from the hand of the Bob-cat, an' merely to show that heain't called the 'Knife Thrower' for fun, catches Black Cloud flush inthe throat, an' goes through an' up to the gyard at the knife-haft. Black Cloud dies standin', for the knife p'int bites his spine. 

"No, son, no one gets arrested; Injuns don't have jails, for the mightyexcellent reason that no Injun culprit ever vamoses an' runs away. Injun crim'nals, that a-way, allers stands their hands an' takes theirhemlock. The Osages, who for Injuns is some shocked at the Bob-cat'sinterruption of the dooel--it bein' mighty onparliamentary from theirstandp'ints--tries the Bob-cat in their triboonals for killin' BlackCloud an' he's decided on as guilty accordin' to their law. Theyapp'ints a day for the Bob-cat to be shot; an' as he ain't present atthe trial none, leavin' his end of the game to be looked after by hisreelatives, they orders a kettle-tender or tribe crier to notify theBob-cat when an' where he's to come an' have said sentence execootedupon him. When he's notified, the Bob-cat don't say nothin'; which issatisfactory enough, as thar's nothin' to be said, an' every Osageknows the Bob-cat'll be thar at the drop of the handkerchief if he'salive. 

"It so turns out; the Bob-cat's thar as cool as wild plums. He'sdressed in his best blankets an' leggin's; an' his feathers an' gaycolours makes him a overwhelmin' match for peacocks. Thar's a whitespot painted over his heart. 

"The chief of the Osages, who's present to see jestice done, motions tothe Bob-cat, an' that gent steps to a red blanket an' stands on itsedge with all the blanket spread in front of him on the grass. TheBob-cat stands on the edge, as he saveys when he's plugged that he'llfall for'ard on his face. When a gent gets the gaff for shore, hefalls for'ard. If a party is hit an' falls back'ards, you needn't getexcited none; he's only creased an' 'll get over it. 

"Wherefore, as I states, the Bob-cat stands on the edge of the blanketso it's spread out in front to catch him as he drops. Thar's not aword spoke by either the Bob-cat or the onlookers, the latter openin'out into a lane behind so the lead can go through. When the Bob-cat'sready, his cousin, a buck whose name is Little Feather, walks to thefront of the blanket an' comes down careful with his Winchester on thewhite mark over the Bob-cat's heart. Thar's a moment's silence as theBob-cat's cousin runs his eye through the sights; thar's a flash an' ahatful of gray smoke; the white spot turns red with blood; an' then theBob-cat falls along on his face as soft as a sack of corn. 

"What becomes of the Lance? It's two weeks later when that scientistis waited on by a delegation of Osages. They reminds him thatSunbright has two sisters, the same bein' now widows by virchoo of thedemise of that egreegious Black Cloud. Also, the Black Cloud was rich;his teepee was sumptuous, an' he's left a buckskin coat with ivory elkteeth sewed onto it plenty as stars at night. The coat is bigmedicine; moreover thar's the milk-white big medicine bronco with redeyes. The Osage delegation puts forth these trooths while the Lancesets cross-laiged on a b'arskin an' smokes willow bark with muchdignity. In the finish, the Osage outfit p'ints up to the fact thattheir tribe is shy a medicine man, an' a gent of the Lance'saccomplishments who can charm anamiles an' lame broncos will be amighty welcome addition to the Osage body politic. The Lance lays downhis pipe at this an' says, 'It is enough!' An' the next day he salliesover an' weds them two relicts of Black Cloud an' succeeds to that deadnecromancer's estate an' both at one fell swoop. The two widowschuckles an' grins after the manner of ladies, to get a new husband soswift; an' abandonin' his lodge on the Polecat the Lance sets up hisgame at Greyhoss, an' onless he's petered, he's thar dealin' it yet. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

Tom and Jerry; Wheelers. 

"Obstinacy or love, that a-way, when folks pushes 'em to excess, is shorebad medicine. Which I'd be aheap loath to count the numbers them twoattribootes harries to the tomb. Why, son, it's them sentiments thatkills off my two wheel mules, Tom an' Jerry. "

The Old Cattleman appeared to be on the verge of abstract discussion. Asa metaphysician, he was not to be borne with. There was one method ofescape; I interfered to coax the currents of his volubility into otherand what were to me, more interesting channels. 

"Tell me of the trail; or a story about animals, " I urged. "You weresaying recently that perfect systems of oral if not verbal communicationexisted among mules, and that you had listened for hours to their gossip. Give me the history of one of your freighting trips and what befell alongthe trail; and don't forget the comment thereon--wise, doubtless, itwas--of your long-eared servants of the rein and trace-chain. "

"Tell you what chances along the trail? Son, you-all opens a wide-flungrange for my mem'ry to graze over. I might tell you how I'm lost once, freightin' from Vegas into the Panhandle, an' am two days withoutwater--blazin' Jooly days so hot you couldn't touch tire, chain, orbolt-head without fryin' your fingers. An' how at the close of thesecond day when I hauls in at Cabra Springs, I lays down by that cold an'blessed fountain an' drinks till I aches. Which them two days of thirstterrorises me to sech degrees that for one plumb year tharafter, I nevermeets up with water when I don't drink a quart, an' act like I'm layin'in ag'in another parched spell. 

"Or I might relate how I stops over one night from Springer on my way tothe Canadian at a Triangle-dot camp called Kingman. This yere is aone-room stone house, stark an' sullen an' alone on the desolate plains, an' no scenery worth namin' but a half-grown feeble spring. This Kingmanain't got no windows; its door is four-inch thick of oak; an' thar'sloopholes for rifles in each side which shows the sports who builds thatedifice in the stormy long-ago is lookin' for more trouble than comfortan' prepares themse'fs. The two cow-punchers I finds in charge is scaredto a standstill; they allows this Kingman's ha'nted. They tells me howtwo parties who once abides thar--father an' son they be--gets downed bya hold-up whose aim is pillage, an' who comes cavortin' along an'butchers said fam'ly in their sleep. The cow-punchers declar's theyhears the spooks go scatterin' about the room as late as the night beforeI trails in. I ca'ms 'em--not bein' subject to nerve stampedes myse'f, an' that same midnight when the sperits comes ha'ntin' about ag'in, Iturns outen my blankets an' lays said spectres with the butt of my mulewhip--the same when we strikes a light an' counts 'em up bein' a coupleof kangaroo rats. This yere would front up for a mighty thrillin' taleif I throws myse'f loose with its reecital an' daubs in the colour plentyvivid an' free. 

"Then thar's the time I swings over to the K-bar-8 ranch for corn--bein'I'm out of said cereal--an' runs up on a cow gent, spurs, gun-belt, bighat an' the full regalia, hangin' to the limb of a cottonwood, dead asGeorge the Third, an' not a hundred foot from the ranch door. An' howinside I finds a half-dozen more cow folks, lookin' grave an' sayin'nothin'; an' the ranch manager has a bloody bandage about his for'ead, an' another holdin' up his left arm, half bandage an' half sling, thetoot ensemble, as Colonel Sterett calls it, showin' sech recent war thatthe blood's still wet on the cloths an' drops on the floor as we talks. An' how none of us says a word about the dead gent in the cottonwood orof the manager who's shot up; an' how that same manager outfits me withten sacks of mule-food an' I goes p'intin' out for the Southeast an'forgets all I sees an' never mentions it ag'in. 

"Then thar's Sim Booth of the Fryin' Pan outfit, who's one evenin' campedwith me at Antelope Springs; an' who saddles up an' ropes onto the laigsof a dead Injun where they're stickin' forth--bein' washed free by therains--an' pulls an' rolls that copper-coloured departed outen hissepulchre a lot, an' then starts his pony off at a canter an' sort o'fritters the remains about the landscape. Sim does this on the argymentthat the obsequies, former, takes place too near the spring. This yereSim's pony two months later steps in a dog hole when him an' Sim's goin'along full swing with some cattle on a stampede, an' the cayouse falls onSim an' breaks everything about him incloosive of his neck. The othercow-punchers allers allow it's because Sim turns out that aborigine overby Antelope Springs. Now sech a eepisode, properly elab'rated, mightfeed your attention an' hold it spellbound some. 

"Son, if I was to turn myse'f loose on, great an' little, the diversincidents of the trail, it would consoome days in the relation. I couldtell of cactus flowers, blazin' an' brilliant as a eye of red fire ag'inthe brown dusk of the deserts; or of mile-long fields of Spanish bayonetin bloom; or of some Mexican's doby shinin' like a rooby in the sunlighta day's journey ahead, the same one onbroken mass from roof to ground ofthe peppers they calls _chili_, all reddenin' in the hot glare of the day. 

"Or, if you has a fancy for stirrin' incident an' lively scenes, thar's atime when the rains has raised the old Canadian ontil that quicksand fordat Tascosa--which has done eat a hundred teams if ever it swallowsone!--is torn up complete an' the bottom of the river nothin' saveb'ilin' sand with a shallow yere an' a hole deep enough to drown a housescooped out jest beyond. An' how since I can't pause a week or two forthe river to run down an' the ford to settle, I goes spraddlin' an'tumblin' an' swimmin' across on Tom, my nigh wheeler, opens negotiationswith the LIT ranch, an' Bob Roberson, has his riders round-up thepasture, an' comes chargin' down to the ford with a bunch of one thousandponies, all of 'em dancin' an' buckin' an' prancin' like chil'en outenschool. Roberson an' the LIT boys throws the thousand broncos across an'across the ford for mighty likely it's fifty times. They'd flash 'emthrough--the whole band together--on the run; an' then round 'em up onthe opp'site bank, turn 'em an' jam 'em through ag'in. When they ceases, the bottom of the river is tramped an' beat out as hard an' as flat as afloor, an' I hooks up an' brings the waggons over like theford--bottomless quicksand a hour prior--is one of these yere asphaltstreets. 

"Or I might relate about a cowboy tournament that's held over in the flatgreen bottom of Parker's arroya; an' how Jack Coombs throws a rope an'fastens at one hundred an' four foot, while Waco Simpson rides at theherd of cattle one hundred foot away, ropes, throws an' ties down apartic'lar steer, frees his lariat an' is back with the jedges ag'in inforty-eight seconds. Waco wins the prize, a Mexicansaddle--stamp-leather an' solid gold she is--worth four hundred dollars, by them onpreecedented alacrities. 

"Or, I might impart about a Mexican fooneral where the hearse is ablanket with two poles along the aige, the same as one of these battlelitters; of the awful songs the mournful Mexicans sings about departed;of the candles they burns an' the dozens of baby white-pine crosses theysets up on little jim-crow stone-heaps along the trail to the tomb;meanwhiles, howlin' dirges constant. 

"Now I thinks of it I might bresh up the recollections of a mornin' whenI rolls over, blankets an' all, onto something that feels as big as aboot-laig an' plenty squirmy; an' how I shows zeal a-gettin' to my feet, knowin' I'm reposin' on a rattlesnake who's bunked in ag'in my back allsociable to warm himse'f. It's worth any gent's while to see how heatedan' indignant that serpent takes it because of me turnin' out so earlyand so swift. 

"Then thar's a mornin' when I finds myse'f not five miles down the windfrom a prairie fire; an' it crackin' an' roarin' in flame-sheets twentyfoot high an' makin' for'ard jumps of fifty foot. What do I do? Gofor'ard down the wind, set fire to the grass myse'f, an' let her burnahead of me. In two minutes I'm over on a burned deestrict of my own, an' by the time the orig'nal flames works down to my fire line, my ownspeshul fire is three miles ahead an I myse'f am ramblin' along cool an'saloobrious with a safe, shore area of burnt prairie to my r'ar. 

"An' thar's a night on the Serrita la Cruz doorin' a storm, when thelightnin' melts the tire on the wheel of my trail-waggon, an' me layin'onder it at the time. An' it don't even wake me up. Thar's the time, too, when I crosses up at Chico Springs with eighty Injuns who's beenbuffalo huntin' over to the South Paloduro, an' has with 'em four hundredodd ponies loaded with hides an' buffalo beef an' all headed for theirhome-camps over back of Taos. The bucks is restin' up a day or two whenI rides in; later me an' a half dozen jumps a band of antelopes jest'round a p'int of rocks. Son, you-all would have admired to see themsavages shoot their arrows. I observes one young buck a heap clost. Heholds the bow flat down with his left hand while his arrows in theircow-skin quiver sticks over his right shoulder. The way he would flashhis right hand back, yank forth a arrow, slam it on his bow, pull it tothe head an' cut it loose, is shore a heap earnest. Them missiles wouldgo sailin' off for over three hundred yards, an' I sees him get sevenstarted before ever the first one strikes the ground. The Injunsacquires four antelope by this archery an' shoots mebby some fortyarrows; all of which they carefully reclaims when the excitementsubsides. She's trooly a sperited exhibition an' I finds it mightyentertainin'. 

"I throws these hints loose to show what might be allooded to by way ofstories, grave and gay, of sights pecooliar to the trail if only somegent of experience ups an' devotes himse'f to the relations. As it is, however, an' recurrin' to Tom an' Jerry--the same bein' as I informs you, my two wheel mules--I reckons now I might better set forth as to how theycomes to die that time. It's his obstinacy that downs Jerry; while pore, tender Tom perishes the victim--volunteer at that--of the love he b'arshis contrary mate. 

"Them mules, Tom an' Jerry, is obtained by me, orig'nal in Vegas. They're the wheelers of a eight-mule team; an' I gives Frosty--who's agambler an' wins 'em at monte of some locoed sport from Chaparita--twelvehundred dollars for the outfit. Which the same is cheap an' easy atdouble the _dinero_. 

"These mules evident has been part an' passel of the estates of someMexican, for I finds a cross marked on each harness an' likewise on bothwaggons. Mexicans employs this formal'ty to run a bluff on any evilsperit who may come projectin' round. Your American mule skinner nevermakes them tokens. As a roole he's defiant of sperits; an' even when heain't he don't see no refooge in a cross. Mexicans, on the other hand, is plenty strong on said symbol. Every mornin' you beholds a Mexicanwith a dab of white on his fore'erd an' on each cheek bone, an' also onhis chin where he crosses himse'f with flour; shore, the custom isyooniversal an' it takes a quart of flour to fully fortify a full-blownGreaser household ag'inst the antic'pated perils of the day. 

"No sooner am I cl'ar of Vegas--I'm camped near the Plaza de laConcepcion at the time--when I rounds up the eight mules an' looks 'emover with reference to their characters. This is jest after I acquires'em. It's allers well for a gent to know what he's ag'inst; an' you canput down a stack the disp'sitions of eight mules is a important problem. 

"The review is plenty satisfactory. The nigh leader is a steadypractical person as a lead mule oughter be, an' I notes by his ca'mjedgmatical eye that he's goin' to give himse'f the benefit of everydoubt, an' ain't out to go stampedin' off none without knowin' the reasonwhy. His mate at the other end of the jockey-stick is nervous an'hysterical; she never trys to solve no riddles of existence herse'f, thisJane mule don't, but relies on her mate Peter an' plays Peter's systemblind. The nigh p'inter is a deecorous form of mule with no bad habits;while his mate over the chain is one of these yere hard, se'fish, waryparties an' his little game is to get as much of everything except workan' trouble as the lay of the kyards permits. My nigh swing mule is awit like I tells you the other day. Which this jocose anamile is thelife of the team an' allers lettin' fly some dry, quaint observation. This mule wag is partic'lar excellent at a bad ford or a hard crossin', an his gay remarks, full of p'int as a bowie knife, shorely cheers an'uplifts the sperits of the rest. The off swing is a heedless creaturewho regyards his facetious mate as the very parent of fun, an' he goesabout with his y'ear cocked an' his mouth ajar, ready to laugh them 'hah, hah!' laughs of his'n at every word his pard turns loose. 

"Tom an' Jerry is different from the others. Bein' bigger an' havin'besides the respons'bilities of the hour piled onto them as wheel mulesmust, they cultivates a sooperior air an is distant an' reserved in theirattitoodes towards the other six. As to each other their pose needs moredeescription. Tom, the nigh wheeler--the one I rides when drivin'--isinfatyooated with Jerry. I hears a sky-sharp aforetime preach aboutJonathan an' David. Yet I'm yere to assert, son, that them sacred peopleain't on speakin' terms compared to the way that pore old lovin' Tom mulefeels towards Jerry. 

"This affection of Tom's is partic'lar amazin' when you-all recalls thefashion in which the sullen Jerry receives it. Doorin' the several yearsI spends in their s'ciety I never once detects Jerry in any look or wordof kindness to Tom. Jerry bites him an' kicks him an' cusses him outconstant; he never tol'rates Tom closter than twenty foot onless at timeswhen he orders Tom to curry him. Shore, the imbecile Tom submits. Onsech o'casions when Jerry issues a summons to go over him, usin' hisupper teeth for a comb an' bresh, Tom is never so happy. Which he digsan' delves at Jerry's ribs that a-way like it's a honour; after a halfhour, mebby, when Jerry feels refreshed s'fficient, he w'irls on Tom an'dismisses him with both heels. 

"'I track up on folks who's jest the same, ' says Dan Boggs, one time whenI mentions this onaccountable infatyooation of Tom. 'This Jerry lovesthat Tom mule mate of his, only he ain't lettin' on. I knows a ladywhose treatment of her husband is a dooplicate of Jerry's. She metes outthe worst of it to that long-sufferin' shorthorn at every bend in thetrail; it looks like he never wins a good word or a soft look from heronce. An' yet when that party cashes in, whatever does the lady do?Takes a hooker of whiskey, puts in p'isen enough to down a dozen wolves, an' drinks off every drop. 'Far'well, vain world, I'm goin' home, ' saysthe lady; 'which I prefers death to sep'ration, an' I'm out to jine mybeloved husband in the promised land. ' I knows, for I attends thefooneral of that family--said fooneral is a double-header as the lady, bein' prompt, trails out after her husband before ever he's pitched hisfirst camp--an' later assists old Chandler in deevisin' a epitaph, thesame occurrin' in these yere familiar words:

 "She sort o got the drop on him, In the dooel of earthly love; Let's hope he gets an even break When they meets in heaven above. "

"'Thar, ' concloods Dan, 'is what I regyards as a parallel experience tothis Tom an' Jerry. The lady plays Jerry's system from soda to hock, an'yet you-all can see in the lights of that thar sooicide how deep sheloves him. '

"'That's all humbug, Dan, ' says Enright; 'the lady you relates of isn'tlovin'. She's only locoed that a-way. '

"'Whyever if she's locoed, then, ' argues Dan, 'don't they up an' hive herin one of their madhouse camps? She goes chargin' about as free an'fearless as a cyclone. '

"'All the same, ' says Texas Thompson, 'her cashin' in don't prove nolovin' heart. Mebby she does it so's to chase him up an' continyooonbroken them hectorin's of her's. I could onfold a fact or two aboutthat wife of mine who cuts out the divorce from me in Laredo that wouldlead you to concloosions sim'lar. But she wasn't your wife; an' I don'taim to impose my domestic afflictions on this innocent camp, which bein'troo I mootely stands my hand. '

"This Jerry's got one weakness however, I don't never take advantage ofit. He's scared to frenzy if you pulls a gun. I reckons, with all themcrimes of his'n preyin' on his mind, that he allows you're out, to shoothim up. Jerry is ca'm so long as your gun's in the belt, deemin' it asso much onmeanin' ornament. But the instant you pulls it like you'regoin' to put it in play, he onbuckles into piercin' screams. I reachesfor my six-shooter one evenin' by virchoo of antelopes, an' that's thetime I discovers this foible of Jerry's. I never gets a shot. At thesight of the gun Jerry evolves a howl an' the antelopes tharupon hits twoor three high places an' is miles away. Shore, they thinks Jerry is somenew breed of demon. 

"When I turns to note the cause of Jerry's clamours he's loppin' hisfore-laigs over Tom's back an' sobbin' an' sheddin' tears into his mane. Tom sympathises with Jerry an' says all he can to teach him that theavenger ain't on his trail. Nothin' can peacify Jerry, however, exceptjammin' that awful six-shooter back into its holster. I goes over Jerrythat evenin' patiently explorin' for bullet marks, but thar ain't none. No one's ever creased him; an' I figgers final by way of a s'lootion ofhis fits that mighty likely Jerry's attended some killin' betweenhoomans, inadvertent, an' has the teeth of his apprehensions set on aige. 

"Jerry is that high an' haughty he won't come up for corn in the mornin'onless I petitions him partic'lar an' calls him by name. To jest whoop'Mules!' he holds don't incloode him. Usual I humours Jerry an' shoutshis title speshul, the others bein' called in a bunch. When Jerry hearshis name he walks into camp, delib'rate an' dignified, an' kicks everymule to pieces who tries to shove in ahead. 

"Once, feelin' some malignant myse'f, I tries Jerry's patience out. Idon't call 'Jerry, ' merely shouts 'Mules' once or twice an' lets it go atthat. Jerry, when he notices I don't refer to him partic'lar lays hisy'ears back; an' although his r'ar elevation is towards me I can see he'shotter than a hornet. The faithful Tom abides with Jerry; though hetells him it's feed time an' that the others with a nosebag on each of'em is already at their repasts. Jerry only gets madder an' lays for Toman' tries to bite him. After ten minutes, sullen an' sulky, hunger beatsJerry an' he comes bumpin' into camp like a bar'l down hill an' eases hismind by wallopin' both hind hoofs into them other blameless mules, peacefully munchin' their rations. Also, after Jerry's let me put thenosebag onto him he reeverses his p'sition an' swiftly lets fly at me. But I ain't in no trance an' Jerry misses. I don't frale him; I saveysit's because he feels hoomiliated with me not callin' him by name. 

"As a roole me an' Jerry gets through our dooties harmonious. He canpull like a lion an' never flinches or flickers at a pinch. It's shore avict'ry to witness the heroic way Jerry goes into the collar at a hardsteep hill or some swirlin', rushin' ford. Sech bein' Jerry's workhabits I'm prepared to overlook a heap of moral deeficiencies an' neverlays it up ag'in Jerry that he's morose an' repellant when I flings himany kindnesses. 

"But while I don't resent 'em none by voylence, still Jerry has habitsag'inst which I has to gyard. You-all recalls how long ago I tells youof Jerry's, bein' a thief. Shore, he can't he'p it; he's a bornkleptomaniac. Leastwise 'kleptomaniac' is what Colonel Sterett calls itwhen he's tellin' me of a party who's afflicted sim'lar. 

"'Otherwise this gent's a heap respectable, ' says the Colonel. 'Morallyspeakin' thar's plenty who's worse. Of course, seein' he's crowdin'forty years, he ain't so shamefully innocent neither. He ain't nodebyootanty; still, he ain't no crime-wrung debauchee. I should say hegrades midway in between. But deep down in his system this person's akleptomaniac, an' at last his weakness gets its hobbles off an' he turnshimse'f loose, an' begins to jest nacherally take things right an' left. No, he don't get put away in Huntsville; they sees he's locoed an' he'scorraled instead in one of the asylums where thar's nothin' loose an'little kickin' 'round, an' tharfore no temptations. '

"Takin' the word then from Colonel Sterett, Jerry is a kleptomaniac. Iused former to hobble Jerry but one mornin' I'm astounded to see whatlooks like snow all about my camp. Bein' she's in Joone that snow theerydon't go. An' it ain't snow, it's flour; this kleptomaniac Jerry creepsto the waggons while I sleeps an' gets away, one after the other, withfifteen fifty-pound sacks of flour. Then he entertains himse'f an' Tomby p'radin' about with the sacks in his teeth, shakin' an' tossin' hishead an' powderin' my 'Pride of Denver' all over the plains. Which Jerryshore frosts that scenery plumb lib'ral. 

"It's the next night an' I don't hobble Jerry; I pegs him out on alariat. What do you-all reckon now that miscreant does? Corrupts poreTom who you may be certain is sympathisin' 'round, an' makes Tom go tothe waggons, steal the flour an' pack it out to him where he's pegged. The soopine Tom, who otherwise is the soul of integrity, abstracts sixsacks for his mate an' at daybreak the wretched Jerry's standin' thar, white as milk himse'f, an' flour a foot deep in a cirkle whereof theradius is his rope Tom's gazin' on Jerry in a besotted way like he allowshe's certainly the greatest sport on earth. 

"Which this last is too much an' I ropes up Jerry for punishment. Ithrows an' hawgties Jerry, an' he's layin' thar on his side. His eye isobdoorate an' thar's neither shame nor repentance in his heart. Tom issort o' sobbin' onder his breath; Tom would have swapped places withJerry too quick an' I sees he has it in his mind to make the offer, onlyhe knows I'll turn it down. "

"The other six mules comes up an' loafs about observant an' respectful. They jestifies my arrangements; besides Jerry is mighty onpop'lar with'em by reason of his heels. I can hear Peter the little lead mule sayin'to Jane, his mate: 'The boss is goin' to lam Jerry a lot with atrace-chain. Which it's shore comin' to him!'

"I w'irls the chain on high an' lays it along Jerry's evil ribs, _kerwhillup_! Every other link bites through the hide an' the chainplows a most excellent an' wholesome furrow. As the chain descends, thesympathetic Tom jumps an' gives a groan. Tom feels a mighty sight worsethan his _companero_. At the sixth wallop Tom can't b'ar no more, butwith tears an' protests comes an' stands over Jerry an' puts it up he'lltake the rest himse'f. This evidence of brotherly love stands me off, an' for Tom's sake I desists an' throws Jerry loose. That oldscoundrel--while I sees he's onforgivin' an' a-harbourin' of hatredsag'in me--don't forget the trace-chain an' comports himse'f like alaw-abidin' mule for months. He even quits bitin' an' kickin' Tom, an'that lovin' beast seems like he's goin' to break his heart over it, 'cause he looks on it as a sign that Jerry's gettin' cold. 

"But thar comes a day when I loses both Tom an' Jerry. It's about seconddrink time one August mornin' an' me an' my eight mules goes scamperin'through a little Mexican plaza called Tramperos on our way to theCanadian. Over by a 'doby stands a old fleabitten gray mare; she's shorehideous. 

"Now if mules has one overmasterin' deloosion it's a gray mare; she's thereligion an' the goddess of the mules. This knowledge is common; ifyou-all is ever out to create a upheaval in the bosom of a mule thehandiest, quickest lever is a old gray mare. The gov'ment takesadvantage of this aberration of the mules. Thar's trains of pack mulesfreightin' to the gov'ment posts in the Rockies. They figgers on threehundred pounds to the mule an' the freight is packed in panniers. Thegov'ment freighters not bein' equal to the manifold mysteries of adiamond-hitch, don't use no reg'lar shore-enough pack saddle but takesrefooge with their ignorance in panniers. 

"Speakin' gen'ral, thar's mebby two hundred mules in one of thesegov'ment pack trains. An' in the lead, followed, waited on an'worshipped by the mules, is a aged gray mare. She don't pack nothin' buther virchoo an' a little bell, which last is hung 'round her neck. Thisold mare, with nothin' but her character an' that bell to encumber her, goes fa'rly flyin' light. But go as fast an' as far as she pleases, themlong-y'eared locoed worshippers of her's won't let her outen theirraptured sight. The last one of 'em, panniers, freight an' all, would gosurgin' to the topmost pinnacle of the Rockies if she leads the way. 

"An' at that this gray mare don't like mules none; she abhors theircompany an' kicks an' abooses 'em to a standstill whenever they drawsnear. But the fool mules don't care; it's ecstacy to simply know she'slivin' an' that mule's cup of joy is runnin' over who finds himse'fpermitted to crop grass within forty foot of his old, gray bell-bedeckedidol. 

"We travels all day, followin' glimpsin' that flea-bitten cayouse atTramperos. But the mules can't think or talk of nothin' else. Itarouses their religious enthoosiasm to highest pitch; even the cynicJerry gets half-way keyed up over it. I looks for trouble that night;an' partic'lar I pegs out Jerry plenty deep and strong. The rest ishobbled, all except Tom. Gray mare or not, I'll gamble the outfit Tomwouldn't abandon Jerry, let the indoocement be ever so alloorin'. 

"Every well-organised mule team that a-way allers carries along a bronco. This little steed, saddled an' bridled, trots throughout the day by theside of the off-wheeler, his bridle-rein caught over the wheeler's hame. The bronco is used to round up the mules in event they strays or declinesin the mornin' to come when called. Sech bein' the idee, the cayous isallers kept strictly in camp. 

"'James' is my bronco's name; an' the evenin', followin' the vision ofthat Tramperos gray mare I makes onusual shore 'that James stays with me. Not that gray mares impresses James--him bein' a boss an' bosses havin'religious convictions different from mules--or is doo to provetemptations to him; but he might conceal other plans an' get strayedprosecootin' of 'em to a finish. I ties James to the trail-waggon, an'followin' bacon, biscuits, airtights an' sech, the same bein' my froogalfare when on the trail, I rolls in onder the lead-waggon 'an' givesmyse'f up to sleep. 

"Exactly as I surmises, when I turns out at sun-up thar's never a mule insight. Every one of them idolaters goes poundin' back, as fast as everhe can with hobbles on, to confess his sins an' say his pray'rs at theshrine of that old gray mare. Even Jerry, whose cynicism should havesaved him, pulls his picket-pin with the rest an', takin' Tom along, goescurvin' off. It ain't more than ten minutes, you can gamble! when Jamesan' me is on their trails. 

"One by one, I overtakes the team strung all along between my camp an'Tramperos. Peter, the little lead mule, bein' plumb agile an' a sharp onhobbles, gets cl'ar thar; an' I finds him devourin' the goddess gray marewith heart an' soul an' eyes, an' singin' to himse'f the while in low, satisfied tones. 

"As one after the other I passes the pilgrim mules I turns an' liftsabout a squar' inch of hide off each with the blacksnake whip I'mcarryin', by way of p'intin' out their heresies an arousin' in 'em aeagerness to get back to their waggons an' a' upright, pure career. Theytakes the chastisement humble an' dootiful, an' relinquishes the thoughtof reachin' the goddess gray mare. 

"When I overtakes old Jerry I pours the leather into him speshul, an' theway him an' his pard Tom goes scatterin' for camp refreshes me a heap. An' yet after I rescoos Peter from the demoralisin' inflooences of thegray mare, an' begins to pick up the other members of the team on thejourney back, I'm some deepressed when I don't see Tom or Jerry. Nor iseither of them mules by the waggons when I arrives. 

"It's onadulterated cussedness! Jerry, with no hobbles an' merelydraggin' a rope, can lope about free an' permiscus. Tom, with nothin' tohamper him but his love for Jerry, is even more lightsome an' loose. That Jerry mule, hatin' me an' allowin' to make me all the grief he can, sneakingly leaves the trail some'ers after I turns him an' touches him upwith the lash. An' now Tom an' Jerry is shorely hid out an' lost a wholelot. It's nothin' but Jerry's notion of revenge on me. 

"I camps two days where I'm at, an rounds up the region for the trooants. I goes over it like a fine-tooth comb an' rides James to a show-down. That bronco never is so long onder the saddle since he's foaled; I don'treckon he knows before thar's so much hard work in the world as falls tohim when we goes ransackin' in quest of Tom an' Jerry. 

"It's no use; the ground is hard an' dry an' I can't even see theirhoof-marks. The country's so rollin', too, it's no trouble for 'em tohide. At last I quits an' throws my hand in the diskyard. Tom an' Jerryis shore departed an' I'm deeficient my two best mules. I hooks up theothers, an' seein' it's down hill an' a easy trail I makes Tascosa an'refits. 

"I never crosses up on Tom an' Jerry in this yere life no more, but oneday I learns their fate. It's a month later on my next trip back, an'I'm camped about a half day's drive of that same locoed plaza ofTramperos. As I'm settin' in camp with the sun still plenty high--I'mcompilin' flapjacks at the time--I sees eight or ten ravens wheelin' an'cirklin' over beyond a swell about three miles to the left. 

"'Tom an' Jerry for a bloo stack!' I says to myse'f; an' with that Icinches the saddle onto James precip'tate. 

"Shore enough; I'm on the scene of the tragedy. Half way down a rockyslope where thar ain't grass enough to cover the brown nakedness of theground lies the bones of Tom an' Jerry. This latter, who's thatobstinate an' resentful he won't go back to camp when I wallops him onthat gray mare mornin', allows he'll secrete himse'f an' Tom off to oneside an' worrit me up. While he's manooverin' about he gets thehalf-inch rope he's draggin' tangled good an' fast in a mesquite bush. It shorely holds him; that bush is old Jerry's last picket---his lastcamp. Which he'd a mighty sight better played his hand out with me, evenif I does ring in a trace-chain on him at needed intervals. Jerry jestnacherally starves to death for grass an' water. An' what's doubly hardthe lovin' Tom, troo to the last, starves with him. Thar's water withintwo miles; but Tom declines it, stays an' starves with Jerry, an' theravens an' the coyotes picks their frames. "

CHAPTER IX. 

The Influence of Faro Nell. 

"Thar's no doubt about it, " observed the Old Cattleman, apropos of thefairer, better sex--for woman was the gentle subject of our morning'stalk; "thar's no doubt about it, females is a refinin' an' ennoblin'inflooence; you-all can hazard your chips on that an' pile 'em higherthan Cook's Peak! An' when Faro Nell prefers them requests, she'sondoubted moved of feelin's of mercy. They shore does her credit, saidmotives does, an' if she had asked Cherokee or Jack Moore, or evenTexas Thompson, things would have come off as effective an' a mightysight more discreet. But since he's standin' thar handy, Nell ups an'recroots Dan Boggs on the side of hoomanity, an' tharupon Dan goestrackin' in without doo reflection, an' sets the Mexicans exampleswhich, to give 'em a best deescription, is shore some bad. It ain'tNell's fault, but Dan is a gent of sech onusual impulses that you-alldon't know wherever Dan will land none, once you goes pokin' up hisha'r-hung sensibil'ties with su'gestions that is novel to his game. Still, Nell can't he'p it; an' in view of what we knows to be thefemale record since ever the world begins, I re-asserts onhesitatin'that the effects of woman is good. She subdooes the reckless, subjoogates the rebellious, sobers the friv'lous, burns the ground fromonder the indolent moccasins of that male she's roped up in holywedlock's bonds, an' p'ints the way to a higher, happier life. That'swhatever! an' this dramy of existence, as I once hears Colonel Sterettsay, would be a frost an' a failure an' bog plumb down at that, if youwas to cut out the leadin' lady roles an' ring up the curtain withnothin' but bucks in the cast. '

"Narrow an' contracted as you may deem said camp to be, Wolfvilleitse'f offers plenty proof on this head. Thar's Dave Tutt: Whatever isDave, I'd like for to inquire, prior to Tucson Jennie runnin' herwifely brand on to him an' redoocin' him to domesticity? No, thar'snothin' so evil about Dave neither, an' yet he has his little ways. For one thing, Dave's about as extemporaneous a prop'sition as eversets in a saddle, an' thar's times when you give Dave licker an'convince him it's a o'casion for joobilation, an' you-all won't have toleave no 'call' with the clerk to insure yourse'f of bein' out early inthe mornin. ' Son, Dave would keep that camp settin' up all night. 

"But once Dave comes onder the mitigatin' spells of Tucson Jennie, things is changed. Tucson Jennie knocks Dave's horns off doorin' thefirst two weeks; he gets staid an' circumspect an' tharby plays betterpoker an' grows more urbane. 

"Likewise does Benson Annie work mir'cles sim'lar in the conduct ofthat maverick French which Enright an' the camp, to allay the burnin'excitement that's rendin' the outfit on account of the Laundry War, herds into her lovin' arms. Tenderfoot as he is, when we-all ups an'marries him off that time, this French already shows symptoms ofbecomin' one of the most abandoned sports in Arizona. Benson Annieseizes him, purifies him, an' makes him white as snow. 

"An' thar's Missis Rucker;--as troo a lady as ever bakes a biscuit!Even with the burdens of the O. K. Restauraw upon her she still findsenergy to improve old Rucker to that extent he ups an' rides offtowards the hills one mornin' an' never does come back no more. 

"'Doc, ' he says to Doc Peets, while he's fillin' a canteen in the RedLight prior to his start; 'I won't tell you what I'm aimin' toaccomplish, because the Stranglers might regyard it as their dooty toround me up. But thar's something comin' to the public, Doc; so Iyereby leaves word that next week, or next month, or mebby later, ifdoubts is expressed of my fate, I'm still flutterin' about the scenerysome'ers an' am a long ways short of dead. An' as I fades from sight, Doc, I'll take a chance an' say that the clause in the Constitootionwhich allows that all gents is free an' equal wasn't meant to incloodeno married man. ' An' with these croode bluffs Rucker chases forth forthe Floridas. 

"No, the camp don't do nothin'; the word gets passed 'round that oldRucker's gone prospectin' an' that he will recur in our midst wheneverthar's a reg'lar roll-call. As for Missis Rucker, personal, from allwe can jedge by lookin' on--for thar's shore none of us who's thatlocoed we ups an' asks--I don't reckon now she ever notices thatRucker's escaped. 

"Yere's how it is the time when Faro Nell, her heart bleedin' for thesufferin's of dumb an' he'pless brutes, employs Dan Boggs in errants ofmercy an' Dan's efforts to do good gets ill-advised. Not that Dan iseasily brought so he regyards his play as erroneous; Enright has torebooke Dan outright in set terms an' assoome airs of severity beforeever Dan allows he entertains a doubt. 

"'Suppose I does retire that Greaser's hand from cirk'lation?' saysDan, sort o' dispootatious with Enright an' Doc Peets, who's bothengaged in p'intin' out Dan's faults. 'Mexicans ain't got no more needfor hands than squinch owls has for hymn books. They won't work; theynever uses them members except for dealin' monte or clawin' a guitar. I regyards a Mexican's hands that a-way, when considered as feachers inhis makeup, as sooperfluous. '

"'Dan, you shore is the most perverse sport!' says Enright, makin' agesture of impatience an' at the same time refillin' his glass in hopesof a ca'mer frame. 'This ain't so much a question of hands as it's aquestion of taste. Nell's requests is right, an' you're bound to goabout the rescoo of said chicken as the victim of crooelties. Whereyou-all falls down is on a system. The method you invokes isimpertinent. Don't you say so, Doc?'

"'Which I shore does, ' says Peets. 'Dan's conduct is absolootelyoncouth. '

"Dan lays the basis for these strictures in the follow-in' fashion:It's a _fieste_ with the Mexicans--one of the noomerous saint's daysthey gives way to when every Greaser onbuckles an' devotes himse'f tomerriments--an' over in Chihuahua, as the Mexican part of the camp iscalled, the sunburnt portion of Wolfville's pop'lation broadens intoquite a time. Thar's hoss races an' monte an' mescal an' pulque, together with roode music sech as may be wrung from primitiveinstruments like the guitar, the fiddle, an' tin cans half filled withstones. 

"Faro Nell, who is only a child as you-all might say, an' ready to beengaged an' entertained with childish things, goes trippin' over tosize up the gala scene. 

"Thar's a passel of young Mexicans who's Ridin' for the Chicken's Head. This yere is a sport something like a Gander Pullin', same as we-allengages in on Thanksgivin' days an' Christmas, back when I'm a boy inTennessee. You saveys a Gander Pullin'? Son, you don't mean sechignorance! Thar must have been mighty little sunshine in the life of ayooth in the morose regions where you was raised for you-all never todisport yourse'f, even as a spectator, at a Gander Pullin'! Itwouldn't surprise me none after that if you ups an' informs me younever shakes a fetlock in that dance called money-musk. 

"To the end that you be eddicated, --for it's better late thannever, "--I'll pause concernin' Boggs an' the Mexicans long enough toeloocidate of Gander Pullin's. 

"As I su'gests, we onbends in this pastime at sech epocks as Christmasan' Thanksgivin. ' I don't myse'f take actooal part in any GanderPullin's. Not that I'm too delicate, but I ain't got no hoss. Bein' apore yooth, I spends the mornin' of my c'reer on foot, an' as a hoss isa necessary ingreedient to a Gander Pullin', I never does stand inpersonal on the festival, but is redooced to become a envy-bittenlooker-on. 

"Gander Pullin's is conducted near a tavern or a still house so's theassembled gents won't want the inspiration befittin' both the seasonan' the scene, an' is commonly held onder the auspices of theproprietor tharof. Thar's a track marked out in a cirkle like a littleracecourse for the hosses to gallop on. This course runs between twopoles pinned into the ground; or mebby it's two trees. Thar's a ropestretched from pole to pole, --taut an' stiff she's stretched; an' thegander who's the object of the meetin', with his neck an' head greaseda heap lavish, is hung from the rope by his two hind laigs. As thegander hangs thar, what Colonel Sterett would style 'the cynosure ofevery eye, ' you'll notice that a gent by standin' high in the stirrupscan get a grip of the gander's head. 

"As many as determines to distinguish themse'fs in the amoosementthrows a two-bit piece into a hat. Most likely thar'll be fortypartic'pants. They then lines up, Injun file, an' goes caperin' roundthe course, each in his place in the joyous procession. As a gent goesonder the rope he grabs for the gander's head; an' that party who'sexpert enough to bring it away in his hand, wins the hat full oftwo-bit pieces yeretofore deescribed. 

"Which, of course, no gent succeeds the first dash outen the box, as agander's head is on some good and strong; an' many a saddle getsemptied by virchoo of the back'ard yanks a party gets. But it's onwith the dance! They keeps whoopin' an' shoutin' an' ridin' the cirklean' grabbin' at the gander, each in his cheerful turn, ontil somestrong or lucky party sweeps away the prize, assoomes title to thetwo-bit pieces, goes struttin' to the licker room an' buys nosepaintfor the pop'lace tharwith. 

"Shore, doorin' a contest a gent's got to keep ridin'; he's not allowedto pause an' dally with the gander an' delay the game. To see to thisa brace of brawny sharps is stationed by each pole with clubs in theirwillin' hands to reemonstrate with any hoss or gent who slows down orstops as he goes onder the gander. 

"Thar you have it, son; a brief but lively picture of a Gander Pullin'as pulled former in blithe old Tennessee. An' you'll allow, if yousets down to a ca'm, onja'ndiced study of the sport, that a half hourof reasonable thrill might be expected to flow from it. GanderPullin's is popular a lot when I'm a yearlin'; I knows that for shore;though in a age which grows effete it's mighty likely if we-all goesback thar now, we'd find it fallen into disuse as a reelaxation. 

"In Ridin' for the Chicken's Head, a Mexican don't hang up his preynone same as we-all does at Gander Pullin's. He buries it in theground to sech degrees that nothin' but the head an' neck protroodes. An' as the Mexicans goes flashin' by on their broncos, each in turnswings down an' makes a reach for the chicken's head. The experimentcalls for a shore-enough rider; as when a party is over on one sidethat a-way, an' nothin' to hold by but a left hand on the saddlehornan' a left spur caught in the cantle, any little old pull will fetchhim out on his head. 

"This day when Faro Nell comes bulgin' up to amoose her young an' idlecur'osity with the gayeties of Chihuahua, the Ridin' for the Chicken'sHead is about to commence. Which they're jest plantin' the chicken. At first Nell don't savey, as she ain't posted deep on Mexicanpastimes. But Nell is plenty quick mental; as, actin' look-out forCherokee's bank, she's bound to be. Wherefore Nell don't study thepreeliminaries long before she gets onto the roodiments of some ideeconcernin' the jocund plans of the Greasers. 

"At last the chicken is buried, an' thar's nothin' in sight but itsanxious head. Except that it can turn an' twist its neck some, it'sfixed in the ground as firm an' solid as the stumps of a mesquite bush. 

"The first Greaser--he's a gaudy party with more colours than you couldcount in any rainbow--is organisin' for a rush. He's pickin' up hisreins an' pushin' his moccasins deep into his tappedaries, when, as hegives his cayouse the spur, the beauty of Ridin' for the Chicken's Headbursts full on Faro Nell. Comin' on her onexpected, Nell don't see nopleasure in it. It don't present the attractions which so alloores theheart of a Greaser. Without pausin' to think, an' feelin' shocked overthe fate that's ridin' down on the buried chicken, Nell grips herlittle paws convulsive an' snaps her teeth. It's then her eye catchesDan Boggs, who's contemplatin' details an' awaitin' the finish withvivid interest. 

"'Oh, Dan!' says Nell, grabbin' Dan's arm, 'I don't want that chickenhurt none! Can't you-all make 'em stop?'

"'Shore!' says Dan, prompt to Nell's cry. 'I preevails on 'em to ceaseeasy. '

"As Dan says this, that radiant cavalier is sweepin' upon the porechicken like the breath of destiny. He's bendin' from the saddle tomake a swoop as Dan speaks. Thar ain't a moment to lose an' Dan's handgoes to his gun. 

"'Watch me stop him, ' says Dan; an' as he does, his bullet makes ragsof the Mexican's hand not a inch from the chicken's head. 

"For what time you-all might need to slop out a drink, the onlookin'Mexicans stands still. Then the stoopefyin' impressions made by Dan'spistol practice wears off an' a howl goes up like a hundred wolves. Atthis Dan gets his number-two gun to b'ar, an' with one in each hand, confronts the tan-coloured multitoode. 

"'That's shore a nice shot, Nell!' says Dan over his shoulder, ropin'for the congratoolations he thinks is comin. '

"But Nell don't hear him; she's one hundred yards away an' streakin' itfor the Red Light like a shootin' star. She tumbles in on us with thebrake off like a stage-coach downhill. 

"'Dan's treed Chihuahua!' gasps Nell, as she heads straight forCherokee; 'you-all better rustle over thar plumb soon!'

"Cherokee jumps an' grabs his hardware where they're layin' onder thetable. Bein' daylight an' no game goin', an' the day some warmbesides, he ain't been wearin' 'em, bein' as you-all might say innegligee. Cherokee buckles on his belts in a second an' starts; therest of us, however, since we're more ackerately garbed, don't lose notime an' is already half way to Dan. 

"It ain't a two-minute run an' we arrives in time. Thar's no moreblood, though thar might have been, for we finds Dan frontin' up tofull two hundred Greasers, their numbers increasin' and excitementrunnin' a heap high. We cuts in between Dan an' Mexican public opinionand extricates that over-vol'tile sport. 

"But Dan won't return ontil he exhoomes the chicken, which is stillbobbin' an' twistin' its onharmed head where the Mexican buries it. Dan digs it up an' takes it by the laigs; Enright meanwhile cussin' himout, fervent an' nervous, for he fears some locoed Greaser will cutloose every moment an' mebby crease a gent, an' so leave it incumbenton the rest of us to desolate Chihuahua. 

"'It's for Nell, ' expostulates Dan, replyin' to Enright's criticisms. 'I knows she wants it by the way she grabs my coat that time. Moreover, from the tones she speaks in, I reckons she wants it alive. Also, I don't discern no excoose for this toomult neither; whichyou-all is shore the most peevish bunch, Enright, an' that's whatever!'

"'Peevish or no, ' retorts Enright, 'as a jedge of warjigs I figgersthat we gets here jest in time. Thar you be, up ag'inst the entiretribe, an' each one with a gun. It's one of the deefects of a Colt'ssix-shooter that it hits as hard an' shoots as troo for a Injun or aGreaser as it does for folks. Talk about us bein' peevish! what doyou-all reckon would have been results if we hadn't cut in on the_baile_ at the time we does?'

"'Nothin', ' says Dan, with tones of soopreme vanity, at the same timedustin' the dirt off Nell's chicken, 'nothing except I'd hung crape onhalf the dobies in Chihuahua. '

"About two hours after, when things ag'in simmers to the usual, an'Nell is makin' her chicken a coop out to the r'ar of the Red Light, Enright gives a half laugh. 

"'Dan, ' says Enright, 'when I reflects on the hole we drug you out of, an' the way you-all gets in, you reminds me of that Thomas Benton dog Iowns when I'm a yoothful child on the Cumberland. Which Thomas Bentonthat a-way is a mighty industrious dog an' would turn over aquarter-section of land any afternoon diggin' out a ground-hawg. Butthar's this drawback to Thomas Benton which impairs his market valyoo. Some folks used to regyard it as a foible; but it's worse, it's adeefect. As I remarks, this Thomas Benton dog would throw his wholesoul into the work, an' dig for a groundhawg like he ain't got anotherdollar. But thar's this pecooliarity: After that Thomas Benton dog hasdone dug out the ground-hawg for a couple of hours, you-all is forcedto get a spade an' dig out that Thomas Benton dog. He's dead now theseyere forty years, but if he's livin' I'd shore change his name an'rebrand him "Dan'l Boggs. "'"

CHAPTER X. 

The Ghost of the Bar-B-8. 

"Spectres? Never! I refooses 'em my beliefs utter"; and with theseemphatic words the Old Cattleman tasted his liquor thoughtfully on histongue. The experiment was not satisfactory; and he despatched hisdark retainer Tom for lemons and sugar. "An' you-all might better totealong some hot water, too;" he commanded. "This nosepaint feels rawan' over-fervid; a leetle dilootion won't injure it none. "

"But about ghosts?" I persisted. 

"Ghosts?" he retorted. "I never does hear of but one; that's aapparition which enlists the attentions of Peets and Old Man Enright alot. It's a spectre that takes to ha'ntin' about one of Enright'sBar-B-8 sign-camps, an' scarin' up the cattle an' drivin' 'em over aprecipice, an' all to Enright's disaster an' loss. Nacherally, Enrightdon't like this spectral play; an' him an' Peets lays for the wraithwith rifles, busts its knee some, an' Peets ampytates its laig. Thenthey throws it loose; allowin' that now it's only got one lai'g, thevisitations will mighty likely cease. Moreover Enright regyardsampytation that a-way, as punishment enough. Which I should shoreallow the same myse'f!

"It ain't much of a tale. It turns out like all sperit stories; whenyou approaches plumb close an' jumps sideways at 'em an' seizes 'em bythe antlers, the soopernacheral elements sort o' bogs down. 

"It's over mebby fifty miles to the southeast of Wolfville, some'ers inthe fringes of the Tres Hermanas that thar's a sign-camp of Enright'sbrand. Thar's a couple of Enright's riders holdin' down this corner ofthe Bar-B-8 game, an' one evenin' both of 'em comes squanderin'in, --ponies a-foam an' faces pale as milk, --an' puts it up they don'treturn to that camp no more. 

"'Because she's ha'nted, ' says one; 'Jim an' me both encounters thisyere banshee an' it's got fire eyes. Also, itse'f and pony isconstructed of bloo flames. You can gamble! I don't want none of itin mine; an' that's whatever!'

"Any gent can see that these yooths is mighty scared. Enright elicitstheir yarn only after pourin' about a quart of nosepaint into 'em. 

"It looks like on two several o'casions that a handful of cattle getsrun over a steep bluff from the _mesa_ above. The fall is some sixtyfeet in the cl'ar, an' when them devoted cattle strikes the bottom it'splenty easy to guess they're sech no longer, an' thar's nothin' left of'em but beef. These beef drives happens each time in the night; an'the cattle must have been stampeded complete to make the trip. Cattle, that a-way, ain't goin' to go chargin' over a high bluff none onlesstheir reason is onhinged. No, the coyotes an' the mountain lions don'tdo it; they never chases cattle, holdin' 'em in fear an' tremblin. 'These mountain lions prounces down on colts like a mink on a settin'hen, but never calves or cattle. 

"It's after the second beef killin' when the two riders allows they'lldo some night herdin' themse'fs an' see if they solves thesepheenomenons that's cuttin' into the Bar-B-8. 

"'An' it's mebby second drink time after midnight, ' gasps thecow-puncher who's relatin' the adventures, 'an' me an' Jim isexperimentin' along the aige of the _mesa_, when of a suddent tharcomes two steers, heads down, tails up, locoed absoloote they be; an'flashin' about in the r'ar of 'em rides this flamin' cow-sperit on itsflamin' cayouse. Shore! he heads 'em over the cliff; I hears 'em hitthe bottom of the canyon jest as I falls off my bronco in a fit. Assoon as ever I comes to an' can scramble into that Texas saddle ag'in, me an' Jim hits the high places in the scenery, in a fervid way, an'yere we-all be! An' you hear me, gents, I don't go back to thatBar-B-8 camp no more. I ain't ridin' herd on apparitions; an' wheneverghosts takes to romancin' about in the cow business, that lets me out. '

"'I reckons, ' says Enright, wrinklin' up his brows, 'I'll take a lookinto this racket myse'f. '

"'An' if you-all don't mind none, Enright, ' says Peets, 'I'll get mychips in with yours. Thar's been no one shot for a month in either RedDog or Wolfville an' I'm reedic'lous free of patients. An' if theboys'll promise to hold themse'fs an' their guns in abeyance for a weekor so, an' not go framin' up excooses for my presence abrupt, I figgersthat a few days idlin' about the ranges, an' mebby a riot or tworoundin' up this cow-demon, will expand me an' do me good. '

"'You're lookin' for trouble, Doc, ' says Colonel Sterett, kind o'laughin' at Peets. 'You reminds me of a onhappy sport I encounterslong ago in Looeyville. '

"'An' wherein does this Bloo Grass party resemble me?' asks Peets. 

"'It's one evenin', ' says Colonel Sterett, 'an' a passel of us issettin' about in the Gait House bar, toyin' with our beverages. Thar'sa smooth, good-lookin' stranger who's camped at a table near. Final, he yawns like he's shore weary of life an' looks at us sharp an'cur'ous. Then he speaks up gen'ral as though he's addressin' the air. "This is a mighty dull town!" he says. "Which I've been yere afortnight an' I ain't had no fight as yet. " An' he continyoos to lookus over plenty mournful. 

"'"You-all needn't gaze on us that a-way, " says a gent named Granger;"you can set down a stack on it, you ain't goin' to pull on no war withnone of us. "

"'"Shore, no!" says the onhappy stranger. Then he goes on apol'getic;"Gents, I'm onfort'nately constitootcd. Onless I has trouble atreasonable intervals it preys on me. I've been yere in your town twoweeks an' so far ain't seen the sign. Gents, it's beginnin' to tell;an' if any of you-all could direct me where I might get action it wouldbe kindly took. "

"'"If you're honin' for a muss, " says Granger, "all you has to do is goa couple of blocks to the east, an' then five to the no'th, an' thar onthe corner you'll note a mighty prosperous s'loon. You caper in by theside door; it says FAMILY ENTRANCE over this yere portal. Sa'nter upto the bar, call for licker, drink it; an' then you remark to thebarkeep, casooal like, that you're thar to maintain that any outcastwho'll sell sech whiskey ain't fit to drink with a nigger or eat with adog. That's all; that barkeep'll relieve you of the load that'sburdenin' your nerves in about thirty seconds. You'll be the happiestsport in Looeyville when he gets through. "

"'"But can't you come an' p'int out the place, " coaxes the onhappystranger of Granger. He's all wropped up in what Granger tells him. "I don't know my way about good, an' from your deescriptions I shorelywouldn't miss visitin' that resort for gold an' precious stones. Comean' show me, pard; I'll take you thar in a kerriage. "

"'At that Granger consents to guide the onhappy stranger. They drivesover an' Granger stops the outfit, mebby she's fifty yards from thedoor. He p'ints it out to the onhappy stranger sport. 

"'Come with me, " says the onhappy stranger, as he gets outen thekerriage. "Come on; you-all don't have to fight none. I jest wantsyou to watch me. Which I'm the dandiest warrior for the whole lengthof the Ohio!"

"'But Granger is firm that he won't; he's not inquisitive, he says, an'will stay planted right thar on the r'ar seat an' await deevelopments. With that, the onhappy stranger sport goes sorrowfully for'ard alone, an' gets into the gin-mill by the said FAMILY ENTRANCE. Granger' setsthar with his head out an' y'ears cocked lookin' an' listenin'. 

"'Everything's plenty quiet for a minute. Then slam! bang! bing!crash! the most flagrant hubbub breaks forth! It sounds like thatstore's comin' down. The racket rages an' grows worse. Thar's asmashin' of glass. The lights goes out, while customers comes boundin'an' skippin' forth from the FAMILY ENTRANCE like frightened fawns. Atlast the uproars dies down ontil they subsides complete. 

"'Granger is beginnin' to upbraid himse'f for not gettin the onhappystranger's address, so's he could ship home the remainder. In themidst of Granger's se'f-accoosations, the lights in the gin-mill beginsto burn ag'in, one by one. After awhile, she's reilloominated an'ablaze with old-time glory. It's then the FAMILY ENTRANCE opens an'the onhappy stranger sport emerges onto the sidewalk. He's in hisshirtsleeves, an' a satisfied smile wreathes his face. He shore looksplumb content!

"'"Get out of the kerriage an' come in, pard, " he shouts to Granger. "Come on in a whole lot! I'd journey down thar an' get you, but Ican't leave; I'm tendin' bar!"'

"'You're shore right, Colonel, ' says Peets, when Colonel Sterett endsthe anecdote, 'the feelin' of that onhappy stranger sport is parallelto mine. Ghosts is new to me; an' I'm goin' pirootin' off with Enrighton this demon hunt an' see if I can't fetch up in the midst of a trifleof nerve-coolin' excitement. '

"The ghost tales of the stampeded cow-punchers excites Dan Boggs aheap. After Enright an' Peets has organised an' gone p'inting out forthe ha'nted Bar-B-8 sign-camp to investigate the spook, Dan can't talkof nothin' else. 

"'Them's mighty dead game gents, Enright an' Doc Peets is!' says Dan. 'I wouldn't go searchin' for no sperits more'n I'd write letters torattlesnakes! I draws the line at intimacies with fiends. '

"'But mebby this yere is a angel, ' says Faro Nell, from her stoolalongside of Cherokee Hall. 

"'Not criticisin' you none, Nell, ' says Dan, 'Cherokee himse'f willtell you sech surmises is reedic'lous. No angel is goin' to visitArizona for obvious reasons. An' ag'in, no angel's doo to goskally-hootin' about after steers an' stampeedin' 'em over brinks. It's ag'in reason; you bet! That blazin' wraith, that a-way, is ashore-enough demon! An' as for me, personal, I wouldn't cut his trailfor a bunch of ponies!

"'Be you-all scared of ghosts, Dan?' asks Faro Nell. 

"'Be I scared of ghosts?' says Dan. 'Which I wish, I could see a ghostan' show you! I don't want to brag none, Nellie, but I'll gamble fourfor one, an' go as far as you likes, that if you was to up an' show mea ghost right now, I wouldn't stop runnin' for a month. But whatappals me partic'lar, ' goes on Dan, 'about Peets an' Enright, is theytakes their guns. Now a ghost waxes onusual indignant if you takes toshootin' him up with guns. No, it don't hurt him; but he regyards sechdemonstrations as insults. It's like my old pap says that time aboutthe Yankees. My old pap is a colonel with Gen'ral Price, an' on thisevenin' is engaged in leadin' one of the most intrepid retreats of thewar. As he's prancin' along at the head of his men where a greatcommander belongs, he's shore scandalised by hearin' his r'ar gyardfirin' on the Yanks. So he rides back, my old pap does, an' he says:"Yere you-all eediots! Whatever do you mean by shootin' at themYankees? Don't you know it only makes 'em madder?" An' that, 'concloods Dan, 'is how I feels about spectres. I wouldn't go lammin'loose at 'em with no guns; it only makes 'em madder. '

"It's the next day, an' Peets an' Enright is organised in the ha'ntedsign-camp of the Bar-B-8. Also, they've been lookin' round. By ridin'along onder the face of the precipice, they comes, one after t'other, on what little is left of the dead steers. What strikes 'em as a heappecooliar is that thar's no bones or horns. Two or three of the hoofsis kickin' about, an' Enright picks up one the coyotes overlooks. Itshows it's been cut off at the fetlock j'int by a knife. 

"'This spectre, ' says Enright, passin' the hoof to Peets, 'packs abowie; an' he likewise butchers his prey. Also, ondoubted, he freightsthe meat off some'ers to his camp, which is why we don't notice no bigbones layin' 'round loose. ' Then Enright scans the grass mightyscroopulous; an' shore enough! thar's plenty of pony tracks printedinto the soil. 'That don't look so soopernacheral neither, ' saysEnright, p'intin' to the hoof-prints. 

"'Them's shorely made by a flesh an' blood pony, ' says Peets. 'An'from their goin' some deep into the ground, I dedooces that saidcayouse is loaded down with what weight of beef an' man it can staggeronder. '

"That evenin' over their grub Enright an' Peets discusses the business. Thar's a jimcrow Mexican plaza not three miles off in the hills. Bothof 'em is aware of this hamlet, an' Peets, partic'lar, is wellacquainted with a old Mexican sharp who lives thar--he's a kind o'schoolmaster among 'em--who's mighty cunnin' an' learned. His name isJose Miguel. 

"'An' I'm beginnin' to figger, ' says Peets, 'that this ghostly rider isthe foxy little Jose Miguel. Which I've frequent talked with him; an'he saveys enough about drugs an' chemicals to paint up with phosphorusan' go surgin' about an' stampedin' cattle over bluffs. It's a mightygood idee from his standp'int. He can argue that the cattle killsthemse'fs--sort o' commits sooicide inadvertent--an' if we-all tradesup on him with the beef, he insists on his innocence, an' puts it upthat his cuttin' in on the play after said cattle done slays themse'fsinjures nobody but coyotes. '

"'Doc, ' coincides Enright, after roominatin' in silence, 'Doc, thelonger I ponders, the more them theories seems sagacious. Thatenterprisin' Greaser is jest about killin' my beef an' sellin' it tothe entire plaza. Not only does this ghost play opp'rate to stampedethe cattle an' set 'em runnin' cimmaron an' locoed so they'll chaseover the cliffs to their ends, but it serves to scare my cow-punchersoff the range, which last, ondoubted, this Miguel looks on as adeesideratum. However, it's goin' to be good an' dark to-night, an' ifwe-all has half luck I reckons that we fixes him. '

"It's full two hours after midnight an' while thar's stars overheadthar's no moon; along the top of the _mesa_ it's as dark as the insideof a jug. Peets an' Enright is Injunin' about on the prowl for theghost. They don't much reckon it'll be abroad, as mebby the plaza hasbeef enough. 

"'However, by to-morry night, ' says Enright in a whisper, 'or at theworst, by the night after, we're shore to meet up with this marauder. '

"'Hesh!' whispers Peets, at the same time stoppin' Enright with hishand, 'he's out to-night!'

"An' thar for shore is something like a dim bloo light movin' acrossthe plains. Now an' then, two brighter lights shows in spots like theblazes of candles; them's the fire eyes the locoed cowboys tells of. Whatever it is, whether spook or Greaser, it's quarterin' the groundlike one of these huntin' dogs. Its gait is a slow canter. 

"'He's on the scout, ' says Enright, ' 'tryin' to start a steer or two inthe dark; but he ain't located none yet. '

"Enright an' Peets slides to the ground an' hobbles their broncos. They don't aim to have 'em go swarmin' over no bluffs in any blindnessof a first surprise. When the ponies is safe, they bends low an'begins makin' up towards the ground on which this bloo-shimmerin'shadow is ha'ntin' about. Things comes their way; they has luck. They've done crope about forty rods when the ghost heads for 'em. Theycan easy tell he's comin', for the fire eyes shows all the time an' notby fits an' starts as former. As the bloo shimmer draws nearer theymakes out the vague shadows of a man on a hoss. Son, she's shoreplenty ghostly as a vision, an' Enright allows later, it's no marvelthe punchers vamoses sech scenes. 

"'How about it, ' whispers Peets; 'shall I do the shootin'?'

"'Which your eyes is younger, ' says Enright. 'You cut loose; an' I'llstand by to back the play. Only aim plenty low. You can't he'pover-shootin' in the dark. Hold as low as his stirrup. '

"Peets pulls himse'f up straight as a saplin' an' runs his left handalong the bar'l as far as his arm'll reach. An' he hangs long on theaim as shootin' in the dark ain't no cinch. If this ghost is a brightghost it would be easy. But he ain't; he's bloo an' dim like washedout moonlight, or when it's jest gettin' to be dawn. Enright's twentyyards to one side so as to free himse'f of Peet's smoke in case he hasto make a second shot. 

"But Peets calls the turn. With the crack of that Sharp's of his, theghost sets up sech a screech it proves he ain't white an' also thathe'll live through the evenin's events. As the spectre yelps, the bloocayouse goes over on its head an' neck an' then falls dead on its side. The lead which only smashes the spectre's knee to splinters goes plumbthrough the pony's heart. 

"As Peets foresees, the ghost ain't none other than the wise littleJose Miguel, schoolmaster, who's up on drugs an' chemicals. The blooglimmer is phosphorus; an' the fire eyes is two of these little oldlamps like miners packs in their caps. 

"Enright an' Peets strolls up; this Miguel is groanin' an' mournin' an'cryin' 'Marie, Madre de Dios!' When he sees who downs him, he dragshimse'f to Enright an' begs a heap abject for his life. With that, Enright silently lets down the hammer of his rifle. 

"Peets when the sun comes up enjoys himse'f speshul with theopp'ration. Peets is fond of ampytations, that a-way, and he lops offsaid limb with zest an' gusto. 

"'I shore deplores, Jose, ' says Peets, 'to go shortenin' up a fellowscientist like this. But thar's no he'pin' it; fate has so decreed. Also, as some comfort to your soul, I'll explain to Sam Enright how youwon't ride much when I gets you fairly trimmed. Leastwise, after I'mdone prunin' you, thar won't be nothin' but these yere woman's saddlesthat you'll fit, an' no gent, be he white or be he Greaser, can workcattle from a side-saddle. ' An' Peets, hummin' a roundelay, cutsmerrily into the wounded member. "

CHAPTER XI. 

Tucson Jennie's Correction. 

"Doc Peets, son, " said the Old Cattleman, while his face wore the look ofdecent gravity it ever donned when that man of medicine was named, "DocPeets has his several uses. Aside from him bein' a profound sharp ondrugs, an' partic'lar cowboy drugs, he's plenty learned in a gen'ral way, an' knows where every kyard lays in nacher's deck, from them star-fleckedheavens above to the earth beneath, an'--as Scripter puts it--to the'waters onder the earth. ' It's a good scheme to have a brace of highlyeddicated gents, same as Colonel Sterett an' Doc Peets, sort o' idlin''round your camp. Thar's times when a scientist, or say, a lit'rarysport comes bluffin' into Wolfville; an' sech folks is a mighty sight toodeep for Boggs an' me an' Tutt. If we're left plumb alone with a band ofthem book-read shorthorns like I deescribes, you-all sees yourse'f, they're bound to go spraddlin' East ag'in, an' report how darkenedWolfville is. But not after they locks horns with Doc Peets or ColonelSterett. Wherefore, whenever the camp's invaded by any over-enlightenedpeople who's gone too far in schools for the rest of us to break evenwith, we ups an' plays Doc Peets or Colonel Sterett onto 'em; an' the wayeither of them gents would turn in an' tangle said visitors up mentaldon't bother 'em a bit. That's straight; Peets an' the Colonel is ourrefooge; they're our protectors; an' many a time an' oft, have I beheld'em lay for some vain-glorious savant who's got a notion the Southwest, that a-way, is a region of savagery where the folks can't even read an'write none, an' they'd rope, throw, an' hawgtie him--verbal, I means--an'brand his mem'ry with the red-hot fact that he's wrong an' been wadin' inerror up to the saddle-girths touchin' the intellectooal attainments ofgood old Arizona. Shore, --Doc Peets has other uses than drugs, an' hedischarges 'em. 

"Now that I thinks of the matter, it's Doc Peets who restores Dave Tuttto full standin' with Tucson Jennie, the time she begins to neglect Dave. You see, the trouble is this a-way: It really starts--leastwise I allersso believes--in Dave's beginnin' wrong with Tucson Jennie. Troo, as Iconfesses to you frequent yeretofore, I ain't married none myse'f; still, I've been livin' a likely number of years, an' has nacherally witnessed awhole lot touchin' other gents an' their wives; an' sech experiences isbound to breed concloosions. An' while I may be wrong, for these yereviews is nothin' more than a passel of ontested theeries with me, it's mybeliefs that thar's two attitoodes, speakin' gen'ral, which a gentassoomes toward his bride. Either he deals with her on what we-all willcall the buck-squaw system, or he turns the game about complete, an'organises his play on the gentleman-lady system. In the latter, the gentwaits on his wife; he comes an' he goes, steps high or soft, exactly asshe commands. She gives the orders; an' he rides a pony to deathexecootin' 'em, an' no reemonstrances nor queries. That wife is rangean' round-up boss for her outfit. 

"But the buck-squaw system is after all more hooman an' satisfactory. It's opposite to the other. The gent is reesponsible for beef on thehook an' flour in the bar'l. He's got to provide the blankets, make goodag'in the household's hunger, an' see to it thar's allers wood an' waterwithin easy throw of every camp he pitches. Beyond that, however, thegent who's playin' the buck-squaw system don't wander. When he's incamp, he distinguishes himse'f by doin' nothin'. He wrops himse'f in hisblankets, camps down by the fire, while his wife rustles his chuck an'fills his pipe for him. At first glance, this yere buck-squaw systemmight strike a neeophyte as a mighty brootal scheme. Jest the same, it'll eemerge winner twenty times to the gentleman-lady system's once. The women folks like it. Which they'll pretend they prefers thegentleman-lady system, where they sets still an' the gent attends on 'em;but don't you credit it, none whatever. It's the good old patriarchal, buck-squaw idee, where the gent does nothin' an' the lady goes prancin'about like the ministerin' angel which she is, that tickles her to death. I states ag'in, that it's my notion, Dave who begins with TucsonJennie--they bein' man an' wife--on the gentleman-lady system, tharbyhatches cold neglect for himse'f. An' if it ain't for the smooth saveyof Doc Peets, thar's no sport who could foretell the disastrous end. Dave, himse'f thinks he'd have had eventool to resign his p'sition asJennie's husband an' quit. 

"Which I've onfolded to you prior of Jennie's gettin' jealous of Davetouchin' that English towerist female; but this yere last trouble ain'tno likeness nor kin to that. Them gusts of jealousy don't do no harmnohow; nor last the day. They're like thunder showers; brief an' blackenough, but soon over an' leavin' the world brighter. 

"This last attitoode of Jennie towards Dave is one of abandonment an'onthinkin' indifference that a-way. It begins hard on the fetlocks ofthat interestin' event, thrillin' to every proud Wolfville heart, thebirth of Dave's only infant son, Enright Peets Tutt. Which I never doescross up with no one who deems more of her progeny than Jennie does ofthe yoothful Enright Peets. A cow's solicitoode concernin' her calf ischill regyard compared tharwith. Jennie hangs over Enright Peets likesome dew-jewelled hollyhock over a gyarden fence; you'd think he's aroast apple; an' I don't reckon now, followin' that child's advent, sheever sees another thing in Arizona but jest Enright Peets. He's thewhole check-rack--the one bet that wins on the layout of thepossible--an' Jennie proceeds to conduct herse'f accordin'. It's a goodthing mebby for Enright Peets; I won't set camped yere an' say it ain't;but it's mighty hard on Dave. 

"Jennie not only neglects Dave, she turns herse'f loose frequent an'assails him. If he shows up in his wigwam walkin' some emphatic, Jennie'll be down on him like a fallin' star an' accoose him of wakin'Enright Peets. 

"'An' if you-all wakes him, ' says Jennie to Dave, sort o' domineerin' athim with her forefinger, 'he'll be sick; an' if he gets sick, he'll die;an' if he dies, you'll be a murderer--the heartless deestroyer of yourown he'pless offspring, --which awful deed I sometimes thinks you'rep'intin' out to pull off. ' An' then Jennie would put her apron over herhead an' shed tears a heap; while Dave--all harrowed up an'onstrung--would come stampedin' down to the Red Light an' get consolationfrom Black Jack by the quart. 

"That's the idee, son; it's impossible to go into painful details, 'causeI ain't in Dave's or Jennie's confidence enough to round 'em up; but youonderstands what I means. Jennie's forever hectorin' an' pesterin' Daveabout Enright Peets; an' beyond that she don't pay no more heed, an'don't have him no more on her mind, than if he's one of these yere littlejimcrow ground-owls you-all sees inhabitin' about dissoloote an'permiscus with prairie-dogs. What's the result? Dave's sperits beginsto sink; he takes to droopin' about listless an' onregyardful; an' he'sthat low an' onhappy his nosepaint don't bring him no more of comfortthan if he's a graven image. Why, it's the saddest thing I ever sees inWolfville!

"We-all observes how Dave's dwindlin' an' pinin' an' most of us has afoggy onderstandin' of the trooth. But what can we do? If thar's ever aaggregation of sports who's powerless, utter, to come to the rescoo of acomrade in a hole, it's Enright an' Moore an' Boggs an' Texas Thompsonan' Cherokee an' me, doorin' them days when that neglect of TucsonJennie's is makin' pore Dave's burdens more'n he can b'ar. Shore, weconsults; but that don't come to nothin' ontil the o'casion when DocPeets takes the tangle in ser'ous hand. 

"Thar's a day dawns when Missis Rucker gets exasperated over Dave'sill-yoosage. Missis Rucker is a sperited person an' she canters over an'onloads her opinions on Tucson Jennie. Commonly, these yere ladies can'tthink too much of one another; but on this one division of the house ofTutt, Missis Rucker goes out on Dave's angle of the game. An' you-allshould have seen the terror it inspires when Missis Rucker declar's herhostile intentions. 

"It's in the O. K. Restauraw, when Missis Rucker, who's feedin' us ourmornin' flap-jacks an' salt hoss as usual, turns to Old Man Enright, an'says:

"'As soon as ever I've got the last drunkard fed an' outen the house, I'mgoin' to put on my shaker an' go an' tell that Tucson Jennie Tutt what'son my mind. I shore never sees a woman change more than Jennie since thedays when she cooks for me in this yere very restauraw an' lays plans an'plots to lure Dave into wedlock. I will say that Jennie, nacheral, is agood wife; but the fashion, wherein she tromples on Dave an' his rightsis a disgrace to her sex, an' I'm goin' to deevote a hour this mornin' tocallin' Jennie's attention tharunto. '

"'Missis Rucker is a mighty intrepid lady, ' says Enright, when we goesover to the New York store followin' feed. 'I'd no more embrace themchances she's out to tackle than I'd go dallyin' about a wronged grizzly. But jest the same, I'd give a stack of reds if Peets is here! When didhe say he'd be back from Tucson?'

"'The Doc don't allow he'll come trailin' in ag'in, ' says Dan Boggs, 'ontil day after to-morry. Which this female dooel will be plumb over bythen, an' most likely the camp a wrack. '

"While we-all stands thar gazin' on each other, enable to su'gestanything to meet the emergency, Texas Thompson's pony is brought up fromthe corral, saddled an' bridled, an' ready for the trail. 

"'Well, gents, ' says Texas, when he sees his hoss is come, 'I reckonsI'll say _adios_ an' pull my freight. I'll be back in a week. '

"'Wherever be you p'intin' for?' asks Cherokee Hall. 'Ain't this goin'of yours some sudden?'

"'It is a trifle hasty, ' says Texas; 'but do you cimmarons think I'mgoin' to linger yere after Missis Rucker gives notice she's preparin' toburn the ground around Tucson Jennie about Dave? Gents, I don't pack thenerve! I ain't lived three years with my former wife who gets thatLaredo divorce I once or twice adverts to, an' not know enough not to getcaught out on no sech limb as this. No, sir; I sees enough of woman an'her ways to teach me that now ain't no time to be standin' aboutirresoloote an' ondecided, an' I'm goin' to dig out for Tucson, you bet, ontil this uprisin' subsides. '

"This example of Texas scares us up a whole lot; the fact is, itstampedes us; an' without a further word of argyment, the whole bandmakes a break for the corral, throws saddles onto the swiftest ponies, an' in two minutes we're lost in that cloud of alkali dust we kicks updown the trail toward the no'th. 

"'Which I won't say that this exodus is necessary, ' observes Enright, when ten miles out we slows up to a road gait to breathe our ponies, 'butI thinks on the whole it's safer. Besides, I oughter go over to Tucsonanyway on business. '

"The rest of us don't make no remarks nor excooses; but every gent isfeelin' like a great personal peril has blown by. 

"The next day, we rounds up Doc Peets, an' he encourages us so that weconcloods to return an' make a size-up of results. 

"'I shore hopes we finds Dave safe. ' says Dan Boggs. 

"'It's even money, ' says Jack Moore, 'that Dave pulls through. Dave's amighty wary sport when worst comes to worst; an' as game as redhead ants. '

"'That's all right about Dave bein' game, ' retorts Dan, 'but this yere'sa time when Dave ain't got no show. I says ag'in, I trust he retainsdecision of character sufficient to go hide out doorin' the storm. Itain't no credit to us that we forgets to bring him along. '

"'No; thar wasn't no harm done, ' says Faro Nell, who reports progress tous after we rounds up in the Red Light followin' our return. Nell's abrave girl an' stands a pat hand when the rest of us vamosed that time. 'Thar ain't no real trouble. Missis Rucker merely sets fire to Jennieabout the way she maltreats Dave; an' she says Jennie's drivin' himlocoed, an' no wonder. Also, she lets on she don't see whatever Davemarries Jennie for anyhow!

"'At that, Jennie comes back an' reminds Missis Rucker how she herse'fdone treats Mister Rucker that turrible he goes cavortin' off an' seekssafety among the Apaches. An' so they keeps on slingin' it back'ards an'for'ards for mebby two hours, an' me ha'ntin' about to chunk in a word. Then, final, they cries an' makes up; an' then they both concedes thatone way an' another they're the best two people each other ever sees. Atthis juncture, ' concloods Nell, 'I declar's myse'f in on the play; an'we-all three sets down an' admires Enright Peets an' visits an' has asplendid afternoon. '

"'An' wherever doorin' this emute is Dave?' asks Enright. 

"'Oh, Dave?' says Nell. 'Why he's lurkin' about outside som'ers in afurtive, surreptitious way; but he don't molest us none. Which, now Iremembers, Dave don't even come near us none at all. '

"'I should say not!' says Texas Thompson, plenty emphatic. 'Dave ain'tquite that witless. '

"'Now, gents, ' remarks Doc Peets, when Nell is done, an' his tones isconfident like he's certain of his foothold, 'since things has gone thusfar I'll sa'nter into the midst of these domestic difficulties an' adjust'em some. I've thought up a s'lootion; an' it's apples to ashes thatinside of twenty-four hours I has Jennie pettin' an' cossetin' Dave tobeat four of a kind. Leave this yere matter to me entire. '

"We-all can't see jest how Peets is goin' to work these mir'cles; still, sech is our faith, we believes. We decides among ourse'fs, however, thatif Peets does turn this pacific trick it'll ondoubted be the crownin'glory of his c'reer. 

"After Peets hangs up his bluff, we goes about strainin' eyes an' y'earsfor any yells or signal smokes that denotes the advent of said changes. An', son, hard as it is to credit, it comes to pass like Peetsprognosticates. By next evenin' a great current of tenderness for Davegoes over Jennie all at once. She begins to call him 'Davy'--a onheardof weakness!--an' hovers about him askin' whatever he thinks he needs; infact, she becomes that devoted, it looks like the little Enright Peets'llwant he'p next to play his hand for him. That's the trooth: Jennie goesmighty clost to forgettin' Enright Peets now an' then in her wifelyanxieties concernin' Dave. 

"As for Dave himse'f, he don't onderstand his sudden an' onmeritedpop'larity; but wearin' a dazed grin of satisfied ignorance, that a-way, he accepts the sityooation without askin' reasons, an' proceeds to profittharby. That household is the most reeconciled model fam'ly outfit inall broad Arizona. An' it so continyoos to the end. 

"'Whatever did you do or say, Doc?' asks Enright a month later, as we-allfrom across the street observes how Jennie kisses Dave good-bye at thedoor an' then stands an' looks after him like she can't b'ar to have himleave her sight; 'what's the secret of this second honeymoon of Dave's?'

"'Which I don't say much, ' says Peets. 'I merely takes Jennie one sidean' exhorts her to brace up an' show herse'f a brave lady. Then Iexplains that while I ain't told Dave none--as his knowin' wouldn't do nogood--I regyards it as my medical dooty to inform her so's she'll beready to meet the shock. "The trooth is, Missis Tutt, " I says, "poreDave's got heart disease, an' is booked to cash in any moment. I can'tsay when he'll die exactly; the only shore thing is he can't survive ayear. " She sheds torrents of tears; an' then I warns her she mustn't letDave see her grief or bushwhack anything but smiles on her face, ormightly likely it'll stop his clock right thar. "Can't nothin' be donefor Dave?" she asks. "Nothin', " I replies, "except be tender an' lovin'an' make Dave's last days as pleasant an' easy as you can. We must jumpin an' smooth the path to his totterin' moccasins with gentleness an'love, " I says, "an' be ready, when the blow does fall, to b'ar it withwhat fortitoode we may. " That's all I tells her. However, it looks likeit's becomin' a case of overplay in one partic'lar; our pore youngnamesake, Enright Peets, is himse'f gettin' a trifle the worst of it, an'I'm figgerin' that to-morry, mebby, I'll look that infant over, an'vouchsafe the news thar's something mighty grievous the matter with hislungs. '"

CHAPTER XII. 

Bill Connors of the Osages. 

"Nacherally, if you-all is frettin' to hear about Injuns, " observed theOld Cattleman in reply to my latest request, "I better onfold how OsageBill Connors gets his wife. Not that thar's trouble in roundin' up thissquaw; none whatever. She comes easy; all the same said tale elab'ratessome of them savage customs you're so cur'ous concernin'. "

My companion arose and kicked together the logs in the fireplace. Thisfireplace was one of the great room's comforts as well as ornaments. Thelogs leaped into much accession of flame, and crackled into sparks, andthese went gossiping up the mighty chimney, their little fiery voicesmaking a low, soft roaring like the talk of bees. 

"This chimley draws plenty successful, " commented my friend. "Which italmost breaks even with a chimley I constructs once in my log camp on theUpper Red. That Red River floo is a wonder! Draw? Son, it could drawfour kyards an' make a flush. But that camp of mine on the Upper Red isover eight thousand foot above the sea as I'm informed by a passel ofsurveyor sports who comes romancin' through the hills with a spyglass onthree pegs; an' high altitoods allers proves a heap exileratin' to a fire. 

"But speakin' of Bill Connors: In Wolfville--which them days is the onlypart of my c'reer whereof I'm proud an' reviews with onmixedsatisfaction--Doc Peets is, like you, inquis'tive touchin' Injuns. Peetsputs it up that some day he's doo to write books about 'em. Which in offhours, an' when we-all is more or less at leesure over our Valley Tan, Peets frequent comes explorin' 'round for details. Shore, I imparts allI saveys about Bill Connors, an' likewise sech other aborigines as livesin mem'ry; still, it shakes my estimates of Peets to find him eager overInjuns, they bein' low an' debasin' as topics. I says as much to Peets. 

"'Never you-all mind about me, ' says Peets. 'I knows so much about whitefolks it comes mighty clost to makin' me sick. I seeks tales of Injunsas a relief an' to promote a average in favor of the species. '

"This Bill Connors' is a good-lookin' young buck when I cuts his trail;straight as a pine an' strong an' tireless as a bronco. It's about sixyears after the philanthrofists ropes onto Bill an' drags him off to aschool. You-all onderstands about a philanthrofist--one of these sportswho's allers improvin' some party's condition in a way the party who'simproved don't like. 

"'A philanthrofist, ' says Colonel Sterett, one time when Dan Boggsdemands the explanation at his hands; 'a philanthrofist is a gent whoinsists on you givin' some other gent your money. '

"For myse'f, however, I regyards the Colonel's definition as too narrow. Troo philanthrofy has a heap of things to it that's jest as onreasonablean' which does not incloode the fiscal teachers mentioned by the Colonel. 

"As I'm sayin'; these well-meanin' though darkened sports, thephilanthrofists, runs Bill down--it's mebby when he's fourteen, onlyInjuns don't keep tab on their years none--an' immures him in one of thegov'ment schools. It's thar Bill gets his name, 'Bill Connors. ' Beforethat he cavorts about, free an' wild an' happy onder the Injun app'lationof the 'Jack Rabbit. '

"Shore! Bill's sire--a savage who's 'way up in the picture kyards, an'who's called 'Crooked Claw' because of his left hand bein' put out ofline with a Ute arrow through it long ago--gives his consent to Billj'inin' that sem'nary. Crooked Claw can't he'p himse'f; he's powerless;the Great Father in Washin'ton is backin' the play of the philanthrofists. 

"'Which the Great Father is too many for Crooked Claw, ' says this parent, commentin' on his helplessness. Bill's gone canterin' to his old gent toremonstrate, not hungerin' for learnin', an' Crooked Claw says this toBill: 'The Great Father is too many for Crooked Claw; an' too strong. You must go to school as the Great Father orders; it is right. Thelongest spear is right. '

"Bill is re-branded, 'Bill Connors, ' an' then he's done bound down tothem books. After four years Bill gradyooates; he's got the limit an'the philanthrofists takes Bill's hobbles off an' throws him loose withthe idee that Bill will go back to his tribe folks an' teach 'em to read. Bill comes back, shore, an' is at once the Osage laughin'-stock forwearin' pale-face clothes. Also, the medicine men tells Bill he'll diefor talkin' paleface talk an' sportin' a paleface shirt, an' theseprophecies preys on Bill who's eager to live a heap an' ain't ready tocash in. Bill gets back to blankets an' feathers in about a month. 

"Old Black Dog, a leadin' sharp among the Osages, is goin' about with adab of clay in his ha'r, and wearin' his most ornery blanket. That'sbecause Black Dog is in mournin' for a squaw who stampedes over the BigDivide, mebby it's two months prior. Black Dog's mournin' has got dealtdown to the turn like; an' windin' up his grief an' tears, Osage fashion, he out to give a war-dance. Shore; the savages rings in a war-dance onall sorts of cer'monies. It don't allers mean that they're hostile, an'about to spraddle forth on missions of blood. Like I states, Black Dog, who's gone to the end of his mournful lariat about the departed squaw, turns himse'f on for a war-dance; an' he nacherally invites the Osagenation to paint an' get in on the festiv'ties. 

"Accordin' to the rooles, pore Bill, jest back from school, has got tocut in. Or he has his choice between bein' fined a pony or takin' alickin' with mule whips in the hands of a brace of kettle-tenders whosedelight as well as dooty it is to mete out the punishment. Bill can'tafford to go shy a pony, an' as he's loth to accept the larrupin's, hewistfully makes ready to shake a moccasin at the _baile_. An' as nothin'but feathers, blankets, an' breech-clouts goes at a war-dance--the samebein' Osage dress-clothes--Bill shucks his paleface garments an' arrayshimse'f after the breezy fashion of his ancestors. Bill attends the wardance an' shines. Also, bein' praised by the medicine men an' olderbucks for quittin' his paleface duds; an' findin' likewise the old-timeblanket an' breech-clout healthful an' saloobrious--which Bill forgetstheir feel in his four years at that sem'nary--he adheres to 'em. Thislapse into aboriginal ways brews trouble for Bill; he gets up ag'inst theagent. 

"It's the third day after Black Dog's war-dance, an' Bill, all paint an'blankets an' feathers, is sa'nterin' about Pawhusky, takin' life easy an'Injun fashion. It's then the agent connects with Bill an' sizes him up. The agent asks Bill does he stand in on this yere Black Dog war-dance. 

"'Don't they have no roast dog at that warjig?' asks Dan Boggs, when I'mrelatin' these reminiscences in the Red Light. 

"'No, ' I says; 'Osages don't eat no dogs. '

"'It's different with Utes a lot, ' says Dan, 'Which Utes regyards dogsfav'rable, deemin' 'em a mighty sucyoolent an' nootritious dish. Thetime I'm with the Utes they pulls off a shindig, "tea dance" it is, an', as what Huggins would call "a star feacher" they ups an' roasts a whitedog. That canine is mighty plethoric an' fat, an' they lays him on hisbroad, he'pless back an' shets off his wind with a stick cross-wise ofhis neck, an' two bucks pressin' on the ends. When he's good an' deadan' all without no suffoosion of blood, the Utes singes his fur off in afire an' bakes him as he is. I partakes of that dog--some. I don'tnacherally lay for said repast wide-jawed, full-toothed an' reemorseless, like it's flapjacks--I don't gorge myse'f none; but when I'm in Rome, Istrings my chips with the Romans like the good book says, an' so I sorto' eats baked dog with the Utes. Otherwise, I'd hurt theirsens'bilities; an' I ain't out to harrow up no entire tribe an' meplayin' a lone hand. '

"That agent questions Bill as to the war-dance carryin's on of old BlackDog. Then he p'ints at Bill's blankets an' feathers an' shakes his heada heap disapprobative. 

"'Shuck them blankets an' feathers, ' says the agent, 'an' get back intoyour trousers a whole lot; an' be sudden about it, too. I puts up withthe divers an' sundry rannikabooisms of old an' case-hardened Injunswho's savage an' ontaught. But you're different; you've been to schoolan' learned the virchoos of pants; wherefore, I looks for you to setexamples. '

"It's then Bill gets high an' allows he'll wear clothes to suit himse'f. Bill denounces trousers as foolish in their construction an' fallaciousin their plan. Bill declar's they're a bad scheme, trousers is; an' sosayin' he defies the agent to do his worst. Bill stands pat on blanketsan' feathers. 

"'Which you will, will you!' remarks this agent. 

"Then he claps Bill in irons mighty decisive, an' plants him up ag'in thehigh face of a rock bluff which has been frownin' down on Bird Riversince Adam makes his first camp. Havin' got Bill posed to his notion, this earnest agent, puttin' a hammer into Bill's rebellious hand, startshim to breakin' rock. 

"'Which the issue is pants, ' says the obdurate agent sport; 'an' I'llkeep you-all whackin' away at them boulders while the cliff lasts onlessyou yields. Thar's none of you young bucks goin' to bluff me, an' that'swhatever!'

"Bill breaks rocks two days. The other Osages comes an' perches about, sympathetic, an' surveys Bill. They exhorts him to be firm; they givesit out in Osage he's a patriot. 

"Bill's willin' to be a patriot as the game is commonly dealt, but whenhis love of country takes the form of poundin' rocks, the noblesentiments which yeretofore bubbles in Bill's breast commences to pall onBill an' he becomes none too shore but what trousers is right. By seconddrink time--only savages don't drink, a paternal gov'ment barrin'nosepaint on account of it makin' 'em too fitfully exyooberant--by seconddrink time the second evenin' Bill lays down his hand--pitches his hammerinto the diskyard as it were--an' when I crosses up with him, Bill's thatabject he wears a necktie. When Bill yields, the agent meets him halfway, an' him an' Bill rigs a deal whereby Bill arrays himse'f Osagefashion whenever his hand's crowded by tribal customs. Other times, Billinhabits trousers; an' blankets an' feathers is rooled out. 

"Shore, I talks with Bill's father, old Crooked Claw. This yere savageis the ace-kyard of Osage-land as a fighter. No, that outfit ain't beenon the warpath for twenty years when I sees 'em then it's with Boggs' oldpards, the Utes. I asks Crooked Claw if he likes war. He tells me thathe dotes on carnage like a jaybird, an' goes forth to battle as joobilantas a drunkard to a shootin' match. That is, Crooked Claw used to gocurvin' off to war, joyful, at first. Later his glee is subdooed becauseof the big chances he's takin'. Then he lugs out 'leven skelps, all Ute, an' eloocidates. 

"'This first maverick, ' says Crooked Claw--of course, I gives him in theAmerican tongue, not bein' equal to the reedic'lous broken Osage hetalks--'this yere first maverick, ' an' he strokes the braided ha'r of aold an' smoke-dried skelp, 'is easy. The chances, that a-way, is even. Number two is twice as hard; an' when I snags onto number three--I downsthat hold-up over by the foot of Fisher's Peak--the chances has donemounted to be three to one ag'in me. So it goes gettin' higher an'higher, ontil when I corrals my 'leventh, it's 'leven to one he winsonless he's got killin's of his own to stand off mine. I don't reckonnone he has though, ' says Crooked Claw, curlin' his nose contemptuous. 'He's heap big squaw--a coward; an' would hide from me like a quail. Helooks big an' brave an' strong, but his heart is bad--he is a poor knifein a good sheath. So I don't waste a bullet on him, seein' his fear, butkills him with my war-axe. Still, he raises the chances ag'inst me totwelve to one, an' after that I goes careful an' slow. I sends in myyoung men; but for myse'f I sort o' hungers about the suburbs of theracket, takin' no resks an' on the prowl for a cinch, --some sech pick-upas a sleeper, mebby. But my 'leventh is my last; the Great Father inWashin'ton gets tired with us an' he sends his walk-a-heaps an' buffalosoldiers'--these savages calls niggers 'buffalo soldiers, ' bein' they'rethat woolly--'an' makes us love peace. Which we'd a-had the Utes toodead to skin if it ain't for the walk-a-heaps an' buffalo soldiers. '

"An' at this Crooked Claw tosses the bunch of Ute top-knots to one of hissquaws, fills up his red-stone pipe with kinnikinick an' begins to smoke, lookin' as complacent as a catfish doorin' a Joone rise. 

"Bill Connors has now been wanderin' through this vale of tears for mebbyshe's twenty odd years, an' accordin' to Osage tenets, Bill's doo to getwedded. No, Bill don't make no move; he comports himse'f lethargic; thereesponsibilities of the nuptials devolves on Bill's fam'ly. 

"It's one of the excellentest things about a Injun that he don't pick outno wife personal, deemin' himse'f as too locoed to beat so difficult agame. 

"Or mebby, as I observes to Texas Thompson one time in the Red Light whenhim an' me's discussin', or mebby it's because he's that callous he don'tcare, or that shiftless he won't take trouble. 

"'Whatever's the reason, ' says Texas, on that o'casion, heavin' a sigh, 'thar's much to be said in praise of the custom. If it only obtainsamong the whites thar's one sport not onknown to me who would have shorepassed up some heartaches. You can bet a hoss, no fam'ly of mine wouldpick out the lady who beats me for that divorce back in Laredo to be thespouse of Texas Thompson. Said household's got too much savey to makesech a break. '

"While a Osage don't select that squaw of his, still I allers entertainsa theery that he sort o' saveys what he's ag'inst an' no he'pmeet getssawed off on him objectionable an' blind. I figgers, for all he don'tlet on, that sech is the sityooation in the marital adventures of Bill. His fam'ly picks the Saucy Willow out; but it's mighty likely he signs upthe lady to some discreet member of his outfit before ever they goes into make the play. 

"Saucy Willow for a savage is pretty--pretty as a pinto hoss. Herparent, old Strike Axe, is a morose but common form of Osage, strongfinancial, with a big bunch of cattle an' more'n two hundred ponies. Bill gets his first glimpse, after he comes back from school, of thelovely Saucy Willow at a dance. This ain't no war-dance nor any otherceremonious splurge; it's a informal merrymakin', innocent an' free, sameas is usual with us at the Wolfville dance hall. Shore, Osages, lacksguitars an' fiddles, an' thar's no barkeep nor nosepaint--none, introoth, of the fav'rable adjuncts wherewith we makes a evenin' inHamilton's hurdygurdy a season of social elevation, an' yet they pullsoff their fandangoes with a heap of verve, an' I've no doubt they shoreenjoys themse'fs. 

"For two hours before sundown the kettle-tenders is howlin' an' callin'the dance throughout the Osage camp. Thar's to be a full moon, an' thedance--the _Ingraska_ it is; a dance the Osages buys from the Poncas foreight ponies--is to come off in a big, high-board corral called the'Round House. '

"Followin' the first yell of the kettle-tenders, the young bucks beginsto paint up for the hilarity. You might see 'em all over camp, for it'sAugust weather an' the walls of the tents an' teepees is looped up to letin the cool, daubin' the ocher on their faces an' braidin' the feathersinto their ha'r. This organisin' for a _baile_ ain't no bagatelle, an'two hours is the least wherein any se'f-respectin' buck who's out to makea centre shot on the admiration of the squaws an' wake the envy of rivalbucks, can lay on the pigments, so he paints away at his face, carefulan' acc'rate, sizin' up results meanwhile in a jimcrow lookin' glass. Atlast he's as radiant as a rainbow, an' after garterin' each laig with abelt of sleigh-bells jest below the knee, he regyards himse'f with afav'rable eye an' allows he's ondoubted the wildest wag in his set. 

"Each buck arrives at the Round House with his blanket wropped over hishead so as not to blind the onwary with his splendours. It's mebbysecond drink time after sundown an' the full moon is swingin' aboveeffulgent. The bucks who's doo to dance sets about one side of the RoundHouse on a board bench; the squaws--not bein' in on the proposedactivities--occupies the other half, squattin' on the ground. Some of'em packs their papooses tied on to a fancy-ribboned, highly beadedboard, an' this they makes a cradle of by restin' one end on the groundan' the other on their toe, rockin' the same meanwhile with a motion ofthe foot. Thar's a half hoop over the head-end of these papoose boards, hung with bells for the papoose to get infantile action on an' amoose hisleesure. 

"The bucks settin' about their side of the Round House, still wropsthemse'fs in their blankets so as not to dazzle the squaws to deathpreematoor. At last the music peals forth. The music confines itse'f toa bass drum--paleface drum it is--which is staked out hor'zontal about afoot high from the grass over in the centre. The orchestra is a decrepitbuck with a rag-wropped stick; with this weepon he beats the drum, chantin' at the same time a pensive refrain. 

"Mebby a half-dozen squaws, with no papooses yet to distract 'em, camps'round this virchuoso with the rag-stick, an' yoonites their girlishhowls with his. You-all can put down a bet it don't remind you none ofnightingales or mockin' birds; but the Injuns likes it. Which theirsimple sperits wallows in said warblin's! But to my notion they're morecalc'lated to loco a henhawk than furnish inspiration for a dance. 

"'Tunk! tunk! tunk! tunk!' goes this rag-stick buck, while the squawschorus along with, 'Hy-yah! hy-yah! hy-yah-yah-yah! Hy-yah! hy-yah!hy-yah-yah-yah!' an' all grievous, an' make no mistake!

"At the first 'tunk!' the bucks stiffen to their feet and cast off theblankets. Feathers, paint, an' bells! they blaze an' tinkle in themoonlight with a subdooed but savage elegance. They skates out onto thegrass, stilt-laig, an' each buck for himse'f. They go skootin' about, an' weave an' turn an' twist like these yere water-bugs jiggin' it on thesurface of some pond. Sometimes a buck'll lay his nose along the groundwhile he dances--sleigh bells jinglin', feathers tossin'! Then he'llstraighten up ontil he looks like he's eight foot tall; an' they shorethrows themse'fs with a heap of heart an' sperit. 

"It's as well they does. If you looks clost you observes a brace ofbucks, and each packin' a black-snake whip. Them'skettle-tenders, --floor managin' the _baile_ they be; an' if a buck who'sdancin' gets preeoccupied with thinkin' of something else an' takes toprancin' an' dancin' listless, the way the kettle-tenders pours theleather into him to remind him his fits of abstraction is bad form, islike a religious ceremony. An' it ain't no bad idee; said kettle-tendersshore promotes what Colonel Sterett calls the _elan_ of the dancin' bucksno end. 

"After your eyes gets used to this whirlin' an' skatin' an' skootin' an'weavin' in an' out, you notes two bucks, painted to a finish an'feathered to the stars! who out-skoots an' out-whirls an' out-skatestheir fellow bucks like four to one. They gets their nose a little lowerone time an' then stands higher in the air another, than is possible tothe next best buck. Them enthoosiasts ain't Osages at all; which they'reniggers--full-blood Senegambians they be, who's done j'ined the tribe. These Round House festivals with the paint, the feathers, an' the bells, fills their trop'cal hearts plumb full, an' forgettin' all about thewhite folks an' their gyarded ways, they're the biggest Injuns to warm aheel that night. 

"Saucy Willow is up by the damaged rag-stick buck lendin' a mouthful ortwo of cl'ar, bell-like alto yelps to the harmony of the evenin'. Billwho's a wonder in feathers an' bells, an' whose colour-scheme would drivea temp'rance lecturer to drink, while zippin' about in the moonlight getshis eye on her. Mighty likely Bill's smitten; but he don't let on, thefam'ly like I relates, allers ropin' up a gent's bride. It's goodbettin' this yere Saucy Willow counts up Bill. If she does, however, --nomore than Bill, --she never tips her hand. The Saucy Willow yelps ononconcerned, like her only dream of bliss is to show the coyotes whatvocal failures they be. 

"It's a week after the _Ingraska_, an' Bill's fam'ly holds a round-up topick Bill out a squaw. He ain't present, havin' the savey to gosquanderin' off to play Injun poker with some Creek sports he hears hasmoney over on the Polecat. Bill's fam'ly makes quite a herd, bucks an'squaws buttin' in on the discussion permiscus an' indiscrim'nate. Shore!the squaws has as much to say as the bucks among Injuns. They owns theirown ponies an' backs their own play an' is as big a Injun as anybody, allowin' for that nacheral difference between squaw dooties an' buckdooties--one keeps camp while the other hunts, or doorin' war times whenone protects the herds an' plunder while the other faces the foe. Youhears that squaws is slaves? However is anybody goin' to be a slavewhere thar's as near nothin' to do in the way of work as is possible an'let a hooman live? Son, thar ain't as much hard labour done in a Injuncamp in a week--ain't as much to do as gets transacted at one of themrooral oyster suppers to raise money for the preacher!

"Bill's fam'ly comes trailin' in to this powwow about pickin' out a squawfor Bill. Besides Crooked Claw, thar's Bill's widow aunt, the WildCat--she's plumb cunnin', the Wild Cat is, an' jest then bein' cel'bratedamong the Osages for smokin' ponies with Black B'ar, a old buck, an'smokin' Black B'ar out of his two best cayouses. Besides these two, thar's The-man-who-bleeds, The-man-who-sleeps, Tom Six-killer, The-man-who-steps-high, an' a dozen other squaws an' bucks, incloosive ofBill's mother who's called the Silent Comanche, an' is takin' the play aheap steady an' livin' up to her name. 

"The folks sets 'round an' smokes Crooked Claw's kinnikinick. Then theWild Cat starts in to deal the game. She says it's time Bill's married, as a onmarried buck is a menace; at this the others grunts agreement. Then they all turns in to overhaul the el'gible young squaws. Which theyshore shows up them belles! One after the other they're drug over thecoals. At last the Wild Cat mentions the Saucy Willow jest as everysavage present knows will be done soon or late from the jump. The SaucyWillow obtains a speshul an' onusual run for her money. But it's settledfinal that while the Saucy Willow ain't none too good, she's the bestthey can do. The Saucy Willow belongs to the Elk clan, while Billbelongs to the B'ar clan, an' that at least is c'rrect. Injuns don'tbelieve in inbreedin' so they allers marries out of their clan. 

"As soon as they settles on the Saucy Willow as Bill's squaw, they turnsin to make up the 'price. ' The Wild Cat, who's rich, donates a kettle, aside of beef, an' the two cayouses she smokes outen the besotted BlackB'ar. The rest chucks in accordin' to their means, Crooked Claw comin'up strong with ten ponies; an' Bill's mother, the Silent Comanche, showin' down with a bolt of calico, two buffalo robes, a sack of flouran' a lookin' glass. This plunder is to go to the Saucy Willow's folksas a 'price' for the squaw. No, they don't win on the play; the SaucyWillow's parents is out _dinero_ on the nuptials when all is done. Theyhas to give Bill their wickeyup. 

"When Bill's outfit's fully ready to deal for blood they picks out somebright afternoon. The Saucy Willow's fam'ly is goin' about lookin'partic'lar harmless an' innocent; but they're coony enough to be in campthat day. A procession starts from the Crooked Claw camp. Thar'sThe-man-who-steps-high at the head b'arin' a flag, union down, an'riotin' along behind is Tom Six-killer, The-man-who-sleeps, the Wild Catand others leadin' five ponies an' packin' kettles, flour, beef, an'sim'lar pillage. They lays it all down an' stakes out the broncos aboutfifty yards from Strike Axe's camp an' withdraws. 

"Then some old squaw of the Strike Axe outfit issues forth an' throws thebroncos loose. That's to show that the Saucy Willow is a onusualexcellent young squaw an' pop'lar with her folks, an' they don't aim toshake her social standin' by acceptin' sech niggard terms. 

"But the Crooked Claw outfit ain't dismayed, an' takes this rebuffphlegmatic. It's only so much ettyquette; an' now it's disposed of theyreorganise to lead ag'in to win. This time they goes the limit, an'brings up fifteen ponies an' stacks in besides with blankets, robes, beef, flour, calico, kettles, skillets, and looking-glasses enough tofill eight waggons. This trip the old Strike Axe squaw onties thefifteen ponies an' takin' 'em by their ropes brings 'em in clost to theStrike Axe camp, tharby notifyin' the Crooked Claw band that their blufffor the Saucy Willow is regyarded as feasible an' the nuptials goes. With this sign, the Crooked Claws comes caperin' up to the Strike Axesan' the latter fam'ly proceeds to rustle a profoosion of grub; an' withthat they all turns in an' eats old Strike Axe outen house an' home. The'price' is split up among the Strike Axe bunch, shares goin' even tosecond an' third cousins. 

"Mebby she's a week later when dawns the weddin' day. Bill, who's beenlookin' a heap numb ever since these rites becomes acoote, goesprojectin' off alone onto the prairie. The Saucy Willow is hid in thedeepest corner of Strike Axe's teepee; which if she's visible, however, you'd be shore amazed at the foolish expression she wears, but all as shyan' artless as a yearlin' antelope. 

"But it grows time to wind it up, an' one of the Strike Axe bucks climbsinto the saddle an' rides half way towards the camp of Crooked Claw. Strike Axe an' Crooked Claw in antic'pation of these entanglements hasdone pitched their camps about half a mile apart so as to give thepageant spread an' distances. When he's half way, the Strike Axe buckfronts up an' slams loose with his Winchester; it's a signal the _baile_is on. 

"At the rifle crack, mounted on a pony that's the flower of the StrikeAxe herd, the Saucy Willow comes chargin' for the Crooked Claws like ashootin' star. The Saucy Willow is a sunburst of Osage richness! an' ispackin' about five hundred dollars' worth of blankets, feathers, beads, calicoes, ribbons, an' buckskins, not to mention six pounds of brass an'silver jewelry. Straight an' troo comes the Saucy Willow; skimmin' likea arrow an' as rapid as the wind!

"As Saucy Willow embarks on this expedition, thar starts to meether--afoot they be but on the run--Tom Six-killer an' a brace of squawcousins of Bill's. Nacherally, bein' he out-lopes the cousins, TomSix-killer runs up on the Saucy Willow first an' grabs her bronco by thebridle. The two young squaw cousins ain't far behind the Six-killer, for they can run like rabbits, an' they arrives all laughter an' cries, an' with one move searches the Saucy Willow outen the saddle. In lesstime than it takes to get action on a drink of licker the two youngsquaws has done stripped the Saucy Willow of every feather, bead an' rag, an' naked as when she's foaled they wrops her up, precious an' safe in ablanket an' packs her gleefully into the camp of Crooked Claw. Here theyre-dresses the Saucy Willow an' piles on the gew-gaws an' adornments, ontil if anything she's more gorgeous than former. The pony which theSaucy Willow rides goes to the Six-killer, while the two she-cousins, asto the balance of her apparel that a-way, divides the pot. 

"An' now like a landslide upon the Crooked Claws comes the Strike Axehousehold. Which they're thar to the forty-'leventh cousin; savageskeepin' exact cases on relatives a mighty sight further than white folks. The Crooked Claw fam'ly is ready. It's Crooked Claw's turn to make thefeast, an' that eminent Osage goes the distance. Crooked Claw shorelydoes himse'f proud, while Bill's mother, the Silent Comanche, ishospitable, but dignified. It's a great weddin'. The Wild Cat ispirootin' about, makin' mean an' onfeelin' remarks, as becomes a widowlady with a knowledge of the world an' a bundle the size an' shape of aroll of blankets. The two fam'lies goes squanderin' about among eachother, free an' fraternal, an' thar's never a cloud in the sky. 

"At last the big feed begins. Son, you should have beheld them foolOsages throw themse'fs upon the Crooked Claw's good cheer. It's a p'intof honour to eat as much as you can; an' b'arin' that in mind therevellers mows away about twenty pounds of beef to a buck--the squaws, not bein' so ardent, quits out on mighty likely it's the thirteenthpound. Tom Six-killer comes plenty clost to sacrificin' himse'f utter. 

"This last I knows, for the next day I sees the medicine men givin' somesufferer one of their aboriginal steam baths. They're on the bank ofBird River. They've bent down three or four small saplin's for theframework of a tent like, an' thar's piled on 'em blankets an' robes afoot deep so she's plumb airtight. Thar's a fire goin' an' they'reheatin' rocks, same as Colonel Sterett tells about when they baptises hisgrandfather into the church. When the rocks is red-hot they takes 'em, one by one, an' drops 'em into a bucket of water to make her steam. Thenthey shoves this impromptoo cauldron inside the little robe house whereas I'm aware--for I onderstands the signs from the start--thar's a sickbuck quiled up awaitin' relief. This yere invalid buck stays in thartwenty minutes. The water boils an' bubbles an' the steam gets thatabundant not to say urgent she half lifts the robes an' blankets at theaiges to escape. The ailin' buck in the sweat tent stays ontil he can'tstay no more, an' then with a yowl, he comes burstin' forth, a reek ofsweat an' goes splashin' into the coolin' waters of Bird River. It's theSix-killer; that weddin' feast comes mighty near to downin' him--giveshim a 'bad heart, ' an' he ondergoes the steam bath for relief. 

"But we're strayed from that weddin'. Bein' now re-arrayed in fullestfeather the Saucy Willow is fetched into the ring an' receives a platterwith the rest. Then one of the bucks, lookin' about like he's amazed, says: 'Wherever is the Jack Rabbit?' that bein' Bill's Osage title. Crooked Claw shakes his head an' reckons most likely the Jack Rabbit'srummagin' about loose some'ers, not knowin' enough to come in an' eat. Abrace of bucks an' a young squaw starts up an' figgers they'll searchabout an' see if they can't round him up. They goes out an' thar's Billsettin' off on a rock a quarter of a mile with his back to the camp an'the footure. 

"The two sharps an' the squaw herds Bill into camp an' stakes him out, shoulder to shoulder, with the little Saucy Willow. Neither Bill nor thelittle Saucy Willow su'gests by word, screech or glance that they saveyseither the game or the stakes, an' eats on, takin' no notice of themse'fsor any of the gluttons who surrounds 'em. Both Bill an' the little SaucyWillow looks that witless you-all would yearn to bat 'em one with thebutt of a mule whip if onfortoonately you're present to be exasperated bysech exhibitions. At last, however, jest as the patience of the audienceis plumb played, both Bill an' the little Saucy Willow gives a start ofsurprise. Which they're pretendin' to be startled to find they'refeedin' off the same dish. Thar you be; that makes 'em 'buck an'squaw'--'man an' wife;' an' yereafter, in Osage circles they can printtheir kyards 'Mister an' Missis Bill Connors, ' while Bill draws an'spends the little Saucy Willow's annooty on payment day instead of StrikeAxe. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

When Tutt first saw Tucson. 

"An' speakin' of dooels, " remarked the Old Cattleman, apropos of ananecdote of the field of honour wherewith I regaled his fancy, "speakin' of dooels, I reckons now the encounter Dave Tutt involveshimse'f with when he first sees Tucson takes onchallenged preecedencefor utter bloodlessness. She's shore the most lamb's-wool form ofsingle combat to which my notice is ever drawn. Dave enlightens usconcernin' its details himse'f, bein' incited tharunto by hearin' TexasThompson relate about the Austin shootin' match of that Deaf Smith. 

"'Which this yere is 'way back yonder on the trail of time, ' explainsDave, 'an' I'm hardened a heap since then. I've jest come buttin' intoTucson an' it's easy money I'm the tenderest an' most ontaught partythat ever wears store-moccasins. What I misses knowin' would make ashusky a library, --if it's printed down in books, --as ever lines up onshelves. Also, I'm freighted to the limit with the tenderfoot's usualoutfit of misinformation. It's sad, yet troo! that as I casts my gazer'arward I identifies myse'f as the balmiest brand of shorthorn whoever leaves his parents' shelterin' roof. '

"'All the same, ' says Dan Boggs, plenty conceited, 'I'll gamble a hossI'm a bigger eediot when I quits Missouri to roam the cow country thanever you-all can boast of bein' in your most drivelin' hour. '

"'Do they lock you up?' asks Dave. 

"'No, ' says Dan, 'they don't lock me up none, but----'

"'Then you lose, ' insists Dave, mighty prompt. 

"'But hold on, ' says Dan; 'don't get your chips down so quick. As Istarts to explain, I ain't locked up; but it's because I'm in a camplike Wolfville yere that ain't sunk to the level of no calaboose. Butwhat comes to be the same, I'm taken captive an' held as sech ontil theroodiments of Western sense is done beat into me. It takes theyoonited efforts of four of the soonest sharps that ever happens; an'final, they succeeds to a p'int that I'm deemed cap'ble of goin' aboutalone. '

"'Well, ' retorts Dave, 'I won't dispoote with you; an' even at that Iregyards your present attitoode as one of bluff. I thinks you're shorethe cunnin'est wolf in the territory, Dan, an' allers is. But, as I'msayin', when I first begins to infest Tucson, I'm so ignorant it's astain on that meetropolis. At this yere epock, Tucson ain't spraddledto its present proud dimensions. A gent might have thrown the loop ofa lariat about the outfit an' drug it after him with a pony. No one, however, performs this labour, as the camp is as petyoolant as at'rant'ler an' any onauthorised dalliance with its sensibilities wouldhave led to vivid plays. Still, she ain't big, Tucson ain't; an' Ilearns my way about from centre to suburbs in the first ten minutes. 

"'At the beginnin' I'm a heap timid. I suffers from the common easterntheery an' looks on Arizona as a region where it's murder straight an'lynchin' for a place. You-all may jedge from that how erroneous is myidees. Then, as now, the distinguishin' feacher of Tucson existence isa heavenly ca'm. Troo, thar's moments when the air nacherally fills upwith bullets like they're a passel of swallow-birds, an' they hums an'sings their merry madrigals. However, these busy seasons don't set inso often nor last so long but peaceful folks has ample chance tobreathe. 

"'Never does I b'ar witness to as many as seven contemporaneousremainders but once; and then thar's cause. It's in a poker game; an'the barkeep brings the dealer a cold deck onder a tray whereon hepurveys the drinks. Which the discovery of this yere solecism, asyou-all well imagines, arouses interest, earnest an' widespread like Ideescribes. I counts up when the smoke lifts an' finds that seven hassought eternal peace. Commonly two is the number; three bein' quite ashipment. Shore, it's speshul sickly when as many as seven quits outtogether!

"'Bein' timid an' ignorant I takes good advice. It's in the Oriental. Thar's that old gray cimmaron hibernatin' about the bar whose name isJeffords. 

"'"Be you-all conversant with that gun you packs?" asks Jeffords. 

"'I feels the hot blush mountin' in my tender cheeks, but I concedes Iain't. "Pard, " I replies, "speakin' confidenshul an' between gent an'gent, this yere weepon is plumb novel to me. "

"'"Which I allows as much, " he says, "from the egreegious way youfidges with it. Now let me pass you-all a p'inter from the peaks ofexperience. You caper back to the tavern an' take that weepon off. Orwhat's as well, you pass it across to the barkeep. If you-all goesromancin' 'round with hardware at your belt it's even money it'll getyou beefed. Allers remember while in Arizona that you'll never getplugged--onless by inadvertence--as long as you wander about inonheeled innocence. No gunless gent gets downed; sech is theonbreakable roole. "

"'After that I goes guiltless of arms; I ain't hungerin' forimmortality abrupt. 

"'Old Jeffords is shore right; in the Southwest if you aims to b'ar acharmed life, never wear a six-shooter. This maxim goes anywhere thisside of the Mississippi; east of that mighty river it's the other way. 

"'Bein' nimble-blooded in them days, I'm a heap arduous about thedance-hall. I gets infatyooated with the good fellowship of thathurdygurdy; an' even after I leaves Tucson an' is camped some milesaway, I saddles up every other evenin', rides in an', as says the poet, "shakes ontirin' laig even into the wee small hours. "

"'Right yere, gents, ' an' Dave pauses like he's prounced on by a solemnthought, 'I don't reckon I has to caution none of you-all not to gorepeatin' these mem'ries of gay days done an' gone, where my wifeTucson Jennie cuts their trail. I ain't afraid of Jennie; she's akind, troo he'pmeet; but ever since that onfortunate entanglement withthe English towerist lady her suspicions sets up nervous in theirblankets at the mere mention of frivolities wherein she hears my name. I asks you, tharfore, not to go sayin' things to feed her doubts. WithTucson Jennie, my first business is to live down my past. '

"'You-all can bet, ' says Texas Thompson, while his brow clouds, 'that Ilearns enough while enjoyin' the advantages of livin' with my formerwife to make sech requests sooperfluous in my case. Speshully since ifit ain't for what the neighbours done tells the lady she'd never goropin' 'round for that divorce. No Dave; your secrets is plumb safewith a gent who's suffered. 

"'Which I saveys I'm safe with all of you, ' says Dave, his confidence, which the thoughts of Tucson Jennie sort o' stampedes, beginnin' toreturn. 'But now an' then them gusts of apprehensions frequent withmarried gents sweeps over me an' I feels weak. But comin' back to thedance-hall: As I su'gests thar's many a serene hour I whiles awaytharin. Your days an' your _dinero_ shore flows plenty swift in thattemple of merriment; an' chilled though I be with the stiff dignity ofa wedded middle age, if it ain't for my infant son, Enright Peets Tutt, to whom I'm strivin' to set examples, I'd admire to prance out an' liveag'in them halcyon hours; that's whatever!

"'Thar's quite a sprinklin' of the _elite_ of Tucson in the dance-hallthe evenin' I has in mind. The bar is busy; while up an' down eachside sech refreshin' pastimes as farobank, monte an' roulette holdsprosperous sway. Thar's no quadrille goin' at the moment, an' a ladyto the r'ar is carollin' "Rosalie, the Prairie Flower. "

 "Fair as a lily bloomin' in May, Sweeter than roses, bright as the day! Everyone who knows her feels her gentle power, Rosalie the Prairie Flower. "

"'On this yere o'casion I'm so far fortunate as to be five drinks aheadan' tharfore would sooner listen to myse'f talk than to the warblin' ofthe cantatrice. As it is, I'm conversin' with a gent who's standin'hard by. 

"'At my elbow is posted a shaggy an' forbiddin' outlaw whose name isYuba Tom, an' who's more harmonious than me. He wants to listen to"Rosalie the Prairie Flower. " Of a sudden, he w'irls about, plentypeevish. 

"'Stick a period to that pow-wow, " observes Yuba; "I wants to hear thisprima donna sing. "

"'Bein' gala with the five libations, I turns on Yuba haughty. "Ifyou're sobbin' to hear this songstress, " I says, "go for'ard an' campdown at her feet. But don't come pawin' your way into no conversationswith me. An' don't hang up no bluff. "

"'Which if you disturbs me further, " retorts Yuba, "I'll turn loose forshore an' crawl your hump a lot. "

"'Them foolhardy sports, " I replies, "who has yeretofore attempted thatenterprise sleeps in onknown graves; so don't you-all pester me, forthe outlook's dark. "

"'It's now that Yuba, --who's a mighty cautious sport, forethoughtfulan' prone to look ahead, --regyards the talk as down to cases an' makesa flash for his gun. It's concealed by his surtoot an' I ain't noticedit none before. If I had, most likely I'd pitched the conversation ina lower key. However, by this time, I'm quarrelsome as a badger; an' awillin'ness for trouble subdooes an' sets its feet on my nacheralcowardice an' holds her down. '

"'Dave, you-all makes me nervous, ' says Boggs, with a flash of heat, 'settin' thar lyin' about your timidity that a-way. You're about asreluctant for trouble as a grizzly bar, an' you couldn't fool no gentyere on that p'int for so much as one white chip. '

"'Jest the same, ' says Dave, mighty dogmatic, 'I still asserts that ina concealed, inborn fashion, I'm timid absoloote. If you has everbeheld me stand up ag'in the iron it's because I'm 'shamed to quit. I'd wilt out like a jack-rabbit if I ain't held by pride. 

"'"You're plenty ready with that Colt's, " I says to Yuba, an' my tonesis severe. "That's because you sees me weeponless. If I has a gunnow, I'd make you yell like a coyote. "

"'"S'pose you ain't heeled, " reemonstrates Yuba, "that don't give youno license to stand thar aboosin' me. Be I to blame because yourtoilet ain't complete? You go frame yourse'f up, an' I'll wait;" an'with that, this Yuba takes his hand from his artillery. 

"'Thar's a footile party who keeps the dancehall an' who signs thebooks as Colonel Boone. He's called the "King of the Cowboys"; mostlikely in a sperit of facetiousness since he's more like a deuce than aking. This Boone's packin' a most excellent six-shooter loose in thewaistband of his laiggin's. Boone's passin' by as Yuba lets fly histaunts an' this piece of ordnance is in easy reach. With one motion Isecures it an' the moment followin' the muzzle is pressin' ag'inst awhite pearl button on Yuba's bloo shirt. 

"'"Bein' now equipped, " I says, "this war-dance may proceed. "

"'I'm that scared I fairly hankers for the privilege of howlin', but Irealises acootely that havin' come this far towards homicide I mustneeds go through if Yuba crowds my hand. But he don't; he's forbearin'an' stands silent an' still. Likewise, I sees his nose, yeretofore thecolour of a over-ripe violin, begin to turn sear an' gray. I recoverssperit at this as I saveys I'm saved. Still I keeps the artillery onhim. It's the innocence of the gun that holds Yuba spellbound an'affects his nose, an' I feels shore if I relaxes he'll be all over melike a baggage waggon. '

"'Which I should say so!' says Jack Moore, drawin' a deep breath. 'Youtakes every chance, Dave, when you don't cut loose that time!'

"'When Boone beholds me, ' says Dave, 'annex his gun he almost c'lapsesinto a fit. He makes a backward leap that shows he ain't lived amongrattlesnakes in vain. Then he stretches his hand towards me an' Yuba, an' says, "Don't shoot! Let's take a drink; it's on the house!"

"'Yuba, with his nose still a peaceful gray, turns from the gun an'sidles for the bar; I follows along, thirsty, but alert. When we-allis assembled, Boone makes a wailin' request for his six-shooter. 

"'"Get his, " I says, at the same time, animadvertin' at Yuba with themuzzle. 

"'Yuba passes his weepons over the bar an' I follows suit with Boone's. Then we drinks with our eyes on each other in silent scorn. 

"'"Which we-all will see about this later, ' growls Yuba, as he leavesthe bar. 

"'"Go as far as you like, old sport, " I retorts, for this last edition, as Colonel Sterett would term it, of Valley Tan makes me that brave I'mmiseratin' for a riot. 

"'It's the next day before ever I'm firm enough, to come ag'in toTucson. This stage-wait in the tragedy is doo to fear excloosive. Ihears how Yuba is plumb bad; how he's got two notches on his stick; howhe's filed the sights off his gun; an' how in all reespects he's amurderer of merit an' renown. Sech news makes me timid two ways: I'mafraid Yuba'll down me some; an' then ag'in I'm afraid he's so popularI'll be lynched if I downs him. Shore, that felon Yuba begins toassoome in my apprehensions the stern teachers of a whipsaw. At lastI'm preyed on to that degree I'm desperate; an' I makes up my mind toinvade Tucson, cross up with Yuba an' let him come a runnin'. Thenervousness of extreme yooth doubtless is what goads me to thisdecision. 

"'It's about second drink time in the afternoon when, havin' donned myweepons, I rides into Tucson. After leavin' my pony at the corral, Iturns into the main street. It's scorchin' hot an' barrin' a deadburro thar's hardly anybody in sight. Up in front of the Oriental, asluck has it, stands Yuba and a party of doobious morals who slays hayfor the gov'ment, an' is addressed as Lon Gilette. As I swings intothe causeway, Gilette gets his eye on me an' straightway fades into theOriental leavin' Yuba alone in the street. This yere strikes me asmighty ominous; I feels the beads of water come onder my hatband, an'begins to crowd my gun a leetle for'ard on the belt. I'm walkin' up onthe opp'site side from Yuba who stands watchin' my approach with aserene mien. 

"'"It's the ca'mness of the tiger crouchin' for a spring, " thinks I. 

"'As I arrives opp'site, Yuba stretches out his hand. "Come on over, "he sings out. 

"'"Which he's assoomin' airs of friendship, " I roominates, "to get meoff my gyard. "

"'I starts across to Yuba. I'm watchin' like a lynx; an' I'm thatharrowed, if Yuba so much as sneezes or drops his hat or makes ar'arward move of his hand, I'm doo to open on him. But he stands stillas a hill an' nothin' more menacin' than grins. As I comes clost heoffers his hand. It's prior to my shootin' quick an' ackerate with myleft hand, so I don't give Yuba my right, holdin' the same in reservefor emergencies an' in case thar's a change of weather. But Yuba, whocan see it's fear that a-way, is too p'lite to make comments. Heshakes my left hand with well-bred enthoosiasm an' turns an' heads theway into the Oriental. 

"'As we fronts the bar an' demands nosepaint Yuba gives up his arms;an' full of a jocund lightheartedness as I realises that I ain't markedfor instant slaughter I likewise yields up mine. We then has fourdrinks in happy an' successful alternation, an' next we seeks a tablean' subsides into seven-up. 

"'"Then thar ain't goin' to be no dooel between us?" I says to Yuba. It's at a moment when he's turned jack an' I figgers he'll be more softan' leenient. "It's to be a evenin' of friendly peace?"

"'"An' why not?" says Yuba. "I've shore took all the skelps that'scomin' to me; an' as for you-all, you're young an' my counsel is tonever begin. That pooerile spat we has don't count. I'm drinkin' atthe time, an' I don't reckon now you attaches importance to what a gentsays when he's in licker?"

"'"Not to what he says, " I replies; "but I does to what he shoots. Ilooks with gravity on the gun-plays of any gent, an' the drunker he isthe more ser'ous I regyards the eepisode. "

"'"Well, she's a thing of the past now, " explains Yuba, "an' thisevenin' you're as pop'lar with me as a demijohn at a camp-meetin'. "

"'Both our bosoms so wells with joy, settin' thar as we do in aatmosphere of onexpected yet perfect fraternalism an' complete peace, that Yuba an' me drinks a whole lot. It gets so, final, I refooses toreturn to my own camp; I won't be sep'rated from Yuba. When we can nolonger drink, we turns in at Yuba's wickeyup an' sleeps. The nextmornin' we picks up the work of reeconciliation where it slips from ourtired hands the evenin' before. I does intend to reepair to my campwhen we rolls out; but after the third conj'int drink both me an' Yubasees so many reasons why it's a fool play I gives up the idee utter. 

"'Gents, it's no avail to pursoo me an' Yuba throughout them fourfeverish days. We drifts from one drink-shop to the other, arm in arm, as peaceful an' pleased a pair of sots as ever disturbs the betterelement. Which we're the scandal of Tucson; we-all is that thicklyamiable it's a insult to other men. Thus ends my first dooel; aconflict as bloodless as she is victorious. How long it would havetook me an' Yuba to thoroughly cement our friendships will never beknown. At the finish, we-all is torn asunder by the Tucson marshal an'I'm returned to my camp onder gyard. Me an' Yuba before nor sincenever does wax that friendly with any other gent; we'd be like brothersyet, only the Stranglers over to Shakespear seizes on pore Yuba onemornin' about a hoss an' heads him for his home on high. '"

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Troubles of Dan Boggs. 

"This yere, " remarked the Old Cattleman, at the heel of a half-hourlecture on life and its philosophy, "this yere is a evenin' when theygets to discussin' about luck. It's doorin' the progress of thisdispoote when Cherokee Hall allows that luck don't alternate none, first good an' then bad, but travels in bunches like cattle or inflocks like birds. 'Whichever way she comes, ' says Cherokee, 'good orbad, luck avalanches itse'f on a gent. That's straight!' goes onCherokee. 'You bet! I speaks from a voloominous experience an' a lifethat, whether up or down, white or black, ain't been nothin' but luck. Which nacherally, bein' a kyard sharp that a-way, I studies luck thesame as Peets yere studies drugs; an' my discov'ries teaches that luckis plumb gregar'ous. Like misery in that proverb, luck loves company;it shore despises to be lonesome. '

"'Cherokee, I delights to hear you talk, ' says Old Man Enright, as hesigns up Black Jack for the Valley Tan. 'Them eloocidations is meantto stiffen a gent's nerve an' do him good. Shore; no one needsencouragement nor has to train for a conflict with good luck; but it'swhen he's out ag'inst the iron an' the bad luck's swoopin' an' stoopin'at him, beak an' claw like forty hawks, that your remarks is doo tocome to his aid an' uplift his sperits some. An' as you says a momentback, thar's bound in the long run to be a equilibr'um. The lower yourbad luck, the taller your good luck when it strikes camp. It's thesame with the old Rockies, an' wherever you goes it's ever anever-failin' case of the deeper the valley, the higher the hill!

"'As is frequent with me, ' says Dan Boggs, after we sets quiet amoment, meanwhiles tastin' our nosepaint thoughtful--for theseoutbursts of Cherokee's an' Enright's calls for consid'rations, --'as isfrequent with me, ' says Dan, 'I reckons I'll string my chips withCherokee. The more ready since throughout my own checkered c'reer--an'I've done most everything 'cept sing in the choir, --luck has everhappened bunched like he asserts. Which I gets notice of thesepecooliarities of fortune early. While I'm simply doin' nothin' toprovoke it, a gust of bad luck prounces on me an' thwarts me in a nobleambition, rooins my social standin' an busts two of my nigh ribs all inone week. 

"'I'm a colt at the time, an' jest about big enough to break. My folksis livin' in Missouri over back of the Sni-a-bar Hills. By nacher I'ma heap moosical; so I ups--givin' that genius for harmonyexpression--an' yoonites myse'f with the "Sni-a-bar Silver CornetBand. " Old Hickey is leader, an' he puts me in to play the snare drum, the same bein' the second rung on the ladder of moosical fame, an' onerung above the big drum. Old Hickey su'gests that I start with thesnare drum an' work up. Gents, you-all should have heard me with thatinstrooment! I'd shore light into her like a storm of hail!

"'For a spell the "Sni-a-bar Silver Cornet Band" used to play in thewoods. This yere Sni-a-bar commoonity is a mighty nervousneighbourhood, an' thar's folks whose word is above reproach who sendsus notice they'll shoot us up if we don't; so at first we practises inthe woods. But as time goes on we improves an' plays well enough so wedon't scare children; an' then the Sni-a-bar people consents to let usplay now an' then along the road. All of us virchewosoes is locoed todo good work, so that Sni-a-bar would get reeconciled, an' recognise usas a commoonal factor. 

"'Well do I recall the day of our first public appearance. It's at apolitical meetin' an' everything, so far as we're concerned at least, depends on the impression we-all makes. If we goes to a balk or abreak-down, the "Sni-a-bar Silver Cornet Band's" got to go back an'play in the woods. 

"'It's not needed that I tells you gents, how we-all is on aige. OldHickey gets so perturbed he shifts me onto the big drum; an' CatfishEdwards, yeretofore custodian of that instrooment, is given the snare. This play comes mighty clost to breakin' my heart; for I'm ambitious, an' it galls my soul to see myse'f goin' back'ards that a-way. It'sthe beginnin' of my bad luck, too. Thar's no chance to duck the play, however, as old Hickey's word is law, so I sadly buckles on the giantdrum. 

"'We're jest turnin' into the picnic ground where this meetin's bein'held an' I've got thoughts of nothin' but my art--as we moosicianssays--an' elevatin' the local opinion of an' concernin' the meelodiousmerits of the band. We're playin' "Number Eighteen" at the time, an'I've got my eagle eye on the paper that tells me when to welt her; an'I'm shorely leatherin' away to beat a ace-flush. 

"'Bein' I'm new to the big drum, an' onduly eager to succeed, I've gotall my eyes picketed on the notes. It would have been as well if I'dreeserved at least one for scenery. But I don't; an' so it befallsthat when we-all is in the very heart of the toone, an' at what it's noexaggeration to call a crisis in our destinies, I walks straddle of astump. An' sech is my fatal momentum that the drum rolls up on thestump, an' I rolls up on the drum. That's the finish; next day theSilver Cornet Band by edict of the Sni-a-bar pop'lace is re-exiled tothem woods. But I don't go; old Hickey excloodes me, an' my hopes ofmoosical eminence rots down right thar. 

"'It's mebby two days later when I'm over by the postoffice gettin' theweekly paper for my old gent. Thar's goin' to be a Gander-Pullin' bytorchlight that evenin' over to Hickman's Mills with a dance at theheel of the hunt. But I ain't allowin' to be present none. I'm toodeeply chagrined about my failure with that big drum; an' then ag'in, I'm scared to ask a girl to go. You-all most likely has missednoticin' it a heap--for I frequent forces myse'f to be gala an' festivein company--but jest the same, deep down onder my belt, I'm bashful. An' when I'm younger I'm worse. I'm bashful speshul of girls; for Isoon discovers that it's easier to face a gun than a girl, an' theglance of her eye is more terrifyin' than the glimmer of a bowie. That's the way I feels. It's a fact; I remembers a time when mymother, gettin' plumb desp'rate over my hoomility, offers me a runnin'hoss if I'd go co't a girl; on which o'casion I feebly urges that I'drather walk. 

"'On the evenin' of this yer dance an' Gander-Pullin' I'm pirootin'about the Center when I meets up with Jule James;--Jule bein' thevillage belle. "Goin' to the dance?" says Jule. "No, " says I. "Whyever don't you go?" asks Jule. "Thar ain't no girl weak-minded enoughto go with me, " I replies; "I makes a bid for two or three but gets themitten. " This yere last is a bluff. "Which I reckons now, " says Jule, givin' me a look, "if you'd asked me, I'd been fool enough to go. " Ofcourse, with that I'm treed; I couldn't flicker, so I allows that ifJule'll caper back to the house with me I'll take her yet. 

"'We-all gets back to my old gent's an' I proceeds to hitch up a Dobbinhoss we has to a side-bar buggy. It's dark by now, an' we don't go tothe house nor indulge in any ranikaboo uproar about it, as I figgersit's better not to notify the folks. Not that they'd be out to put thekybosh on this enterprize; but they're powerful fond of talk my folksis, an' their long suit is never wantin' you to do whatever you're outto execoote. Wherefore, as I ain't got no time for a j'int debate withmy fam'ly over technicalities I puts Jule into the side-bar where it'sstandin' in the dark onder a shed; an' then, hookin' up old Dobbin aheap surreptitious, I gathers the reins an' we goes softly p'intin'forth for Hickman's. 

"'As we-all is sailin' thoughtlessly along the trail, Dobbin ups an'bolts. Sech flights is onpreeceedented in the case of Dobbin--who'sthat sedate he's jest alive--an' I'm shore amazed; but I yanks him upan' starts anew. It's twenty rods when Dobbin bolts ag'in. This timeI hears a flutter, an' reaches 'round Jule some to see if herpetticoats is whippin' the wheel. They ain't; but Jule--who esteemssaid gesture in the nacher of a caress--seemin' to favour the idee, Ilets my arm stay 'round. A moment later an' this yere villain Dobbinbolts the third time, an' as I've sort o' got my one arm tangled upwith Jule, he lams into a oak tree. 

"'It's then, when we're plumb to a halt, I does hear a flutter. Atthat I gets down to investigate. Gents, you-all may onderstand myhorror when I finds 'leven of my shawl-neck game chickens roostin' onthat side-bar's reach! They're thar when we pulls out. They'veretired from the world an' its cares for the night an', in ourignorance of them chicken's domestic arrangements, we blindly takes 'emwith us. Now an' then, as we goes rackin' along, one of 'em getsjolted off. Then he'd hang by his chin an' beat his wings; an' it'sthese frenzied efforts he makes to stay with the game that evolves themalarmin' flutterin's. 

"'Jule--who don't own chickens an' who ain't no patron of cockfightsneither--is for settin' the shawl-necks on the fence an' pickin' 'em upas we trails back from the Gander-Pullin'. 

"'"As long as it's dark, " says Jule, "they'll stay planted; an' werounds 'em up on our return. "

"'But I ain't that optimistic. I knows these chickens an' they ain'tso somnolent as all that. Besides it's a cinch that a mink or a foxcomes squanderin' 'round an' takes 'em in like gooseberries. 'Levenshawl-necks! Why, it would be a pick-up for a fox!

"'"You're a fine Injun to take a girl to a dance!" says Jule at last, an' she's full of scorn. 

"'"Injun or no Injun, " I retorts a heap sullen, "thar ain't noGander-Pullin' goin' to jestify me in abandonin' my 'leven shawl-necksan' me with a main to fight next month over on the Little Bloo!"

"'At that I corrals the chickens an' imprisons 'em in the r'ar of theside-bar an' goes a-weavin' back for camp, an' I picks up three moreshawl-necks where they sets battin' their he'pless eyes in the road. 

"'But I shore hears Jule's views of me as a beau! They're hot enoughto fry meat! Moreover, Jule tells all Sni-a-bar an' I'm at once ascoff an' jeer from the Kaw to the Gasconade. Jule's old pap washesout his rifle an' signs a pledge to plug me if ever ag'in I puts myhand on his front gate. As I su'gests, it rooins my social c'reer inSni-a-bar. 

"'While I'm ground like a toad that a-way beneath the harrow of thisdouble setback of the drum an' Jule, thar's a circus shows up an'pitches its merry tent in Sni-a-bar. I knows this caravan of yore--forI'm a master-hand for shows in my yooth an' allers goes--an' bein' byvirchoo of my troubles ready to plunge into dissipation's mad an'swirlin' midst, I sa'nters down the moment the waggons shows up; an'after that, while that circus stays, folks who wants to see me, day ornight, has to come to the show. 

"'The outfit is one of them little old jim-crow shows that chargestwo-bits an' stays a month; an' by the end of the first day, me an' theclown gets wropped up like brothers; which I'm like one of the fam'iy!I fetches water an' he'ps rub hosses an', speakin' gen'ral, does morenigger work than I ever crosses up with prior endoorin' my entire life. But knowin' the clown pays for all; sech trivial considerations aspullin' on tent ropes an' spreadin' sawdust disappears before thehonour of his a'quaintance. It's my knowin' the clown that leads todisaster. 

"'This merrymaker, who's a "jocund wight" as Colonel Sterett says, getsa heap drunk one evenin' 'an' sleeps out in the rain, an' he awakes ashoarse as bull-frogs. He ain't able to sing his song in the ring. It's jest before they begins. 

"'"Dan, " he croaks, plenty dejected, "I wish you'd clown up an' go inan' sing that song. "

"'This cantata he alloodes to, is easy; it's "Roll Jurdan, Roll, " an' Ihears it so much at nigger camp meetin's an' sim'lar distractions, thatI carols it in my sleep. As the clown throws out his bluff I considersawhile some ser'ous. I feels like mebby I've cut the trail of acunnin' idee. When Jule an' old Hickey an' the balance of themSni-a-bar outcasts sees me in a clown's yooniform, tyrannisin' about, singin' songs an' leadin' up the war-jig gen'ral, they'll regret theopinions they so freely expresses an' take to standin' about, hopin'I'll bow. They'll regyard knowin' me as a boon. With that, I tellsthe clown to be of good cheer. I'll prance in an' render that lay an'his hoarseness won't prove no setback to the gaiety of nations. 

"'But I don't sing after all; an' I don't pile up Jule an' old Hickeyan' the sports of Sni-a-bar neither in any all 'round jumble ofamazement at my genius. 

"'"Dan, " says the ring master when we're in the dressin' room, "whenthe leapin' begins, you-all go on with the others an' do a somersaultor two?"

"'"Shore!" I says. 

"'I feels as confidant as a kangaroo! Which I never does try it none;but I supposes that all you has to do is hit the springboard an' letthe springboard do the rest. That's where I'm barkin' at a knot!

"'This yere leapin' comes first on the bill. I ain't been in the ringyet; the tumblin' business is where I makes my deeboo. I've got on awhite clown soote with big red spots, an' my face is all flour. I'm ascertain of my comin' pop'larity as a wet dog. I shore allows that whenJule an' old Hickey observes my graceful agility an' then hears mewarble "Roll Jurdan, Roll, " I'll make 'em hang their heads. 

"'The tumblin' is about to begin; the band's playin', an' all usathletes is ranged Injun file along a plank down which we're to run. I'm the last chicken on the roost. 

"'Even unto this day it's a subject of contention in circus cirkles asto where I hits that springboard. Some claims I hits her too high up;an' some says too low; for myse'f, I concedes I'm ignorant on thep'int. I flies down the plank like a antelope! I hears the snarl ofthe drums! I jumps an' strikes the springboard!

"'It's at this juncture things goes queer. To my wonder I don't turnno flip-flap, but performs like a draw-shot in billiards. I plants mymoccasins on the springboard; an' then instead of goin' on an' over acayouse who's standin' thar awaitin' sech events, I shoots back'ardabout fifteen foot an' lands in a ondistinguishable heap. An' as Istrikes a plank it smashes a brace of my ribs. 

"'For a second I'm blurred in my intellects. Then I recovers; an' asI'm bein' herded back into the dressin' room by the fosterin' hands ofthe ring master an' my pard, the clown, over in the audience I hearsJule's silvery laugh an' her old pap allowin' he'd give a hoss if I'donly broke my neck. Also, I catches a remark of old Hickey; "Whichthat Boggs boy allers was a ediot!" says old Hickey. '"

CHAPTER XV. 

Bowlegs and Major Ben. 

"Which this yere Major Ben, " remarked the Old Cattleman, "taken inconjunction with his bosom pard, Billy Bowlaigs, frames up the onlycasooalty which gets inaug'rated in Wolfville. "

"What!" I interjected; "don't you consider the divers killings, --thedeath of the Stinging Lizard and the Dismissal of Silver Phil, to saynothing of the taking off of the Man from Red Dog--don't you, I say, consider such bloody matters casualties?"

"No, sir, " retorted my friend, emitting the while sundry stubborn puffsof smoke, "no, sir; I regyards them as results. Tharfore, I reiteratesthat this yere Major Ben an' Bowlaigs accomplishes between 'em the onlytroo casooalty whereof Wolfville has a record. "

At this he paused and surveyed me with an eye of challenge; after abit, perceiving that I proposed no further contradiction, he went on:

"This Billy Bowlaigs at first is a cub b'ar--a black cub b'ar: an' whenhe grows up to manhood, so to speak, he's as big, an' mighty near asstrong physical, as Dan Boggs. Nacherally, however, Dan lays overBowlaigs mental like a ace-full. 

"It's Dave Tutt who makes Bowlaigs captive; Dave rounds Bowlaigs up inhis infancy one time when he's pesterin' about over in the foothills ofthe Floridas lookin' for blacktail deer. Dave meets up with Bowlaigsan' the latter's mother who's out, evident, on a scout for grub. Bowlaig's mother has jest upturned a rotten pine-log to give littleBowlaigs a chance to rustle some of these yere egreegious white wormswhich looks like bald catapillars, that a-way, when all at once arounda p'int of rocks Dave heaves in view. This parent of Bowlaigs is asbesotted about her son as many hooman mothers; for while Bowlaigsstands almost as high as she does an' weighs clost onto two hundredpounds, the mother b'ar still has the idee tangled up in herintelligence that Bowlaigs is that small an' he'pless, day-old kittensis se'f-sustainin' citizens by compar'son to him. Actin' on these yereerrors, Bowlaig's mother the moment she glimpses Dave grabs youngBowlaigs by the scruff of the neck an' goes caperin' off up hill withhim. An' to give that parent b'ar full credit, she's gettin' along allright an' conductin' herse'f as though Bowlaigs don't heft no more thanone of them gooseha'r pillows, when, accidental, she bats pore Bowlaigsag'in the bole of a tree--him hangin' outen her mouth about threefoot--an' while the collision shakes that monarch of the forest some, Bowlaigs gets knocked free of her grip an' goes rollin' down themountain-side ag'in like a sack of bran. It puts quite a crimp inBowlaigs. The mother b'ar, full of s'licitoode to save her offspringturns, an' charges Dave; tharupon Dave downs her, an' young Bowlaigsbecomes a orphan an' a pris'ner on the spot. 

"Followin' the demise of Bowlaig's mother, Dave sort o' feelsreesponsible for the cub's bringin' up an' he ties him hand an' foot, an' after peelin' the pelt from the old mother b'ar, packs the entireoutfit into camp. Dave's pony protests with green eyes ag'in carryin'sech a freight, but Dave has his way as he usually does with everythingexcept Tucson Jennie. 

"At first Dave allows he'll let Bowlaigs live with him a whole lot an'keep him ontil he grows up, an' construct a pet of him. But as I morethan once makes plain, Dave proposes but Tucson Jennie disposes; an' soit befalls that on the third day after the cub takes up his residencewith her an' Dave, Jennie arms herse'f with a broom an' harasses theonfortunate Bowlaigs from her wickeyup. Jennie declar's that shediscovers Bowlaigs organisin' to devour her child Enright Peets Tutt, who's at that epock comin' three the next spring round-up. 

"'I could read it in that Bowlaigs b'ar's eyes, ' says Jennie, 'an' it'smighty lucky a parent's faculties is plumb keen. If I hadn't got in onthe play with my broom, you can bet that inordinate Bowlaigs would havedone eat little Enright Peets all up. 

"Shore, no one credits these yere apprehensions of Jennie's; Bowlaigswould no more have chewed up Enright Peets than he'd playedtable-stakes with him; but a fond mother's fears once stampeded is notto be headed off or ca'med, an' Bowlaigs has to shift his camp a heap. 

"Bowlaigs takes up his abode on the heels of him bein' run out byTucson Jennie, over to the corral; that is, he bunks in thar temp'raryat least. An' he shore grows amazin', an' enlarges doorin' the nextthree months to sech a degree that when he stands up to the counter inthe Red Light, acceptin' of some proffered drink, Bowlaigs comes clostto bein' as tall as folks. He early learns throughout his wakefulmoments--what I'd deescribe as his business hours--to make the RedLight a hang-out; it's the nosepaint he's hankerin' after, for in notime at all Bowlaigs accoomulates a appetite for rum that's a fa'rmatch for that of either Huggins or Old Monte, an' them two sots is forlong known as far west as the Colorado an' as far no'th as the Needlesas the offishul drunkards of Arizona. No; Bowlaigs ain't equal topourin' down the raw nosepaint; but Black Jack humours his weakness an'Bowlaigs is wont to take off his libations about two parts water to oneof whiskey an' a lump of sugar in the bottom, outen one of these bigtumbler glasses; meanwhiles standin' at the bar an' holdin' the glassbetween his two paws an' all as ackerate an' steady as the mosttalented inebriate. 

"'An' Bowlaigs has this distinction, ' says Black Jack, alloodin' to thesugar an' water; 'he's shore the only gent for whom I so far onbendsfrom reg'lar rools as to mix drinks. '

"Existence goes flowin' onward like some glad sweet song for Bowlaigsfor mighty likely it's two months an' nothin' remarkable eventuates. He camps in over to the corral, an' except that new ponies, who ain'tonto Bowlaigs, commonly has heart-failure at the sight of him, he don'tfound no disturbances nor get in anybody's way. Throughout his wakin'hours, as I su'gests former, Bowlaigs ha'nts about the Red Light, layin' guileful an' cunnin' for invites to drink; an' he execootesbesides small excursions to the O. K. Restauraw for chuck, with now an'then a brief journey to the Post Office or the New York store. Thesevisits of Bowlaigs to the last two places, both because he don't get noletters at the post office an' don't demand no clothes at the store, Iattribootes to motives of morbid cur'osity, that a-way. 

"The first real trouble that meets up with Bowlaigs--who's got to be ay'ar old by now--since Jennie fights the dooel with him with thatbroom, overtakes him at the O. K. Restauraw. Missis Rucker for onething ain't over fond of Bowlaigs, allegin' as he grows older day byday he looks more an' more like Rucker. Of course, sech views isfigments as much as the alarms of Tucson Jennie about Bowlaigsmeditatin' gettin' away with little Enright Peets; but Missis Rucker, in spite of whatever we gent folks can say in Bowlaigs's behalf, believes firm in her own slanders. She asserts that Bowlaigs as heonfolds looks like Rucker; an' for her at least that settles thesubject an' she assoomes towards Bowlaigs attitoodes which, wouldperhaps have been proper had her charge been troo. 

"Still, I'll say for that most esteemable lady, that Missis Ruckernever lays for Bowlaigs or assaults him ontil one afternoon when hecatches the dinin'-room deserted an' off its gyard an' goes romancin'over, cat-foot an' surreptitious, an' cleans up the tables of whatchuck has been placed thar in antic'pation of supper. The first newsMissis Rucker has of the raid is when Bowlaigs gets a half-hitch on thetablecloth an' winds up his play by yankin' the entire outfit ofspoons, tin plates an' crockery off onto the floor. It's then MissisRucker sallies from the kitchen an' puts Bowlaigs to flight. 

"Bowlaigs, who's plumb scared, comes lumberin' over to the Red Lightan' puts himse'f onder our protection. Enright squar's it for him; forwhen Missis Rucker appears subsequent with a Winchester an' a knife an'gives it out cold she's goin' to get Bowlaig's hide an' tallow an' sell'em to pay even for that dinin'-room desolation of which he's thearchitect, Enright counts up the damage an' pays over twenty-threedollars in full settlement. Does Bowlaigs know it? You can gamble thelimit he knows it; for all the time Missis Rucker is prancin' about theRed Light denouncin' him, he secretes himse'f, shiverin', behind thebar; an' when that lady withdraws, mollified an' subdooed by the money, he creeps out, Bowlaigs does, an' cries an' licks Enright's hand. Oh, he's a mighty appreciative b'ar, pore Bowlaigs is; but his nerves isthat onstrung by the perils he passes through with Missis Rucker ittakes two big drinks to recover his sperits an' make him feel like thesame b'ar. It's Texas Thompson who buys the drinks:

"'For I, of all gents, Bowlaigs, ' says Texas, as he invites thefoogitive to the bar, 'onderstands what you-all's been through. It maybe imagination, but jest the same thar's them times when Missis Ruckergoes on the warpath when she reminds me a lot of my divorced Laredowife. ' With that Texas pours a couple of hookers of Willow Run intoBowlaigs, an' the latter is a heap cheered an' his pulse declines tonormal. 

"It's rum, however, which final is the deestruction of Bowlaigs, sameas it is of plenty of other good people who would have else lived inhonour an' died respected an' been tearfully planted in manner an' formto do 'em proud. 

"Excloosive of that casooalty which marks his wind-up, an' which hecombines with Major Ben to commit, thar's but one action of Bowlaigs aenemy might call a crime. He does prounce on a mail bag one evenin'when the post-master ain't lookin', an' shore rends an' worrits themletters scand'lous. 

"Yes, Bowlaigs gets arrested, an' the Stranglers sort o' convenesinformal to consider it. I allers remembers that session of theStranglers on account of Doc Peets an' Colonel William Greene Sterettentertain' opp'site views an' the awful language they indulges in asthey expresses an' sets 'em forth. 

"'Which I claims that this Bowlaigs b'ar, ' says Peets, combatin' asuggestion of Dan Boggs who's sympathisin' with an' urges that Bowlaigsis 'ignorant of law an' tharfore innocent of offence, ' 'which I claimsthat this Bowlaig b'ar is guilty of rustlin' the mails an' must an'should be hanged. His ignorance is no defences, for don't each gentpresent know of that aphorism of the law, _Ignoratis legia nonexcusat_!'

"Dan, nacherally, is enable to combat sech profound bluffs as this, an'I'm free to confess if it ain't for Colonel Sterett buttin' in withmore Latin, the same bein' of equal cogency with that of Peet's, thefooture would have turned plenty dark an' doobious for Bowlaigs. AsDan sinks back speechless an' played from Peet's shot, the Colonel, whobein' eddicated like Peets to a feather aige is ondismayed an' cool, comes to the rescoo. 

"'That law proverb you quotes, Doc, ' says the Colonel, 'is deadc'rrect, an' if argyment was to pitch its last camp thar, yourdeductions that this benighted Bowlaigs must swing, would beondeniable. But thar's a element lackin' in this affair without whichno offence is feasible. The question is, --an' I slams it at you, Doc, as a thoughtful eddicated sharp--does this yere Bowlaigs open themletters an' bust into that mail bag _causa lucrae_? I puts this queryup to you-all, Doc, for answer. It's obv'ous that Bowlaigs ain't gotno notion of money bein' in them missives an' tharfore he couldn't havebeen moved by no thoughts of gain. Wherefore I asserts that the deedis not done _causa lucrae_, an' that the case ag'in this he'plessBowlaigs falls to the ground. '

"Followin' this yere collision of the classics between two sechscientists as Peets an' the Colonel, we-all can be considered ashangin' mighty anxious on what reply Doc Peets is goin' to make. Butafter some thought, Peets agrees with the Colonel. He admits that this_causa lucrae_ is a bet he overlooks, an' that now the Colonel drawshis attention to it, he's bound to say he believes the Colonel to beright, an' that Bowlaigs should be made a free onfettered b'ar ag'in. We breathes easier at this, for the tension has been great, an' Danhimse'f is that relieved he comes a heap clost to sheddin' tears. Thetrial closes with the customary drinks; Bowlaigs gettin' his fortydrops with the rest, on the hocks of which he signalises hisreestoration to his rights an' freedom as a citizen by quilin' up inhis corner an' goin' to sleep. 

"But the end is on its lowerin' way for Bowlaigs. Thar's a senileparty who's packed his blankets into camp an' who's called 'Major Ben. 'The Major, so the whisper goes, used to be quartermaster over to FortCraig or Fort Apache, or mebby now it's Fort Cummings or some'ers; an'he gets himse'f dismissed for makin' away with the bank-roll. Be thatas it may, the Major's plenty drunk an' military while he lasts amongus; an' he likewise has _dinero_ for whatever nosepaint an' food an'farobank he sees fit to go ag'inst. From the jump the Major makes upto Bowlaigs an' the two become pards. The Major allows he likesBowlaigs because he can't talk. 

"'Which if all my friends, ' says the Major, no doubt alloodin' to themwitnesses ag'in him when he's cashiered, 'couldn't have talked no morethan Bowlaigs, I'd been happy yet. '

"The Major's got a diminyootive wickeyup out to the r'ar of the corral, an' him an' Bowlaigs resides tharin. This habitat of the Major an'Bowlaigs ain't much bigger than a seegyar box; it's only eight foot byten, is made of barn-boards an' has a canvas roof. That's the kind ofranch Bowlaigs an' the Major calls 'home'; the latter spreadin' hisblankets on one side while Bowlaigs sleeps on t'other on the boardfloor, needin' no blankets, havin' advantage over the Major seein' he'sgot fur. 

"The dispoote between Bowlaigs an' the Major which results in both of'em cashin' in, gets started erroneous. The Major--who's sometimes tooindolent an' sometimes too drunk to make the play himse'f--instructsBowlaig how to go over to the Red Light an' fetch a bottle of rum. TheMajor would chuck a silver dollar in a little basket, an' Bowlaigswould take it in his mouth same as you-all has seen dogs, an' reportwith the layout to Black Jack. That gent would make the shift, bottlefor dollar, an' Bowlaigs would reepair back ag'in to the Major, whenthey'd both tank up ecstatic. 

"One mornin' after Bowlaigs an' the Major's been campin' together aboutfour months, they wakes up mighty jaded. They've had a onusual spreethe evenin' prior an' they feels like a couple of sore-head dogs. TheMajor who needs a drink to line up for the day, gropes about in hisblankets, gets a dollar, pitches it into the basket an' requestsBowlaigs to caper over for the Willow Run. Bowlaigs is nothin' loth;but as he's about to pick up the basket, he observes that the dollarhas done bounced out an' fell through a crack in the floor. Bowlaigssees it through the same crack where it's layin' shinin' onder thehouse. 

"Now this yere Bowlaigs is a mighty sagacious b'ar, also froogal, an'so he goes wallowin' forth plenty prompt to recover the dollar. TheMajor, who's ignorant of what's happened, still lays thar groanin' inhis blankets, feelin' like a loser an' nursin' his remorse. 

"The first p'inter the Major gets of a new deal in his destinies is agrand crash as the entire teepee upheaves an' goes over, kerwallop! onits side, hurlin' the Major out through the canvas. It's thethoughtless Bowlaigs does it. 

"When Bowlaigs gets outside, he finds he can't crawl onder the teepeenone, seein' it's settin' too clost to the ground; an' tharupon, bein'a one-ideed b'ar, he sort o' runs his right arm in beneath that edificean' up-ends the entire shebang, same as his old mother would a log whenshe's grub-huntin' in the hills. Bowlaigs is pickin' up the dollarwhen the Major comes swarmin' 'round the ruins of his outfit, a bowiein his hand, an' him fairly locoed with rage. 

"Shore, thar's a fight, an' the Major gets the knife plumb toBowlaigs's honest heart with the first motion. But Bowlaigs quitsgame; he turns with a warwhoop an' confers on the Major a swat thatwould have broke the back of a bronco; an' then he dies with his teethin the Major's neck. 

"The Major only lives a half hour after we gets thar. An' it's to hiscredit that he makes a statement exoneratin' Bowlaigs. 'I don't wantyou-all gents, ' says the Major, 'to go deemin' hard of this innocentb'ar, for whatever fault thar is, is mine. Since Texas Thompson picksup that dollar, this thing is made plain. What I takes for gratooitouswickedness on Bowlaigs' part is nothin' but his efforts to execoote mydesires. Pore Bowlaigs! it embitters my last moments as I pictureswhat must have been his opinions of me when I lams loose at him withthat knife! Bury us in one grave, gents; it'll save trouble an' showbesides that thar's no hard feelin's between me an' Bowlaigs overwhat--an' give it the worst name--ain't nothin' but a onfortunatemistake. '"

CHAPTER XVI. 

Toad Allen's Elopement. 

"Four days after that pinfeather person, " remarked the Old Cattleman, while refilling his pipe, "four days after that pinfeather person gainsOld Man Enright's consent to make use of Wolfville as a pivotal p'intin a elopement, him an' his loved one comes bulgin' into camp. Theyfloats over in one of these yere mountain waggons, what some folkscalls a 'buckboard'; the pinfeather person's drivin'. Between him an'his intended--all three settin' on the one seat--perches a preachergent, who it's plain from the look in his eyes is held in a sort o'captivity that a-way. What nacherally bolsters up this theory is thatthe maiden's got a six-shooter in her lap. 

"'Which if thar's a wearied hectored gent in Arizona, ' observes thepinfeather party, as he descends outen the buckboard at the corral an'tosses the reins to a hoss-hustler, 'you-all can come weavin' up an'chance a yellow stack that I'm shore that gent. '

"The preacher sharp, who's about as young an' new as the pinfeatherparty, looks like he yoonites with him in them views. As they onloadthemse'fs, the pinfeather person waves his hand to where we-all'sgathered to welcome 'em, an' says by way of introduction:

"'Gents, yere's Abby; or as this Bible sport will say later in thecer'mony, Abigail Glegg. '

"Of course, we, who represents the Wolfville public, comports ourse'fsas becomes gents of dignity, an' after takin' off our sombreros, plumbp'lite, Enright su'gests the O. K. Restauraw as a base of op'rations. 

"'Don't you-all reckon, ' says Enright to the pinfeather party, 'thatpendin' hostilities, Abby had better go over to Missis Rucker's? Tharshe gets combs an' breshes an' goes over her make-up an' straightensout her game. '

"The pinfeather party allows this yere is a excellent notion, only himan' Abby don't seem cl'ar as to what oughter be done about the preachersharp. 

"'You see, he don't want to come, ' explains the pinfeather party, 'an'it's cost me an' Abby a heap of trouble to round him up. I ain't noneshore but he seizes on the first chance to go stampedin'; an' withouthim these rites we-all is bankin' on would cripple down. '

"'No, friends, ' says the preacher sharp; 'I will promise to abide byyou an' embrace no openin' to escape. Since I'm here I will yooniteyou-all as you wish; the more readily because I trusts that as man an'wife you'll prove a mootual restraint one upon the other; an' also forthat I deems you both in your single-footed capac'ty as a threat to thecommoonity. Fear not; prepare yourse'fs an' I'll bring you together inthe happy bonds of matrimony at the drop of the hat. '

"'You notes, Dan, ' says Texas Thompson, who's off to one side with DanBoggs, 'you notes he talks like his heart's resentful. Them culpritshas r'iled him up; an' now he allows that the short cut to play even isto marry 'em as they deserves. Which if you-all knows that former wifeof mine, Dan, you'll appreciate what I says. '

"Even after the preacher sharp gives his p'role, Abby acts plentydoobious. She ain't shore it's wise to throw him loose. It's DocPeets who reasshores her. 

"'My dear young lady, ' says Peets, at the same time bowin' to theground, 'you may trust this maverick with me. I'll pledge my word toprodooce him at the moment when he's called for to make these nuptialswin. '

"'Which I'm aheap obleeged to you, Mister, ' says Abby to Peets, sizinghim up approvin'; 'an' now that I'm convinced thar's no chance of myfooture sufferin' from any absenteeism on the part of this pastor, Ireckons I better go over, like you-all hints, an' take a look or two inthe glass. It ain't goin' to consoome a moment, however, --this yeretitivation I plans; an' followin' said improvements we-all better pulloff this play some prompt. My paw, --old Ben Glegg, --is on our trailnot five miles behind; he'll land yere in half a hour an' I ain't noneconvinced he won't land shootin'. ' An' with this bluff, an' confidin'the preacher sharp to Peets, Abby goes curvin' over to the O. K. Restauraw. 

"However does this yere virgin look? Son, I hes'tates to deescribe alady onless the facts flows fav'rable for her. Which I'll take chancesan' lie a lot to say that any lady's beautiful, if you-all will onlygive me so much as one good feacher to go on. But I'm powerless in theinstance of Abby. That's a blizzard effect to her face; an' the bestyou can say is that if she don't look lovely, at least she looksconvincin'. The gnurliest pineknot burns frequent the hottest, an' youcan take my word for it, this Abby girl has sperit. Speakin' of herappearance, personal, Missis Rucker--who's a fair jedge--allows laterto Enright that if Abby's a kyard in a faro game, she'd play her tolose. 

"'Which she looks like a sick cat in the face, an' a greyhoun' in thewaist, ' says Missis Rucker; 'an' I ain't got mortal use for no sechspindlin' trollops as this yere Abby girl is, nohow. '

"'I don't know, ' says Enright, shakin' his head; 'I ain't been enrichedwith much practical experience with women, but I reckons now it's lovethat does it. Whoever is that gent, Peets, who says, "love is blind"?He knows his business, that sport does, an' about calls the turn. '

"'I ain't none so shore neither, ' says Peets. 'Love may be blind, butsomehow, I don't sign up the play that way. Thar's plenty of people, same as this pinfeather party, who discerns beauties in theirsweethearts that's veiled to you an' me. '

"Of course, these yere discussions concernin' Abby's charms takes placeweeks later. On the weddin' day, Wolfville's too busy trackin' 'roundan' backin' Abby's game to go makin' remarks. In this connection, however, it's only right to Abby to say that her pinfeather beau don'tshare Missis Rucker's views. Although Abby done threatens him with agun-play to make him lead her to the altar that time her old pawcreases him, an' he begins to wax low-sperited about wedlock, still, the pinfeather party's enamoured of Abby an' wropped up in her. 

"'Shore! says this pinfeather party to Texas Thompson, who, outen pityfor him, takes the bridegroom over to the Red Light, to be refreshed;'shore! while thar's no one that egreegious to go claimin' that myAbby's doo to grade as "cornfed, " all the same she's one of the mostfascinatin' ladies, --that is, an' give her a gun, --in all the len'than' breadth of Arizona. I knows; for I've seen my Abby shoot. '

"'Excoose me, pard, ' says Texas, after surveyin' the pinfeather partyplenty sympathetic; 'pardon my seemin' roodness, if I confers with thebarkeep aside. On the level! now, ' goes on Texas to Black Jack as hepulls him off to a corner an' whispers so the pinfeather party don'thear; 'on the level, Jack! ain't it my dooty--me who saveys what he'sag'inst--to go warn this victim ag'in matrimony in all its horrors?'

"'Don't you do it!' remonstrates Black Jack, an' his voice trembleswith the emphasis he feels; 'don't you do it none! You-all stand pawsoff! Which you don't know what you'll be answerable for! If this yeremarriage gets broke off, who knows what new line of conduct this Abbymaiden will put out. She may rope onto Boggs, or Peets, or mebby evenme. As long as Abby ain't marryin' none of us, Wolfville's attitoodeoughter be one of dignified nootrality. '

"Texas sighs deep an' sad as he turns ag'in to the pinfeather party;but he sees the force of Black Jack's argyments an' yields without aeffort to combat 'em. 

"'After all, ' says Texas bitterly to himse'f, 'others has suffered;wherefore, then, should this jaybird gent escape?' An' with that, Texas hardens his heart an' gives up any notion of the pinfeatherperson's rescoo. 

"Which Abby now issues forth of the O. K. Restauraw an' j'ines thepinfeather party when he emerges from the Red Light. 

"'This sky pilot, ' says Dan Boggs, approachin' the happy couple, 'sendsword by me that he's over in the New York store. In deefault of ashore-enough sanchooary, he allows he yootilises that depot of trade asa headquarters; an' he's now waitin', all keyed up an' ready to turnhis little game. Likewise, he's been complainin' 'round some querulousthat you folks is harsh with him, an' abducts him an' threatens hisskelp. '

"'Now, see thar!' ejac'lates Abby, liftin' up her hands. 'Does mortaly'ears ever before listen to sech folly! I suppose he takes that gun Ihas as threats! I'm a onprotected young female, an' nacherally, when Iembarks on this yere elopement, I packs one of paw's guns. Besides, this sweetheart of mine might get cold feet, an' try to jump the game, an' then I'd need said weepon to make good my p'sition. But it's nevermeant for that pastor! When I'm talkin' to him to prevail on him tocome along, an' that gun in my hand at the time, I does sort o' makereferences to him with the muzzle. But he needn't go gettin'birdheaded over it; thar's nothin' hostile meant!'

"'Enright explains to him satisfact'ry, ' says Boggs. 'An' as youurges, it don't mean nothin'. Folks on the brink of bein' married thata-way gets so joyfully bewildered it comes mighty near the same asbein' locoed. '

"'Well, ' says the pinfeather party, who's been stackin' up a dust-cloudwhere some one's gallopin' along about three miles over on the trail, 'if I'm any dab at a guess that's your infuriated paw pirootin' alongover yonder, an' we better get these matrimonial hobbles on withoutfurther onreasonable delays. That old murderer would plug me; an' nomore hes'tation than if I'm a coyote! But once I'm moved up intop'sition as his son-in-law, a feelin' of nearness an' kinship mightylikely op'rates to stay his hand. Blood's thicker than water, an' I'min a hurry to get reelated to your paw. '

"But Enright has his notions of what's proper, an' he su'gests theservices be delayed ontil old Glegg gets in. Meanwhile he despatchesJack Moore an' Dan Boggs as a gyard of honor to lead old Glegg to ourtrystin' place in the New York store. 

"'An' the first thing you-all do, Jack, ' says Enright, as Jack an' Danrides away, 'you get that outcast's guns. '

"It ain't no more'n time for one drink when Jack an' Dan returns incompany of this Glegg. He's a fierce, gray old gent with a eye like awolf. Jest before he arrives, Enright advises the pinfeather personan' the bride Abby, to go camp in the r'ar room so the sudden sight of'em won't exasp'rate this parent Glegg to madness. 

"'Whatever's the meanin' of this yere concourse?' demands old Glegg, ashe comes into the New York store, an' p'intin' to where Peets an' Texasan' Cherokee Hall, along with Enright, is standin' about; 'an' why doesthese hold-ups'--yere he indicates Dan an' Jack, --'denoode me of myhardware, I'd like to know?'

"'These gents, ' says Enright, 'is a quorum of that respectable bodyknown as the Wolfville Stranglers, otherwise a Vig'lance Committee; an'your guns was took so as to redooce the chances of hangin' you--thesame bein' some abundant, nacheral, --to minimum. Now who be you? also, what's your little game?'

"'My name's Benjamin Glegg, ' responds old Glegg. 'I owns the Sunflowerbrand an' ranch. As for my game: thar's a member of my fam'ly escapesthis mornin'--comes streamin' over yere, I onderstands--an' I'm in thesaddle tryin' to round her up. Gents, ' concloods old Glegg, an' hedisplays emotion, 'I'm simply a harassed parent on the trail of hiserrant offspring. '

"Then Enright makes old Glegg a long, soft talk, an' seeks to imboo himwith ca'mness. He relates how Abby an' the pinfeather sport dotes oneach other; an' counsels old Glegg not to come pesterin' about withroode objections to the weddin'. 

"'Which I says this as your friend, ' remarks Enright. 

"'It's as the scripter says, ' replies old Glegg, who's mollified a lot, 'it's as the good book says: A soft answer turneth away wrath; but morespeshully when the opp'sition's got your guns. I begins to see thingsdifferent. Still, I hates to lose my Abby that a-way. Since my oldwoman dies, Abby, gents, has been the world an' all to me. '

"'Is your wife dead?" asks Enright, like he sympathises. 

"'Shore!' says old Glegg; 'been out an' gone these two years. She'swith them cherubim in glory. But folks, you oughter seen her toonderstand my loss. Five years ago we has a ranch over back of theTres Hermanas by the Mexico line. The Injuns used to go lopin' by ourranch, no'th an' south, all the time. You-all recalls when they paystwenty-five dollars for skelps in Tucson? My wife's that thrifty themdays that she buys all her own an' my child Abby's clothes with theInjuns she pots. Little Abby used to scout for her maw. "Yere comesanother!" little Abby would cry, as she stampedes up all breathless, her childish face aglow. With that, my wife would take her hands outenthe wash-tub, snag onto that savage with her little old Winchester, andquit winner twenty-five right thar. '

"'Which I don't marvel you-all mourns her loss, ' says Enrightconsolin'ly. 

"'She's shorely--Missis Glegg is--' says old Glegg, shakin' his grizzlyhead; 'she's shore the most meteoric married lady of which hist'ry saysa word. My girl Abby's like her. '

"'But whatever's your objection, ' argues Enright, 'to this young an'trusty sport who's so eager to wed Abby?'

"'I objects to him because he gambles, ' says old Glegg. 'I can see hegambles by him pickin' up the salt cellar between his thumb an' middlefinger with the forefinger over the top like it's a stack of chips, oneevenin' when he stays to supper an' I asks him to "pass the salt. "Then ag'in, he don't drink; he tells me so himse'f when I invites himto libate. I ain't goin' to have no teetotal son-in-law around, over-powerin' me in a moral way; I'd feel criticised an' I couldn'tstand it, gents. Lastly, I don't like this yere felon's name none. '

"'Whatever is his name, then?' asks Enright. 'So far he don't confideno title to us. '

"'An' I don't wonder none!' says old Glegg. 'It shows he's decentenough to be ashamed. Thar's hopes of him yet. Gents, his name's ToadAllen. "Allen" goes, but, gents, I flies in the air at "Toad. " Doyou-all blame me? I asks you, as onbiased sports, would you set ca'mlydown while a party named "Toad" puts himse'f in nom'nation to be yourson-in-law?'

"'None whatever!' says Jack Moore; an' Dan an' Cherokee an' Texasechoes the remark. 

"'You-all camp down yere with a tumbler of Valley Tan, ' says Enright, 'an' make yourse'f comfortable with my colleagues, while I goes an'consults with our Gretna Green outfit in the r'ar room. '

"Enright returns after a bit, an' his face has that air ofse'f-satisfaction that goes with a gent who's playin' on velvet. 

"'Your comin' son-in-law, ' says Enright to old Glegg, 'defends himse'ffrom them charges as follows: He agrees to quit gamblin'; he says helies a whole lot when he tells you-all he don't drink none; an' lastly, deplorin' "Toad" as a cognomen, an' explainin' that he don't assoome itof free choice but sort o' has it sawed off on him in he'pless infancy, he offers--you consentin' to the weddin'--to reorganise onder the nameof "Benjamin Glegg Allen. "'

"Son, this yere last proposal wins over old Glegg in a body. He notonly withdraws all objections to the nuptials, but allows he'll makethe pinfeather sport an' Abby full partners in the Sunflower. At thisp'int, Enright notifies the preacher sharp that all depends on him; an'that excellent teacher at once acquits himse'f so that in two minutesWolfville adds another successful weddin' to her list of triumphs. 

"'It 'lustrates too, ' says Enright, when two days later the weddin'party has returned to Tucson, an' Wolfville ag'in sinks to a normalstate of slumbrous ease, 'it sort o' 'lustrates how open to argyments agent is when once he's lost his weepons. Now if he isn't disarmed thattime, my eloquence wouldn't have had no more effect on old Glegg thanthrowin' water on a drowned rat. '"

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Clients of Aaron Green. 

"And so there were no lawyers in Wolfville?" I said. The Old Cattlemanfilled his everlasting pipe, lighted it, and puffed experimentally. There was a handful of wordless moments devoted to pipe. Then, as onesatisfied of a smoky success, he turned attention to me and my remark. 

"Lawyers in Wolfville?" he repeated. "Not in my day; none whatever!It's mighty likely though that some of 'em's done come knockin' alongby now. Them jurists is a heap persistent, not to say diffoosive, an'soon or late they shore trails into every camp. Which we'd have had'em among us long ago, but nacherally, an' as far as argyments goes, weturns 'em off. Se'f-preservation is a law of nacher, an' these maximsapplies to commoonities as much as ever they does to gents personal. Wherefore, whenever we notices a law wolf scoutin' about an' tryin' toget the wind on us, we employs our talents for lyin', fills him up withfallacies, an' teaches him that to come to Wolfville is to put down hisdestinies on a dead kyard; an' he tharupon abandons whatever of planshe's harbourin' ag'in us, seein' nothin' tharin. 

"It's jest before I leaves for the East when one of these coyotescrosses up with Old Man Enright in Tucson, an' submits the idee of hisprofessional invasion of our camp. 

"'Which I'm in the Oriental at the time, ' says Enright, when he relatesabout his adventure, 'an' this maverick goes to jumpin' sideways at mein a friendly mood. Bein' I'm a easy-mannered sport with strangers, hehas no trouble gettin' acquainted. At last he allows that he aims topitch his teepee in Wolfville, hang out a shingle, an' plunge intojoorisprudence. "I was thinkin', " says he, "of openin' a joint for thepractice of law. As a condition prior advised by the barkeep, an' onewhich also recommends itse'f to me as dictated of the commonestproodence, I figgers on gainin' your views of these steps. "

"'"You does well, " I replies, "to consult me on them p'ints. I seesyou're shore a jo-darter of a lawyer; for you handles the language likea muleskinner does a blacksnake whip. But jest the same, don't for onemoment think of breakin' in on Wolfville. That outfit don't practicelaw none; she practices facts. It offers no openin' for your game. Comin' to Wolfville onder any conditions is ever a movement of gravity, an onless a gent is out to chase cattle or dandle kyards or proposes toarray himse'f in the ranks of commerce by foundin' a s'loon, Wolfvillewould not guarantee his footure any positive reward. "

"'"Then I jest won't come a whole lot, " says this law sharp. Whereuponwe engages in mootual drinks an' disperses to our destinies. '

"'What you tells this sport, ' says Texas Thompson, who's listenin' toEnright, 'echoes my sentiments exact. Anything to keep out law! Itain't alone the jedgments for divorce which my wife grabs off over inLaredo, but it comes to me as the frootes of a experience which hasbeen as wide as it has been plenty soon, that law is only another wordfor trouble in egreegious forms. '

"'So I decides, ' retorts Enright. 'Still, I'm proud to be endorsed byas good a jedge of public disorder an' its preventives as TexasThompson. Sech approvals ever tends to stiffen a gent's play. As Istates, I reeverses this practitioner an' heads him t'other way. Wolfville is the home of friendly confidence; the throne of yoonity an'fraternal peace. It must not be jeopardised. We-all don't want toincur no resks by abandonin' ourse'fs to real shore-enough law. Itwould debauch us: we'd get plumb locoed an' take to racin' wild an'cimarron up an' down the range, an' no gent could foresee results. It's better than even money, that with the advent of a law sharp intoour midst, historians of this hamlet would begin their last chapter. They would head her: "Wolfville's Last Days. "

"'It's twenty years ago, ' goes on Enright, 'while I'm that season inTexas, that a sharp packs his blankets into Yellow City an' puts it uphe'll practice some law. No; he ain't wanted, but he never does giveno gent a chance to say so. He comes trackin' in onannounced, an' thefirst we-all saveys, thar's his sign a-swingin', an' ashoorin' thesports of Yellow City of the presence of

 AARON GREEN, ESQ. ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. 

"'Nobody gets excited; for while we agrees to prevail on him ultimatelyto shift his camp a heap, the sityooation don't call for nothin'preecipitate. In fact, the idee of him or any other besotted personturnin' loose that a-way in Yellow City, strikes us as loodicrous. Thar's nothing for a law-gent to do. I've met up with a heap of campsin my day; an' I've witnessed the work of many a vig'lance committee;but I'm yere to state that for painstakin' ardour an' a energy thatnever sleeps, the Stranglers of Yellow City is a even break with thebest. They uses up a bale of half-inch rope a year; an' as for law an'order an' a scene of fragrant peace, that outfit is comparable onlywith flower gyardens on a quiet hazy August afternoon. 

"'This Aaron Green who prounces thus on Yellow City, intendin' tofoment litigations an' go ropin' 'round for fees, is plenty young; buthe's that grave an' dignified that owls is hilarious to him. One afterthe other, he tackles us in a severe onmitigated way, an' shoves hisprofessional kyard onto each an' tells him that whenever he feelsill-used to come a-runnin' an' have his rights preserved. Shore! theboys meets this law person half way. They drinks with him an' fillshim up with licker an' fictions alternate, an' altogether regyards himas a mighty yoomerous prop'sition. 

"'Also, observin' how tender he is, an' him takin' in their variouslies like texts of holy writ, they names him "Easy Aaron. " Which hedon't look on "Easy Aaron" none too well as a title, an' insists onbein' called "Jedge Green" or even "Squar' Green. " But Yellow Citywon't have it; she sticks to "Easy Aaron"; an' as callin' down theentire camp offers prospects full of fever an' oncertainty, he at lastpasses up the insult an' while he stays among us, pays no further heed. 

"'Doorin' the weeks he harbours with us, a gen'ral taste deevelops tohear this Easy Aaron's eloquence. Thar's a delegation waits on him an'requests Easy Aaron to come forth an' make a speech. We su'gests thathe can yootilise the Burnt Boot Saloon as a auditorium, an' offers as asubject "Texas: her Glorious Past, her Glitterin' Present, an' herTranscendent Footure!"

"'"Thar's a topic!" says Shoestring Griffith to Easy Aaron--Shoestringis the cha'rman of the committee, --"thar's a burnin' topic for you!An' if you-all will only come surgin' over to the Burnt Boot right nowwhile you're warm for the event, I offers two to one you makes Cicerolook like seven cents. "

"'But Easy Aaron waves 'em arrogantly away. He declines to go barkin'at a knot. He says it'll be soon enough to onbuckle an' swamp YellowCity with a flood of eloquence when proper legal o'casion enfolds. 

"'In the room to the r'ar of the apartments where this Easy Aaron holdsforth as a practitioner, thar's a farobank as is nacheral enough. It'sabout second drink time in the afternoon, bein' a time of day when thefaro game is dead. A passel of conspirators, with Shoestring Griffithin the lead, goes to this room an' reelaxes into a game of draw. EasyAaron can hear the flutter of the chips through the partition--the samebein' plenty thin--where he's camped like a spider in its web an'waitin' for some sport who needs law to show up. Easy Aaron listenscareless an' indifferent to Shoestring an' his fellow blacklaigs asthey deals an' antes an' raises an' rakes in pots, an' everybody mightyjoobilant as is frequent over poker. 

"'Of a suddent, roars an' yells an' reecriminations yoosurps the placeof merriment. Then the guns! An' half the lead comes spittin' an'splittin' through that intervenin' partition like she's kyardboard. The bullets flies high enough to miss Easy Aaron, but low enough toinvoke a gloomy frame of mind. 

"'This yere artillery practice don't continyoo long before Yellow Citydescends on Shoestring an' his band of homicides; an' when they've got'em sorted out, thar's Billy Goodnight too defunct to skin, an'Shoestring Griffith does it. 

"'Thar's no time lost; the Stranglers convenes in the Burnt Boot, an'exact jestice stands on expectant tiptoe for its prey. But Shoestringraises objections. 

"'"Which before ever you-all reptiles takes my innocent life, " saysShoestring, "I wants a lawyer. I swings off in style or I don't swing. You hear me! send across for Easy Aaron. You can gamble, I'm going tointerpose a defense. "

"'"That's but right, " says Waco Anderson who's the chief of theStranglers. "Assembled as we be to revenge the ontimely pluggin' ofthe late Billy Goodnight, still this Shoestring may demand a even deal. If some gent will ramble over an' round up Easy Aaron, as Shoestringdesires, it will be regyarded by the committee, an' this lynchin' canthen proceed. "

"'Easy Aaron is onearthed from onder his desk where he's still quiledup, pale an' pantin', by virchoo of the bullets. Jim Wise, who goesfor him, explains that the shower is over; an' also that he's inenormous demand to save Shoestring for beefin' Billy Goodnight. Atthis, Easy Aaron gets up an' coughs 'round for a moment or two, recoverin' his nerve; then he buttons his surtoot, assoomes airs ofsagacity, tucks the Texas Statootes onder his arm, reepairs to theBurnt Boot an' allows he's ready to defend Shoestring from said charges. 

"'"But not onless my fees is paid in advance, " says this Easy Aaron. 

"'At that, we-all passes the hat an' each chucks in a white chip ortwo, an' when Waco Anderson counts up results it shows wellnigheighty-five dollars. Easy Aaron shakes his head like it's mightysmall; but he takes it an' casts himse'f loose. An', gents, he's shoreverbose! He pelts an' pounds that committee with a hailstorm ofobservations, ontil all they can do is set thar an' wag their y'earsan' bat their eyes. Waco Anderson himse'f allows, when discussin' saidoration later, that he ain't beheld nothin' so muddy an' so much sincethe last big flood on the Brazos. 

"'After Easy Aaron holds forth for two hours, Waco preevails on himwith a six-shooter to pause for breath. Waco's tried twenty times toget Easy Aaron to stop long enough to let the Stranglers get down averbal bet, but that advocate declines to be restrained. He treatsWaco's efforts with scorn an' rides him down like he, Easy Aaron, is abunch of cattle on a stampede. Thar's no headin' or holdin' him ontilWaco, in desperation, takes to tyrannisin' at him with his gun. 

"'"It's this, " says Waco, when Easy Aaron's subdooed. "If the eminentgent will quit howlin' right yere an' never another yelp, the committeeis willin' to throw this villain Shoestring loose. Every one of us isa slave to dooty, but we pauses before personal deestruction in a awfulform. Billy Goodnight is gone; ondoubted his murderer should win thedoom meted out for sech atrocities; but dooty or no dooty, thiscommittee ain't called on to be talked to death in its discharge. Yellow City makes no sech demands of its servants; wherefore, Irepeats, that if this Easy Aaron sits mute where he is, we agrees tocut Shoestring's bonds an' restore him to that freedom whereof he makessech florid use. "

"'At this, Easy Aaron stands up, puffs out his chest, bows to Waco an'the others, an' evolves 'em a patronisin' gesture signifyin' that theirbluff is called. Shoestring Griffith is saved. 

"'Doorin' the subsequent line-up at the bar which concloods theceremonies, Easy Aaron waxes indignant an' is harrowed to observe BillyGoodnight imbibin' with the rest. 

"'"I thought you-all dead!" says Easy Aaron, in tones of wrathfulreproach. 

"'"Which I was dead, " says Billy, sort o' apol'getic, "but them wordsof fire brings me to. "

"'Easy Aaron don't make no answer, but as he jingles the fee the sourlook relaxes. 

"'As I remarks, Easy Aaron ain't with us over long. Yellow City isthat much worse off than Wolfville that she has a little old 'dobycalaboose that's been built since the old Mexico days. Thar's noshore-enough jedge an' jury ever comes to Yellow City; an' if thekyards was so run that we has a captive which the Stranglers deemsbeneath 'em, he would be drug 'way over yonder to some county seat. It's but fair to say that no sech contretemps presents itse'f up to theadvent of Easy Aaron; an' while thar's now an' then a smallaccoomulation of felons doorin' sech seasons as the boys is off on theranges or busy with the roundups, thar never fails to come a clean-upin plenty of time. The Stranglers comes back; jestice resoomes hersway, an' the calaboose is ag'in as empty as a church. 

"'It befalls, however, that doorin' the four or five weeks to followthe acquittal of that homicide Shoestring, an' while Waco Anderson an'a quorum of the committee is away teeterin' about in their own affairs, the calaboose gets filled up with two white men and either four or fiveMexicans--I can't say the last for shore, as I ain't got a good mem'ryfor Mexicans. These parties is held for divers malefactions fromshootin' up a Greaser dance-hall to stealin' a cow over on theHoneymoon. 

"'To his joy, Easy Aaron is reetained to defend this crim'nal herd. It's shore pleasant to watch him! I never sees the sport who's thatproudly content. Easy Aaron visits these yere clients of his everyday; an' when he has time, he walks out onto the plains so far thatyou-all can't hear his tones, an' rehearses the speeches he's aimin' tomake when he gets them cut-throats before a jury. We-all could see himprancin' up an' down, tossin' his hands an' all in the most locoed way. As I states, he's too far off to be heard none; but he's in plain viewfrom the front windows of the Burnt Boot, an' we-all finds them anticsplumb divertin. '

"'"These cases, " says Easy Aaron to me, for he's that happy an'enthoosiastic he's got to open up on some gent; "these cases is boundto fix my fame as the modern Demosthenes. You knows how eloquent I amabout Shoestring? That won't be a marker to the oration I'll frame upfor these miscreants in the calaboose. For why? Shoestring's time Iain't organised; also, I'm more or less shook by the late bulletsbuzzin' an' hummin' like a passel of bloo-bottle flies about my office. But now will be different. I'll be ready, an' I'll be in a coolfrenzy, the same bein' a mood which is excellent, partic'lar if a gentis out to break records for rhetoric. I shore regyards themmalefactors as so many rungs for my clamberin' up the ladder of fame. "An' with that this Easy Aaron goes pirootin' forth upon the plainsag'in to resoome his talking at a mark. 

"'It's mebby a week after this exultation of Easy Aaron's, an' WacoAnderson an' the others is in from the ranges. Yellow City is onusualvivacious an' lively. You-all may jedge of the happy prosperity oflocal feelin' when I assoores you that the average changed in atfarobank each evenin' ain't less than twenty thousand dollars. As forEasy Aaron, he's goin' about in clouds of personal an' speshul delight. It's now crowdin' along towards the time when him an' his clients willadjourn over to that county seat an' give Easy Aaron the opportoonityto write his name on the deathless calendars of fame. 

"'But black disapp'intment gets Easy Aaron squar' in the door. Onemorning he reepairs to the calaboose to consult with the felons onwhose interests he's ridin' herd. Horror seizes him; he finds thecells as vacant as a echo. 

"'"Where's these clients?" asks Easy Aaron, while his face grows white. 

"'"Vamosed!" says the Mexican who carries the calaboose keys; an' withthat he turns in mighty composed, to roll a cigarette. 

"'"Vamoosed, where at?" pursoos Easy Aaron. 

"'"_Por el inferno_!" says the Mexican; he's got his cigarette lighted, an' is puffin' as contented as hoss-thieves. "See thar, _Amigo_!" goeson the Greaser, indicatin' down the street. 

"'Easy Aaron gazes where the Mexican p'ints, an' his heart turns towater. Thar swayin' an' swingin' like tassels in the mornin' breeze, an' each as dead as Gen'ral Taylor, he beholds his entire dockethangin' to the windmill. Easy Aaron approaches an' counts 'em up. Which they're all thar! The Stranglers shorely makes a house cleanin'. As Easy Aaron looks upon them late clients, he wrings his hands. 

"'"Thar hangs fame!" says Easy Aaron; "thar hangs my chance ofeminence! That eloquence, wherewith my heart is freighted, an' whichwould have else declar'd me the Erskine of the Brazos, is lynched withmy clients. " Then wheelin' on Waco Anderson who strolls over, EasyAaron demands plenty f'rocious: "Whoever does this dastard deed?"

"'"Which this agitated sport, " observes Waco coldly to ShoestringGriffith, who comes loungin' up likewise, "asks whoever does these yeredastard deeds! Does you-all recall the fate, Shoestring, of the lastmisguided shorthorn who gives way to sech a query? My mem'ry is neverackerate as to trifles, an' I'm confoosed about whether he's shot orhung or simply burned alive. "

"'"That prairie dog is hanged a lot, " says Shoestring. "Which the boyswas goin' to burn him, but on its appearin' that he puts the questionmore in ignorance than malice, they softens on second thought to thatdegree they merely gets a rope, adds him to the windmill with theothers, an' lets the matter drop. "

"'Easy Aaron don't crowd his explorations further. He can see thar'swhat you-all might call a substratum of seriousness to the observationsof Waco an' Shoestring, an' his efforts to solve the mystery thatdisposes of every law case he has, an' leaves him to begin life anew, comes to a halt!

"'But it lets pore Easy Aaron out. He borrys a hoss from the corral, packs the Texas Statootes an' his extra shirt in the war-bags, an' withthat the only real law wolf who ever makes his lair in Yellow City, p'ints sadly no'thward an' is seen no more. As he's about to rideaway, Easy Aaron turns to me. He's sort o' got the notion I ain't sobad as Waco, Shoestring, an' the rest. "I shall never return, " saysEasy Aaron, an' he shakes his head plenty disconsolate. "Genius has noshow in Yellow City. This outfit hangs a gent's clients as fast asever he's retained an' offers no indoocements--opens no opportoonities, to a ambitious barrister. "'"

CHAPTER XVIII

Colonel Sterett Relates Marvels. 

"As I asserts frequent, " observed the Old Cattleman, the whiledelicately pruning a bit of wood he'd picked up on his walk, "the fundsof information, gen'ral an' speshul, which Colonel William GreeneSterett packs about would freight a eight-mule team. It's even moneywhich of 'em saveys the most, him or Doc Peets. For myself, aftercareful study, I inclines to the theery that Colonel Sterett'sknowledge is the widest, while Peets's is the most exact. Both iscollege gents; an' yet they differs as to the valyoo of sechsem'naries. The Colonel coppers colleges, while Peets plays 'em to win. 

"'Them temples of learnin', ' says the Colonel, 'is a heap ornate; butthey don't make good. ' This is doubted by Peets. 

"One evenin' Dan Boggs, who's allers tantalisin' 'round askin'questions--it looks like a sleepless cur'osity is proned intoDan--ropes at Peets concernin' this topic:

"'Whatever do they teach in colleges, Doc?' asks Dan. 

"'They teaches all of the branches, " retorts Peets. 

"'An' none of the roots, ' adds Colonel Sterett, 'as a cunnin' Yank onceremarks on a o'casion sim'lar. '

"No, the Colonel an' Peets don't go lockin' horns in these differences. Both is a mighty sight too well brought up for that; moreover, theydon't allow to set the camp no sech examples. They entertains too higha regyard for each other to take to pawin' about pugnacious, verbal orotherwise. 

"The Colonel's information is as wide flung as a buzzard's wing. Thar's mighty few mysteries he ain't authorised to eloocidate. An'from time to time, accordin' as the Colonel's more or less in licker, he enlightens Wolfville on a multitoode of topics. Which the Colonelis a profound eddicational innocence; that's whatever!

"It's one evenin' an' the moon is swingin' high in the bloo-blackheavens an' looks like a gold doorknob to the portals of the eternalbeyond. Texas Thompson fixes his eyes tharon, meditative an' pensive, an' then he wonders:

"'Do you-all reckon, now, that folks is livin' up thar?'

"'Whatever do you think yourse'f, Colonel?' says Enright, passin' theconundrum over to the editor of the _Coyote_. 'Do you think thar'sfolks on the moon?'

"'Do I think thar's folks on the moon?' repeats the Colonel as ca'mlyconfident as a club flush. 'I don't think, --I knows. '

"'Whichever is it then?' asks Dan Boggs, whose ha'r already begins tobristle, he's that inquisitive. 'Simply takin' a ignorant shot in thedark that away, I says, "No. " That moon looks like a mighty lonesomeloominary to me. '

"'Jest the same, ' retorts the Colonel, an' he's a lot dogmatic, 'thatplanet's fairly speckled with people. An' if some gent will recall theerrant fancies of Black Jack to a sense of dooty, I'll onfold how Iknows. 

"'It's when I'm crowdin' twenty, ' goes on the Colonel, followin' theministrations of Black Jack, 'an' I'm visitin' about the meetropolis ofLooeyville. I've been sellin' a passel of runnin' hosses; an' as Irounds up a full peck of doubloons for the fourteen I disposes of, I'mfeelin' too contentedly cunnin' to live. It's evenin' an' the moon isshinin' same as now. I jest pays six bits for my supper at the GaltHouse, an' lights a ten cent seegyar--Oh! I has the bridle off allright!--an' I'm romancin' leesurly along the street, when I encountersa party who's ridin' herd on one of these yere telescopes, the samebein' p'inted at the effulgent moon. Gents, she's shorely a giantspy-glass, that instrooment is; bigger an' longer than the smokestackof any steamboat between Looeyville an' Noo Orleans. She's swung on apa'r of shears; each stick a cl'ar ninety foot of Norway pine. As Igoes pirootin' by, this gent with the telescope pipes briskly up. 

"'"Take a look at the moon?"

"'"No, " I replies, wavin' him off some haughty, for that bag ofdoubloons has done puffed me up. "No, I don't take no interest in themoon. "

"'As I'm comin' back, mebby it's a hour later, this astronomer is stillswingin' an' rattlin' with the queen of night. He pitches his lariatag'in an' now he fastens. 

"'"You-all better take a look; they're havin' the time of their c'reersup thar. "

"'"Whatever be they doin'?"

"'"Tellin' wouldn't do no good, " says the savant; "it's one of themrackets a gent has to see to savey. "

"'"What's the ante?" I asks, for the fires of my cur'osity begins toburn. 

"'"Four bits! An' considerin' the onusual doin's goin' for'ard, it'scheaper than corn whiskey. "

"'No; I don't stand dallyin' 'round, tryin' to beat this philosopherdown in his price. That ain't my style. When I'm ready to commitmyse'f to a enterprise, I butts my way in, makes good the tariff, an'no delays. Tharfore, when this gent names four bits, I onpouches the_dinero_ an' prepares to take a astronomic peek. 

"'"How long do I gaze for four bits?" I asks, battin' my right eye toget it into piercin' shape. 

"'"Go as far as you likes, " retorts the philosopher; "thar's no limit. "

"'Gents, ' says the Colonel, pausin' to renoo his Valley Tan, while Danan' Texas an' even Old Man Enright hitches their cha'rs a bit nearer, the interest is that intense; 'gents, you-all should have took a squintwith me through them lenses. Which if you enjoys said privilege, youcan gamble Dan an' Texas wouldn't be camped 'round yere none tonight, exposin' their ignorance an' lettin' fly croode views concernin'astronomy. That telescope actooally brings the moon plumb intoKaintucky;--brings her within the reach of all. You could stretch toher with your hand, she's that clost. '

"'But is thar folks thar?' says Dan, who's excited by the Colonel'sdisclosures. 'Board the kyard, Colonel, an' don't hold us in suspense. "

"'Folks!' returns the Colonel. 'I wishes I has two-bit pieces forevery one of 'em! The face of that orb is simply festered with folks!She teems with life; ant-hills on election day means desertion bycompar'son. Thar's thousands an' thousands of people, mobbin' aboutindiscrim'nate; I sees 'em as near an' plain as I sees Dan. '

"'An' whatever be they doin'?' asks Dan. 

"'They're pullin' off a hoss race, ' says the Colonel, lookin' steady inDan's eye. 'An' you hears me! I never sees sech bettin' in my life. '

"Nacherally we-all feels refreshed with these experiences of ColonelSterett's, for as Enright observes, it's by virchoo of sech casooalchunks of information that a party rounds out a eddication. 

"'It ain't what a gent learns in schools, ' says Enright, 'that broadenshim an' stiffens his mental grip; it's knowledge like this yere moonstory from trustworthy sources that augments him an' fills him full. Go on, Colonel, an' onload another marvel or two. You-all must shorehave witnessed a heap!'

"'Them few sparse facts touchin' the moon, ' returns Colonel Sterett, 'cannot be deemed wonders in any proper sense. They're merelyinterestin' details which any gent gets onto who brings science to hisaid. But usin' the word "wonders, " I does once blunder upon a mir'clewhich still waits to be explained. That's a shore-enough marvel! An'to this day, all I can state is that I sees it with these yere eyes. '

"'Let her roll!' says Texas Thompson. 'That moon story prepares us foranything. '

"'Texas, ' observes the Colonel, a heap severe, 'I'd hate to feel thatyour observations is the jeerin' offspring of distrust. '

"'Me distrust!' replies Texas, hasty to squar' himse'f. 'I'd as soonthink of distrustin' that Laredo divorce of my former he'pmeet! An' asthe sheriff drives off two hundred head of my cattle by way of alimony, I deems the fact of that sep'ration as fixed beyond cavil. No, Colonel, you has my fullest confidence. I'd go doubtin' the evenhandedjestice of Cherokee's faro game quicker than distrustin' you. '

"'An' I'm present to say, ' returns the Colonel mighty complacent, 'thatI looks on sech assoorances as complimentary. To show which Ionhesitatin'ly reels off that eepisode to which I adverts. 

"'I'm only a child; but I retains my impressions as sharp cut an' cl'aras though she happens yesterday. It's a time when one of theselegerdemain sharps pastes up his bills in our village an' lets on he'llgive a show in Liberty Hall on the comin' Saturday evenin'. An' gents, to simply read of the feats he threatens to perform would loco you!Besides, thar's a picture of Satan, black an' fiery an' frightful, where he's he'pin' this gifted person to foist said mir'cles upon theage. I don't exaggerate none when I asserts that the moment ourvillage gets its eye on these three-sheets it comes to a dead halt. 

"'Old Squar' Alexanders is the war chief of the hamlet, an' him an' thetwo other selectmen c'llects themse'fs over their toddies an' canvasseswhether they permits this wizard to give his fiendish exhibitions inour midst. They has it pro an' con ontil the thirteenth drink, whenSquar' Alexanders who's ag'in the wizard brings the others to hisviews; an' as they staggers forth from the tavern it's the yoonanimousdecision to bar that Satan-aided show. 

"'"Witches, wizards, elves, gnomes, bull-beggars, fiends, an' devils isdebarred the Bloo Grass Country, " says Squar' Alexanders, speakin' forhimse'f an' his fellow selectmen, "an' they're not goin' to be allowedto hold their black an' sulphurous mass meetin's yere. "

"'It comes Saturday evenin' an' the necromancer is in the tavern eatin'his supper. Shore! he looks like common folks at that! Squar'Alexanders is waitin' for him in the bar. When he shows up, carelesslypickin' his teeth, it's mebby half a hour before the show, Squar'Alexanders don't fritter away no time, but rounds up the wizard. 

"'"Thar's no show which has Satan for a silent partner goin' to cutitse'f loose in this village, " says Squar' Alexanders. 

"'"What's this talk about Satan?" responds the wizard. "I don't saveyno more about Satan than I does about you. "

"'"Look at them bills, " says Squar' Alexanders, an' he p'ints to whereone is hangin' on the barroom wall. It gives a picture of the foulfiend, with pitchfork, spear-head tail an' all. "Whatever do you callthat?"

"'"That's a bluff, " says the wizard. "If Kaintucky don't get tangledup with Satan ontil I imports him to her fertile shores, you cimmaronsmay regyard yourse'fs as saved. "

"'"Be you-all goin' to do the sundry deeds you sets forth in theprogrammes?" asks Squar' Alexanders after a pause. 

"'"Which I shorely be!" says the wizard, "an' if I falls down or failsyou can call me a ab'litionist. "

"'"Then all I has to say is this, " returns Squar' Alexanders; "no gentcould do them feats an' do 'em on the level. You'd have to have thehe'p of demons to pull em off. An' that brings us back to my firstannouncement; an' stranger, your show don't go. "

"'At this the wizard lets on he's lost patience with Squar' Alexandersan' declares he won't discuss with him no more. Also, he gives it outthat, Satan, or no Satan, he'll begin to deal his game at eight o'clock. 

"'"Very well!" rejoins Squar' Alexanders. "Since you refooses to bewarned I shall shore instruct the constable to collar you on the stepsof Liberty Hall. " As he says this, Squar' Alexanders p'ints across toChet Kishler, who's the constable, where he's restin' hhnse'f in frontof Baxter's store. 

"'This yere Chet is a giant an' clost onto eight foot high. It's awarm evenin', an' as the wizard glances over at Chet, he notices howthat offishul is lazily fannin' himse'f with a barn-door which he'sdone lifted off the hinges for that coolin' purpose. The wizard don'tsay nothin', but he does turn a mite pale; he sees with half a eye thatSatan himse'f would be he'pless once Chet gets his two paws on him. However, he assoomes that he's out to give the show as per schedoole. 

"'It's makin' toward eight when the wizard lights a seegyar, drinksfour fingers of Willow Run, an' goes p'intin' out for Liberty Hall. Chet gets up, hangs the barn-door back on its hinges, an' sa'ntersafter. Squar' Alexanders has posted Chet as to his dooties an' hisorders is to prounce on the necromancer if he offers to enter the hall. That's how the cavalcade lines up: first, the wizard; twenty footbehind is Chet; an' twenty foot behind our constable comes the publicin a body. 

"'About half way to Liberty Hall the wizard begins to show nervous an'oncertain. He keeps lookin' back at Chet; an' even in my childishsimplicity I sees that he ain't pleased with the outlook. At last heweakens an' abandons his idee of a show. Gents, as I fills my glass, Iasks you-all however now do you reckon that wizard beats a retreat?'

"Thar's no reply. Dan, Texas, an' the others, while Colonel Sterettacquires his licker, shakes their heads dumbly as showin' they gives itup. 

"'Which you'd shorely never guess!' retorts the Colonel, wipin' hislips. 'Of a sudden, this wizard tugs somethin' outen his pocket thatlooks like a ball of kyarpet-rags. Holdin' one end, quick as thoughthe tosses the ball of kyarpet-rags into the air. It goes straight upontil lost to view, onwindin' itse'f in its flight because of thewizard holdin' on. 

"'Gents, that ball of kyarpet-rags never does come down no-more! An'it's all done as easy as a set-lock rifle! The wizard climbs thedanglin' string of kyarpet-rags, hand over hand; then he drifts off an'up'ards ontil he don't look bigger than a bumble-bee; an' then he'slost in the gatherin' shadows of the Jooly night. 

"'Squar' Alexanders, Chet, an' the village stands strainin' their eyesfor twenty minutes. But the wizard's vamosed; an' at last, when eachis convinced tharof, the grown folks led by Squar' Alexanders reepairsback into the tavern an' takes another drink. '

"'That's a mighty marvellous feat your necromancer performs, Colonel, 'remarks Enright, an' the old chief is grave as becomes the Colonel'srevelations; 'he's a shore-enough wonder-worker, that wizard is!'

"But I ain't got to the wonders none as yet, ' reemonstrates theColonel, who spunks up a bit peevish for him. 'An' from the frequentway wherein I'm interrupted, it don't look much like I will. Goin'sailin' away into darklin' space with that ball of enchantedkyarpet-rags, --that ain't the sooper-nacheral part at all! Shore!ondoubted it's some hard to do as a feat, but still thar's otherfeachers which from the standp'int of the marvellous overpowers it likefour kings an' a ace. That wonder is this: It's quarter to eight whenthe wizard takes his flight by means of the kyarpet-rags. Gents, ateight o'clock sharp the same evenin' he walks on the stage an' gives ashow at St. Looey, hundreds of miles away. '"

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Luck of Hardrobe. 

"Which I tells this yere narrative first, back in one of them good oldRed Light evenin's when it's my turn to talk. "

The Old Cattleman following this remark, considered me for a moment insilence. I had myself been holding the floor of discussion in a way bothrambling and pointless for some time. I had spoken of the nationalfortune of Indians, their superstitions, their ill-luck, and other savagesubjects various and sundry. My discourse had been remarkable perhapsfor emphasis rather than accuracy; and this too held a purpose. It wascalculated to rouse my raconteur and draw him to a story. Did what I saylack energy, he might go to sleep in his chair; he had done this morethan once when I failed of interest. Also, if what I told were whollytrue and wanting in ripple of romantic error, even though my friend didme the compliment of wakefulness, he would make no comment. Neither washe likely to be provoked to any recital of counter experiences. At last, however, he gave forth the observation which I quote above and I saw thatI had brought him out. I became at once wordless and, lighting a cigar, leaned back to listen. 

"As I observes, " he resumed, following a considerable pause which I wasjealous to guard against word or question of my own; "I tells this taleto Colonel Sterett, Old Man Enright, an' the others one time when we'rerestin' from them Wolfville labours of ours an' renooin' our strengthwith nosepaint in the Red Light bar. Jest as you does now, Dan Boggstakes up this question of luck where Cherokee Hall abandons it, an'likewise the subject of savages where Texas Thompson lays 'em down, an'after conj'inin' the two in fashions I deems a heap weak, allows thatluck is confined strictly to the paleface; aborigines not knowin'sufficient to become the target of vicissitoodes, excellent or otherwise. 

"'Injuns is too ignorant to have what you-all calls "luck, "' says Dan. 'That gent who's to be affected either up or down by "luck" has got tohave some mental cap'bilities. An' as Injuns don't answer sechdeescriptions, they ain't no more open to "luck" than to enlight'ment. "Luck" an' Injuns when took together, is preepost'rous! It's liketalkin' of a sycamore tree havin' luck. Gents, it ain't in the deck!'An' tharupon Dan seals his views by demandin' of Black Jack the bottlewith glasses all 'round. 

"'When it comes to that, Boggs, ' says Colonel Sterett, as he does Danhonour in four fingers of Valley Tan, 'an' talkin' of luck, I'm yere tooffer odds that the most poignant hard-luck story on the list is thestory of Injuns as a race. An' I won't back-track their game nonefurther than Columbus at that. The savages may have found life asummer's dream prior to the arrival of that Eytalian mariner an' theornery Spainiards he surrounds himse'f with. But from the looks of thetabs, the deal since then has gone ag'inst 'em. The Injuns don't winonce. White folks, that a-way, is of themse'fs bad luck incarnate toInjuns. The savage never so much as touches 'em or listens to 'em orimitates 'em, but he rots down right thar. Which the pale-face shorelykills said Injuns on the nest! as my old grand-dad used to say. '

"'When I recalls the finish of Hardrobe, ' I remarks, sort o' cuttin' intothe argyment, the same bein' free an' open to all, 'an' I might add byway of a gratootity in lines of proof, the finish of his boy, Bloojacket, I inclines to string my chips with Colonel Sterett. '

"'Give us the details concernin' this Hardrobe, ' says Doc Peets. 'Formyse'f, I'm prone an' eager to add to my information touchin' Injuns atevery openin'. '

"As Enright an' the rest makes expression sim'lar, I proceeds toonbuckle. I don't claim much for the tale neither. Still, I wouldn'tcopper it none for it's the trooth, an' the trooth should allers beplayed 'open' every time. I'll tell you-all this Hardrobe story as Ionfolds it to them. "

It was here my friend began looking about with a vaguely anxious eye. Isaw his need and pressed the button. 

"I was aimin' to summon my black boy, Tom, " he said. 

When a moment later his favourite decanter appeared in the hands of oneof the bar-boys of the hostelry, who placed it on a little table at hiselbow and withdrew, the necessity for "Tom" seemed to disappear, andrecurring to Hardrobe, he went on. 

"Hardrobe is a Injun--a Osage buck an' belongs to the war clan of histribe. He's been eddicated East an' can read in books, an' pow-wowsAmerican mighty near as flooent as I does myse'f. An' on that last p'intI'll take a chance that I ain't tongue-tied neither. 

"Which this yere is a long time ago. Them is days when I'm young an'lithe an' strong. I can heft a pony an' I'm six foot two in mymoccasins. No, I ain't so tall by three inches now; old age shortens agent up a whole lot. 

"My range is on the south bank of Red River--over on the Texas side. Across on the no'th is the Nation--what map folks call the 'InjunTerritory. ' In them epocks we experiences Injuns free an' frequent, asour drives takes us across the Nation from south to no'th the widest way. We works over the old Jones an' Plummer trail, which thoroughfare Ialloodes to once or twice before. I drives cattle over it an' I freightsover it, --me an' my eight-mule team. An' I shorely knows where all thegrass an' wood an' water is from the Red River to the Flint Hills. 

"Speakin' of the Jones an' Plummer trail, I once hears a dance-hall girlwho volunteers some songs over in a Tucson hurdygurdy, an' that maidensort o' dims my sights some. First, she gives us _The Dying Ranger_, thesame bein' enough of itse'f to start a sob or two; speshul when folks is, as Colonel Sterett says, 'a leetle drinkin'. ' Then when the publicclamours for more she sings something which begins:

 "'Thar's many a boy who once follows the herds, On the Jones an' Plummer trail; Some dies of drink an' some of lead, An' some over kyards, an' none in bed; But they're dead game sports, so with naught but good words, We gives 'em "Farewell an' hail. "'

"Son, this sonnet brings down mem'ries; and they so stirs me I has to_vamos_ that hurdygurdy to keep my emotions from stampedin' into tears. Shore, thar's soft spots in me the same as in oilier gents; an' thatmelody a-makin' of references to the old Jones an' Plummer days comesmighty clost to meltin' everything about me but my guns an' spurs. 

"This yere cattle business ain't what it used to be; no more iscow-punchers. Things is gettin' effete. These day it's a case of chutesan' brandin' pens an' wire fences an' ten-mile pastures, an' thar's solittle ropin' that a boy don't have practice enough to know how to catchhis pony. 

"In the times I'm dreamin' of all this is different. I recalls how wefrequent works a month with a beef herd, say of four thousand head, outon the stark an' open plains, ropin' an' throwin' an' runnin' aroad-brand onto 'em. Thar's a dozen different range brands in the bunch, mebby, and we needs a road-brand common to 'em all, so in case ofstampedes on our trip to the no'th we knows our cattle ag'in an' can pick'em out from among the local cattle which they takes to minglin' with. It's shorely work, markin' big strong steers that-away! Throwin' athousand-pound longhorn with a six hundred-pound cayouse is tellin' onall involved an' a gent who's pitchin' his rope industrious will weardown five broncos by sundown. 

"It's a sharp winter an' cattle dies that fast they simply defies thebest efforts of ravens an' coyotes to get away with the supply. It'sbeen blowin' a blizzard of snow for weeks. The gales is from the no'than' they lashes the plains from the Bad Lands to the Rio Grande. Whenthe storm first prounces on the cattle up yonder in the Yellowstonecountry, the he'pless beasts turns their onprotestin' tails and begins todrift. For weeks, as I remarks, that tempest throws itse'f loose, an'night an' day, what cattle keeps their feet an' lives, comes driftin' on. 

"Nacherally the boys comes with 'em. Their winter sign-camps breaks upan' the riders turns south with the cattle. No, they can't do nothin';you-all couldn't turn 'em or hold 'em or drive 'em back while the stormlasts. But it's the dooty of the punchers to keep abreast of theirbrands an' be thar the moment the blizzard abates. 

"It's shore a spectacle! For a wild an' tossin' front of five hundredmiles, from west to east, the storm-beat herds comes driftin'. An'ridin' an' sw'arin' an' plungin' about comes with 'em the boys on theirbroncos. They don't have nothin' more'n the duds on their backs, an'mebby their saddle blankets an' slickers. But they kills beef to eat asthey needs it, an' the ponies paws through the snow for grass, an' theyexists along all right. For all those snow-filled, wind-swept weeksthey're ridin' an' cussin'. They comes spatterin' through the rivers, an' swoopin' an' whoopin' over the divides that lays between. Theycrosses the Heart an' the Cannon Ball an' the Cheyenne an' the White an'the Niobrara an' the Platte an' the Republican an' the Solomon an' theSmoky an' the Arkansaw, to say nothin' of the hundreds of forks an'branches which flows an' twines an' twists between; an' final, you runsup on boys along the Canadian who's come from the Upper Missouri. An' asfor cattle! it looks like it's one onbroken herd from Fort Elliot towhere the Canadian opens into the Arkansaw!

"The chuck waggons of a thousand brands ain't two days behind the boys, an' by no time after that blizzard simmers, thar's camp-fires burnin' an'blinkin' between the Canadian an' the Red all along from the Choctawcountry as far west as the Panhandle. Shore, every cow-puncher makes forthe nearest smoke, feeds up an' recooperates; and then he with the othersbegins the gatherin' of the cattle an' the slow northern drive of thereturn. Which the spring overtakes 'em an' passes 'em on it's way to theno'th, an' the grass is green an' deep before ever they're back on theirranges ag'in. 

"It's a great ride, says you? Son, I once attends where a lecture sharpholds forth as to Napoleon's retreat from Moscow. As was the properthing I sets silent through them hardships. But I could, it I'm disposedto become a disturbin' element or goes out to cut loose cantankerous an'dispootatious in another gent's game, have showed him the Frenchexperiences that Moscow time is Sunday school excursions compared withthese trips the boys makes when on the breath of that blizzard theyswings south with their herds. Them yooths, some of 'em, is over eighthundred miles from their home-ranch; an' she's the first an' only time Iever meets up with a Yellowstone brand on the Canadian. 

"You-all can put down a bet I'm no idle an' listless looker-on thatblizzard time; an' I grows speshul active at the close. It behooves usRed River gents of cattle to stir about. The wild hard-ridin'knight-errants of the rope an' spur who cataracts themse'fs upon us withtheir driftin' cattle doorin' said tempest looks like they're plentycap'ble of drivin' our steers no'th with their own, sort o' makin' up thedeeficiencies of the storm. 

"I brands over four thousand calves the spring before, which means I hasat least twenty thousand head, --or five times what Ibrands--skallihootin' an' hybernatin' about the ranges. An' bein' asyou-all notes some strong on cattle, an' not allowin' none for themYellowstone adventurers to drive any of 'em no'th, I've got about 'levenoutfits at work, overhaulin' the herds an' round-ups, an' ridin' roundan' through 'em, weedin' out my brand an' throwin' 'em back on my RedRiver range. I has to do it, or our visitin' Yellowstone guests wouldhave stole me pore as Job's turkey. 

"Whatever is a 'outfit' you asks? It's a range boss, a chuck waggon withfour mules an' a range cook, two hoss hustlers to hold the ponies, eightriders an' a bunch of about seventy ponies--say seven to a boy. Theseyere 'leven outfits I speaks of is scattered east an' west mebby she'sa-hundred miles along the no'th fringe of my range, a-combin' an'a-searchin' of the bunches an' cuttin' out all specimens of my brand whenfound. For myse'f, personal, I'm cavortin' about on the loose like, stoppin' some nights at one camp' an' some nights at another, keepin'cases on the deal. 

"It's at one of my camps one evenin' when I crosses up first with thisyere Hardrobe. His boy, Bloojacket, is with him. Hardrobe himse'f ismebby goin' on fifty, while Bloojacket ain't more'n say twenty-one. Shore, they're out for cattle, too; them savages has a heap of cattle, an' since they finds their brands an' bunches same as the rest of us alltangled up with the Yellowstone aliens doorin' the blizzard, Hardrobe an'his boy Bloojacket rides up an' asks can they work partners with a outfitof mine. 

"As I explains previous I'm averse to Injuns, but this Hardrobe is aonusual Injun; an' as he's settin' in ag'inst a stiff game the way thingsis mixed up, an' bein' only him an' his boy he's too weak to protecthimse'f, I yields consent, I yields the more pleasant for fear, --since Idrives through the Osage country now an' then--this Hardrobe an' his heirplays even by stampedin' my cattle some evenin' if I don't. Thar'snothin' like a dash of se'f-interest to make a gent urbane, an' so Iinvites Hardrobe an' Bloojacket to make my camp their headquarters likeI'd been yearnin' for the chance. 

"As you-all must have long ago tracked up on the information, it'ssooperfluous for me to su'gest that a gent gets used to things. Moreoverhe gets used frequent to things that he's born with notions ag'inst; an'them aversions will simmer an' subside ontil he's friendly with folks heonce honed to shoot on sight. It turns out that a-way about me an' thisHardrobe an' his boy Bloojacket. What he'ps, no doubt, is they'recapar'soned like folks, with big hats, bloo shirts, trousers, cow-laiggin's, boots an' spurs, fit an' ready to enter a civilisedparlour at the drop of the handkerchief. Ceasin' to rope for reasons, however, it's enough to say these savages an' me waxes as thick asm'lasses. Both of 'em's been eddicated at some Injun school which thegov'ment--allers buckin' the impossible, the gov'ment is, --upholds in itsvain endeavours to turn red into white an' make folks of a savage. 

"Bloojacket is down from the Bad Land country himself not long prior, bein' he's been servin' his Great Father as one of Gen'ral Crook's scoutsin the Sittin' Bull campaign. This young Bloojacket, --who's bubblin'over with sperits--has a heap of interestin' stories about the 'GreyFox. ' It's doo to Bloojacket to say he performs them dooties of his as ascout like a clean-strain sport, an' quits an' p'ints back for thepaternal camp of Hardrobe in high repoote. Thar's one feat of fast hardridin' that Injun performs, which I hears from others, an' which you-allmight not find oninterestin' if I saws it onto you. 

"Merritt with three hundred cavalry marches twenty-five miles onemornin'. Thar's forty Injun scouts along, among 'em this Bloojacket;said copper-hued auxiliaries bein' onder the command of Gen'ral Stanton, as game an' good a gent as ever packs a gun. It's at noon; Merritt an'his outfit camps at the Rawhide Buttes. Thar's a courier from Crookovertakes 'em. He says that word comes trailin' in that the Cheyennes atthe Red Cloud agency is makin' war medicine an' about to go swarmin' offto hook up with Sittin' Bull an' Crazy Hoss in the Sioux croosades. Crook tells Merritt to detach a band of his scouts to go flutterin' overto Red Cloud an' take a look at the Cheyennes's hand. 

"Stanton tells off four of his savages an' lines out with them for theRed Cloud agency; Bloojacket bein' one. From the Rawhide Buttes to theRed Cloud agency is one hundred even miles as a bullet travels. Whatmakes it more impressive, them one hundred miles is across a traillesscountry, the same bein' as rocky as Red Dog whiskey an' rough as the lifestory of a mule. Which Stanton, Bloojacket an' the others makes her intwelve hours even, an' comes up, a crust of dust an' sweat, to the RedCloud agency at midnight sharp. The Cheyennes has already been goneeight hours over the Great Northern trail. 

"Stanton, who's a big body of a man an' nacherally tharfore someroad-weary, camps down the moment he's free of the stirrups an' writes aletter on the agency steps by the light of a lantern. He tells Merrittto push on to the War Bonnet an' he'll head the Cheyennes off. Then hesends the Red Cloud interpreter an' four local Injuns with lead hosses topack this information back to Merritt who's waitin' the word at theRawhide Buttes. Bloojacket, for all he's done a hundred miles, declar'shimse'f in on this second excursion to show the interpreter the way. 

"'But you-all won't last through, ' says Stanton, where he sets on thesteps, quaffin' whiskey an' reinvig'ratin' himse'f. 

"'Which if I don't, I'll turn squaw!' says Bloojacket, an' gettin' freshhosses with the others he goes squanderin' off into the midnight. 

"Son, them savages, havin' lead hosses, rides in on Merritt by fifthdrink time or say, 'leven o'clock that mornin';--one hundred miles in'leven hours! An' Bloojacket some wan an' weary for a savage isa-leadin' up the dance. Mighty fair ridin' that boy Bloojacket does!Two hundred miles in twenty-three hours over a clost country ain't bad!Which it's me who says so: an' one time an' another I shore shoves plentyof scenery onder the hoofs of a cayouse myse'f. 

"About the foogitive Cheyennes? Merritt moves up to the War Bonnet likeStanton su'gests, corrals 'em, kills their ponies an' drives 'em back tothe agency on foot. Thar's nothin' so lets the whey outen a hoss-backInjun like puttin' him a-foot: an the Cheyennes settles down in sorrowan' peace immediate. 

"While Hardrobe an' his boy Bloojacket is with me, I'm impressedpartic'lar by the love they b'ars each other. I never does cut the trailof a father an' son who gives themse'fs up to one another like thisHardrobe an' his Bloojacket boy. I can see that Bloojacket regyards oldHardrobe like he's the No'th Star; an' as for Hardrobe himse'f, he can'tkeep his eyes off that child of his. You'd have had his life long beforehe'd let you touch a braid of Bloojacket's long ha'r. Both of 'em'splenty handsome for Injuns; tall an' lean an' quick as coyotes, withhands an' feet as little as a woman's. 

"While I don't go pryin' 'round this Hardrobe's private affairs--savagesis mighty sensitive of sech matters--I learns, incidental, that Hardrobeis fair rich. He's rich even for Osages; an' they're as opulent savagesas ever makes a dance or dons a feather. Later, I finds out thatHardrobe's squaw--Bloojacket's mother--is dead. 

"'See thar?' says Hardrobe one day. We're in the southern border of theOsage country on the Grayhoss at the time, an' he p'ints to a heap ofstones piled up like a oven an' chimley, an' about four foot high. Isaveys thar's a defunct Osage inside. You-all will behold these littlepiles of burial stones on every knoll an' hill in the Osage country. 'See thar, ' says this Hardrobe, p'intin'. 'That's my squaw. Mighty goodsquaw once; but heap dead now. '

"Then Hardrobe an' Bloojacket rides over an' fixes a little flag they'vegot in their war-bags to a pole which sticks up'ards outen this tomb, flyin' the ensign as Injuns allers does, upside down. 

"It's six months later, mebby--an' it's now the hard luck begins--when Ihears how Hardrobe weds a dance-hall girl over to Caldwell. Thismaiden's white; an' as beautiful as a flower an' as wicked as atrant'ler. Hardrobe brings her to his ranch in the Osage country. 

"The next tale I gets is that Bloojacket, likewise, becomes a victim tothe p'isenous fascinations of this Caldwell dance-hall damsel, an' thathim an' Hardrobe falls out; Hardrobe goin' on the warpath an' shootin'Bloojacket up a lot with a Winchester. He don't land the boy at that;Bloojacket gets away with a shattered arm. Also, the word goes thatHardrobe is still gunnin' for Bloojacket, the latter havin' gone ondercover some'ers by virchoo of the injured pinion. 

"As Colonel Sterett says, these pore aborigines experiences bad luck themoment ever they takes to braidin' in their personal destinies with apaleface. I don't blame 'em none neither. I sees this Caldwell seraphon one o'casion myse'f; she's shore a beauty! an' whenever she throws thelariat of her loveliness that a-way at a gent, she's due to fasten. 

"It's a month followin' this division of the house of Hardrobe when Iruns up on him in person. I encounters him in one of the little jim-crowrestauraws you-all finds now an' then in the Injun country. Hardrobe an'me shakes, an' then he camps down ag'in at a table where he's feedin' onfried antelope an' bakin' powder biscuit. 

"I'm standin' at the counter across the room. Jest as I turns my back, thar's the crack! of a rifle to the r'ar of the j'int, an' Hardrobepitches onto the floor as dead as ever transpires in that tribe. In theback door, with one arm in a sling, an' a gun that still smokes, ca'm an'onmoved like Injuns allers is, stands Bloojacket. 

"'My hand is forced, ' he says, as he passes me his gun; 'it's him or me!One of us wore the death-mark an' had to go. '

"'Couldn't you-all have gone with Crook ag'in?' I says. 'Which you don'thave to infest this yere stretch of country. Thar's no hobbles orsidelines on you; none whatever!'

"Bloojacket makes no reply, an' his copper face gets expressionless an'inscrootable. I can see through, however; an' it's the hobbles of thatCaldwell beauty's innocence that's holdin' him. 

"Bloojacket walks over to where Hardrobe's layin' dead an' straightenshim round--laigs an' arms--an' places his big white cow hat over hisface. Thar's no more sign of feelin', whether love or hate, in the eyesof Bloojacket while he performs these ceremonies than if Hardrobe's aroll of blankets. But thar's no disrespects neither; jest a greatsteadiness. When he has composed him out straight, Bloojacket looks atthe remainder for mebby a minute. Then he shakes his head. 

"'He was a great man, ' says Bloojacket, p'intin' at his dead father, withhis good hand; 'thar's no more like him among the Osages. '

"Tharupon Bloojacket wheels on the half-breed who runs the deadfall an'who's standin' still an' scared, an' says:

"'How much does he owe?' Then he pays Hardrobe's charges for antelopesteaks an' what chuck goes with it, an' at the close of these fiscalop'rations, remarks to the half-breed--who ain't sayin' no more'n he canhe'p, --'Don't touch belt nor buckle on him; you-all knows me!' An' I cansee that half-breed restauraw party is out to obey Bloojacket's mandates. 

"Bloojacket gives himse'f up to the Osages an' is thrown loose on p'role. But Bloojacket never gets tried. 

"A week rides by, an' he's standin' in front of the agency, sort o'makin' up some views concernin' his destinies. He's all alone; thoughforty foot off four Osage bucks is settin' together onder a cottonwoodplayin' Injun poker--the table bein' a red blanket spread on thegrass, --for two bits a corner. These yere sports in their blankets an'feathers, an' rifflin' their greasy deck, ain't sayin' nothin toBloojacket an' he ain't sayin' nothin' to them. Which jest the samethese children of nacher don't like the idee of downin' your parent none, an' it's apparent Bloojacket's already half exiled. 

"As he stands thar roominatin, ' with the hot August sun beatin' down, thar's a atmosphere of sadness to go with Bloojacket. But you-all wouldhave to guess at it; his countenance is as ca'm as on that murderin'evenin' in the half-breed's restauraw. 

"Bloojacket is still thar, an' the sports onder the cottonwood is stillgruntin' joyously over their poker, when thar comes the patter of abronco's hoofs. Thar's a small dust cloud, an' then up sweeps theCaldwell beauty. She comes to a pull-up in front of Bloojacket. Thatsavage glances up with a inquirin' eye an' the glance is as steady as thehills about him. The Caldwell beauty--it seems she disdains mournin'--isrobed like a rainbow; an' she an' Bloojacket, him standin', she on herbronco, looks each other over plenty intent. 

"Which five minutes goes by if one goes by, an' thar the two stares intoeach other's eyes; an' never a word. The poker bucks keeps on with theirgamble over onder the cottonwood, an' no one looks at the two or seemslike they heeds their existence. The poker savages is onto every move;but they're troo to the Injun idee of p'liteness an' won't interfere witheven so much as the treemor of a eyelash with other folks's plays. 

"Bloojacket an' the Caldwell beauty is still gazin'. At last theCaldwell beauty's hand goes back, an' slow an' shore, brings to the fronta eight-inch six-shooter. Bloojacket, with his eye still on her an'never a flicker of feelin', don't speak or move. 

"The Caldwell beauty smiles an' shows her white teeth. Then she lays thegun across her left arm, an' all as solid as a church. Her pony's goneto sleep with his nose between his knees; an' the Caldwell beauty settlesherse'f in the saddle so's to be ready for the plunge she knows iscomin'. The Caldwell beauty lays out her game as slow an' delib'rate astrees; Bloojacket lookin' on with onwinkin' eye, while the red-blanketbucks plays along an' never a whisper of interest. 

"'Which this yere pistol overshoots a bit!' says the Caldwell beauty, asshe runs her eye along the sights. 'I must aim low or I'll shore makeragged work. '

"Bloojacket hears her, but offers no retort; he stands moveless as astachoo. Thar's a flash an' a crash an' a cloud of bloo smoke; thearoused bronco makes a standin' jump of twenty foot. The Caldwell beautykeeps her saddle, an' with never a swerve or curve goes whirlin' away upthe brown, burnt August trail, Bloojacket lays thar on his face; an'thar's a bullet as squar' between the eyes as you-all could set yourfinger-tip. Which he's dead--dead without a motion, while the pokerbucks plays ca'mly on. "

My venerable friend came to a full stop. After a respectful pause, Iventured an inquiry. 

"And the Caldwell beauty?" I said. 

"It ain't a week when she's ag'in the star of that Caldwell hurdygurdywhere she ropes up Hardrobe first. Her laugh is as loud an' as' free, her beauty as profoundly dazzlin' as before; she swings through twentyquadrilles in a evenin' from 'Bow-to-your-partners' to'All-take-a-drink-at-the-bar'; an' if she's preyed on by them Osagetragedies you shore can't tell it for whiskey, nor see if for powder an'paint. "

CHAPTER XX. 

Colonel Coyote Clubbs. 

"Which as a roole, " said the Old Cattleman, "I speaks with deferencean' yields respects to whatever finds its source in nacher, but thisyere weather simply makes sech attitoode reedic'lous, an' any encomiumspassed thar-on would sound sarkastic. " Here my friend waved adisgusted hand towards the rain-whipped panes and shook his head. "Thar's but one way to meet an' cope successful with a day like this, "he ran on, "an' that is to put yourse'f in the hands of a joodiciousbarkeep--put yourse'f in his hands an' let him pull you through. Actin' on this idee I jest despatches my black boy Tom for a pitcher ofpeach an' honey, an', onless you-all has better plans afoot, you mightas well camp an' wait deevelopments, same as old man Wasson does whenhe's treed by the b'ar. "

Promptly came the peach and honey, and with its appearance the peltingstorm outside lost power to annoy. My companion beamingly did mehonour in a full glass. After a moment fraught of silence and peachand honey, and possibly, too, from some notion of pleasing my host witha compliment, I said: "That gentleman with whom you were in converselast evening told me he never passed a more delightful hour than hespent listening to you. You recall whom I mean?"

"Recall him? Shore, " retorted my friend as he recurred to the pitcherfor a second comforter. "You-all alloodes to the little gent who'slame in the nigh hind laig. He appeals to me, speshul, as he puts mein mind of old Colonel Coyote Clubbs who scares up Doc Peets that time. Old Coyote is lame same as this yere person. "

"Frighten Peets!" I exclaimed, with a great air; "you amaze me! Giveme the particulars. "

"Why, of course, " he replied, "I wouldn't be onderstood that Peets isterrorised outright. Still, old Colonel Coyote shore stampedes him an'forces Peets to fly. It's either _vamos_ or shoot up pore Coyote; an'as Peets couldn't do the latter, his only alternative is to goscatterin' as I states. 

"This yere Coyote has a camp some ten miles to the no'th an' off to oneside of the trail to Tucson. Old Coyote lives alone an' has builthimse'f a dugout--a sort o' log hut that's half in an' half outen theground. His mission on earth is to slay coyotes--'Wolfin'' he callsit--for their pelts; which Coyote gets a dollar each for the furs, an'the New York store which buys 'em tells Coyote to go as far as helikes. They stands eager to purchase all he can peel offen themanamiles. 

"No; Coyote don't shoot these yere little wolves; he p'isens 'em. Coyote would take about twelve foot, say, of a pine tree he's cutdown--this yere timber is mebby eight inches through--an' he'll bore init a two-inch auger hole every two foot. These holes is some deep;about four inches it's likely. Old Coyote mixes his p'isen with beeftallow, biles them ingredients up together a lot, an' then, while she'smelted that a-way, he pours it into these yere auger holes an' lets itcool. It gets good an' hard, this arsenic-tallow does, an' then Coyotedrags the timber thus reg'lated out onto the plains to what he regyardsas a elegible local'ty an' leaves it for the wolves to come an' battenon. Old Coyote will have as many as a dozen of these sticks of timber, all bored an' framed up with arsenic-tallow, scattered about. Eachmornin' while he's wolfin', Coyote makes a round-up an' skins an'counts up his prey. An' son, you hear me! he does a flourishin' trade. 

"Why don't Coyote p'isen hunks of meat you asks? For obvious reasons. In sech events the victim bolts the piece of beef an' lopes off mebbyfive miles before ever he succumbs. With this yere augur hole playit's different. The wolf has to lick the arsenic-tallow out with histongue an' the p'isen has time an' gets in its work. That wolf sort o'withers right thar in his tracks. At the most he ain't further awaythan the nearest water; arsenic makin' 'em plenty thirsty, as you-allmost likely knows. 

"Old Coyote shows up in Wolfville about once a month, packin' in hispelts an' freightin' over to his wickeyup whatever in the way of grubhe reckons he needs. Which, if you was ever to see Coyote once, youwould remember him. He's shore the most egreegious person, an' inappearance is a cross between a joke, a disaster an' a cur'osity. Idon't reckon now pore Coyote ever sees the time when he weighs ahundred pound; an' he's grizzled an' dried an' lame of one laig, whilehis face is like a squinch owl's face--kind o' wide-eyed an' with aexpression of ignorant wonder, as if life is a never-endin' surpriseparty. 

"Most likely now what fixes him firmest in your mind is, he don't drinknone. He declines nosepaint in every form; an' this yere abstinence, the same bein' yoonique in Wolfville, together with Coyote conductin'himse'f as the p'litest an' best-mannered gent to be met with in all ofArizona, is apt to introode on your attention. Colonel Sterett oncementions Coyote's manners. 

"'Which he could give Chesterfield, Coyote could, kyards an' spades, 'observes the Colonel. I don't, myse'f, know this Chesterfield none, but I can see by the fashion in which Colonel Sterett alloodes to himthat he's a Kaintuckian an' a jo-darter on manners an' etiquette. 

"As I says, a pecooliar trait of Coyote is that he won't drink nothin'but water. Despite this blemish, however, when the camp gets so itknows him it can't he'p but like him a heap. He's so quiet an' honestan' ignorant an' little an' lame, an' so plumb p'lite besides, he growson you. I can almost see the weasened old outlaw now as he comesrockin' into town with his six or seven burros packed to their y'earswith pelts!

"This time when Coyote puts Doc Peets in a toomult is when he's firstpitched his dug-out camp an' begins to honour Wolfville with hisvisits. As yet none of us appreciates pore Coyote at his troo worth, an' on account of them guileless looks of his sech humourists as DanBoggs an' Texas Thompson seizes on him as a source of merriment. 

"It's Coyote's third expedition into town, an' he's hoverin' about theNew York store waitin' for 'em to figger up his wolf pelts an' cut outhis plunder so he freights it back to his dug-out. Dan an' Texas isalso procrastinatin' 'round, an' they sidles up allowin' to have theirlittle jest. Old Coyote don't know none of 'em--quiet an' sober an'p'lite like I relates, he's slow gettin' acquainted--an' Dan an' Texas, as well as Doc Peets, is like so many onopened books to him. For thatmatter, while none of them pards of mine knows Coyote, they manages togain a sidelight on some of his characteristics before ever they getsthrough. Doc Peets later grows ashamed of the part he plays, an' twomonths afterwards when Coyote is chewed an' clawed to a standstill by ainfooriated badger which he mixes himse'f up with, Peets binds him upan' straightens out his game, an' declines all talk of recompensecomplete. 

"'It's merely payin' for that outrage I attempts on your feelin's whenyou rebookes me so handsome, ' says Peets, as he turns aside Coyote's_dinero_ an' tells him to replace the same in his war-bags. 

"However does Coyote get wrastled by that badger? It's another yarn, but at least she's brief an' so I'll let you have it. Badgers, yousaveys, is sour, sullen, an' lonesome. An' a badger's feelin's isallers hurt about something; you never meets up with him when he ain'thostile an' half-way bent for war. Which it's the habit of these yeremorose badgers to spend a heap of their time settin' half in an' halfouten their holes, considerin' the scenery in a dissatisfied way likethey has some grudge ag'inst it. An' if you approaches a badger whilethus employed he tries to run a blazer on you; he'll show his teeth an'stand pat like he meditates trouble. When you've come up within thirtyfeet he changes his mind an' disappears back'ard into his hole; but allmalignant an' reluctant. 

"Now, while Coyote saveys wolves, he's a heap dark on badgers thata-way. An' also thar's a badger who lives clost to Coyote's dug-out. One day while this yere ill-tempered anamile is cocked up in the mouthof his hole, a blinkin' hatefully at surroundin' objects. Coyote cutsdown on him with a Sharp's rifle he's got kickin' about his camp an'turns that weepon loose. 

"He misses the badger utter, but he don't know it none. Comin' to thehole, Coyote sees the badger kind o' quiled up at the first bend in theburrow, an' he exultin'ly allows he's plugged him an' tharupon reachesin to retrieve his game. That's where Coyote makes the mistake of hisc'reer; that's where he drops his watermelon!

"That badger's alive an' onhurt an' as hot as a lady who's lost money. Which he's simply retired a few foot into his house to reconsiderCoyote an' that Sharp's rifle of his. Nacherally when the ontaughtCoyote lays down on his face an' goes to gropin' about to fetch thatbadger forth the latter never hes'tates. He grabs Coyote's hand withtooth and claw, braces his back ag'in the ceilin' of his burrow an'stands pat. 

"Badgers is big people an' strong as ponies too. An' obdurate! Son, abadger is that decided an' set in his way that sech feather-blownthings as hills is excitable an' vacillatin' by comparison. This yereparticular badger has the fam'ly weaknesses fully deeveloped, an' themoment he cinches onto Coyote, he shore makes up his mind never to letgo ag'in in this world nor the next. 

"As I tells you, Coyote is little an' weak, an' he can no more movethat hardened badger, nor yet fetch himse'f loose, than he can sproutwings an' soar. That badger's got Coyote; thar he holds him prone an'flat ag'in the ground for hours. An' at last Coyote swoons away. 

"Which he'd shore petered right thar, a prey to badgers, if it ain'tfor a cowpuncher--he's one of Old Man Enright's riders--who comesromancin' along an' is attracted to the spot by some cattle who'sprancin' an' waltzin' about, sizin' Coyote up as he's layin' thar, an'snortin' an' curvin' their tails in wonder at the spectacle. Which thevisitin' cow sharp, seein' how matters is headed, shoves hissix-shooter in along-side of Coyote's arm, drills this besotted badger, an' Coyote is saved. It's a case of touch an' go at that. But tocaper back to where we leaves Dan an' Texas on the verge of themjocyoolarities. 

"'No, gentlemen, ' Coyote is sayin', in response to some queries of Danan' Texas; 'I've wandered hither an' yon a heap in my time, an' now Ihas my dug-out done, an' seein' wolves is oncommon plenty, I allows Iputs in what few declinin' days remains to me right where I be. I mustsay, too, I'm pleased with Wolfville an' regyards myse'f as fortunatean' proud to be a neighbour to sech excellent folks as you-all. "

"'Which I'm shore sorry a lot, ' says Dan, 'to hear you speak as youdoes. Thar's a rapacious sport about yere who the instant he finds howyou makes them dug-out improvements sends on an' wins out a gov'mentpatent an' takes title to that identical quarter-section which embracesyour camp. Now he's allowin' to go squanderin' over to Tucson an' geta docyment or two from the jedge an' run you out. '

"Son, this pore innocent Coyote takes in Dan's fictions like so muchspring water; he believes 'em utter. But the wonder is to see how hechanges. He don't say nothin', but his-eyes sort o' sparks up an' hisface gets as gray as his ha'r. It's now that Doc Peets comes along. 

"'Yere is this devourin' scoundrel now, ' says Texas Thompson, p'intin'to Peets. 'You-all had better talk to him some about it. ' Thenturnin' to Peets with a wink, Texas goes on: 'Me an' Mister Boggs istellin' our friend how you gets a title to that land he's camped on, an' that you allows you'll take possession mebby next week. '

"'Why, shore, ' says Peets, enterin' into the sperit of the hoax, an'deemin' it a splendid joke; 'be you-all the maverick who's on thatquarter-section of mine?'

"'Which I'm Colonel Coyote Clubbs, ' says Coyote, bowin' low while hislips trembles, 'an' I'm at your service. '

"'Well, ' says Peets, 'it don't make much difference about your name, all you has to do is hit the trail. I needs that location you've donesquatted on because of the water. '

"'An' do I onderstand, sir, ' says Coyote some agitated, 'that you'llcome with off'cers to put me outen my dug-out?'

"'Shore, ' says Peets, in a case-hardened, pitiless tone, 'an' why not?Am I to be debarred of my rights by some coyote-slaughterin' invaderan' onmurmurin'ly accede tharto? Which I should shore say otherwise. '

"'Then I yereby warns you, sir, ' says Coyote, gettin' pale as paper. 'I advises you to bring your coffin when you comes for that land, forI'll down you the moment you're in range. '

"'In which case, ' says Peets, assoomin' airs of blood-thirstytrucyoolence, 'thar's scant use to wait. If thar's goin' to be anypowder burnin' we might better burn it now. '

"'I've no weepon, sir, ' says Coyote, limpin' about in a circle, 'but ifary of these gentlemen will favour me with a gun I'll admire to putmyse'f in your way. '

"Which the appearance of Coyote when he utters this, an' him showin' onthe surface about as war-like as a prairie-dog, convulses Dan an'Texas. It's all they can do to keep a grave front while pore Coyote inhis ignorance calls the bluff of one of the most deadly an' gamestgents who ever crosses the Missouri--one who for nerve an' finish is aeven break with Cherokee Hall. 

"'Follow me, ' says Peets, frownin' on Coyote like a thunder cloud;'I'll equip you with a weepon myse'f. I reckons now that your deathan' deestruction that a-way is after all the best trail out. 

"Peets moves off a heap haughty, an' Coyote limps after him. Peetsgoes over where his rooms is at. 'Take a cha'r, ' says Peets, as theywalks in, an' Coyote camps down stiffly in a seat. Peets crosses to arack an' searches down a 8-inch Colt's. Then he turns towards Coyote. 'This yere discovery annoys me, ' says Peets, an' his words comes coldas ice, 'but now we're assembled, I finds that I've only got one gun. '

"'Well, sir, ' says Coyote, gettin' up an' limpin' about in his nervousway, his face workin' an' the sparks in his eyes beginnin' to leap intoflames; 'well, sir, may I ask what you aims to propose?'

"'I proposes to beef you right yere, ' says Peets, as f'rocious as agrizzly. 'Die, you miscreant!' An' Peets throws the gun on Coyote, the big muzzle not a foot from his heart. 

"Peets, as well as Dan an' Texas, who's enjoyin' the comedy through awindow, ondoubted looks for Coyote to wilt without a sigh. An' if hehad done so, the joke would have been both excellent an' complete. ButCoyote never wilts. He moves so quick no one ever does locate thedarkened recess of his garments from which he lugs out that knife; thefirst p'inter any of 'em gets is that with the same breath whereinPeets puts the six-shooter on him, Coyote's organised in full with abowie. 

"'Make a centre shot, you villyun!' roars Coyote, an' straight asadders he la'nches himse'f at Peets's neck. 

"Son, it's the first an' last time that Doc Peets ever runs. An' hedon't run now, he flies. Peets comes pourin' through the door an' intothe street, with Coyote frothin' after him not a yard to spar'. Thebest thing about the whole play is that Coyote's a cripple; it's thisyere element of lameness that lets Peets out. He can run thirty footto Coyote's one, an' the result occurs in safety by the breadth of aha'r. 

"It takes two hours to explain to Coyote that this eepisode is humour, an' to ca'm him an' get his emotions bedded down. At last, yoonitedWolfville succeeds in beatin' the trooth into him, an' he permits Peetsto approach an' apol'gise. 

"'An' you can gamble all the wolves you'll ever kill an' skin, ' saysDoc Peets, as he asks Coyote to forgive an' forget, 'that this yere isthe last time I embarks in jests of a practical character or gives wayto humour other than the strickly oral kind. Barkeep, my veneratedfriend, yere will have a glass of water; but you give me Valley Tan. '"

CHAPTER XXI. 

Long Ago on the Rio Grande. 

"Which books that a-way, " observed the Old Cattleman, "that is, story-books, is onfrequent in Wolfville. " He was curiously examiningStevenson's "Treasure Island, " that he had taken from my hand. "Thenearest approach to a Wolfville cirk'latin' library I recalls is a copyof 'Robinson Crusoe, ' an' that don't last long, as one time when TexasThompson leaves it layin' on a cha'r outside while he enters the RedLight for the usual purpose, a burro who's loafin' loose about thestreet, smells it, tastes it, approoves of it, an' tharupon devours ita heap. After that I don't notice no volumes in the outfit, onlessit's some drug books that Doc Peets has hived over where he camps. It's jest as well, for seein' a gent perusin' a book that a-way, operates frequent to make Dan Boggs gloomy; him bein' oneddicated likeI imparts to you-all yeretofore. 

"Whatever do we do for amoosements? We visits the Dance Hall; not todance, sech frivol'ties bein' for younger an' less dignified sports. We goes over thar more to give our countenance an' endorsements toHamilton who runs the hurdy-gurdy, an' who's a mighty proper citizen. We says 'How!' to Hamilton, libates, an' mebby watches 'em 'balanceall, ' or 'swing your partners, ' a minute or two an' then proceeds. Then thar's Huggins's Bird Cage Op'ry House, an' now an' then we-allfloats over thar an' takes in the dramy. But mostly we camps about theRed Light; the same bein' a common stampin'-ground. It's thar we findeach other; an' when thar's nothin' doin', we upholds the hours tellin'tales an' gossipin' about cattle an' killin's, an' other topics commonto a cow country. Now an' then, thar's a visitin' gent in town who canonfold a story. In sech event he's made a lot of, an' becomes promptlythe star of the evenin'. 

"Thar's a Major Sayres we meets up with once in Wolfville, --he's tharon cattle matters with old man Enright--an' I recalls how he growsabsorbin' touchin' some of his adventures in that War. 

"Thar's a passel of us, consistin' of Boggs, Tutt, Cherokee, an' TexasThompson, an' me, who's projectin' 'round the Red Light when Enrightintrodooces this Major Sayres. Him an' Enright's been chargin' aboutover by the Cow Springs an' has jest rode in. This Major is easy an'friendly, an' it ain't longer than the third drink before he showssymptoms of bein' willin' to talk. 

"'Which I ain't been in the saddle so long, ' says the Major, while himan' Enright is considerin' how far they goes since sunup, 'since MisterLee surrenders. '

"'You takes your part, Major, ' says Enright, who's ropin' for areminiscence that a-way, 'in the battles of the late war, I believes. '

"'I should shorely say so, ' says the Major. 'I'm twenty-two years old, come next grass, when Texas asserts herse'f as part of the confed'racy, an' I picks up a hand an' plays it in common with the other patrioticyooths of my region. Yes, I enters the artillery, but bein' as wedon't have no cannon none at the jump I gets detailed as a aide ontilsomething resemblin' a battery comes pokin' along. I goes through thatcarnage from soup to nuts, an' while I'm shot up some as days go by, it's allers been a source of felic'tation to me, personal, that I neverslays no man myse'f. Shore, I orders my battery to fire, later when Igets a battery; an' ondoubted the bombardments I inaug'rates adds toan' swells the ghost census right along. But of my own hand it's everbeen a matter of congratoolations to me that I don't down nobody an'never takes a skelp. 

"'As I turns the leaves of days that's gone I don't now remember butone individyooal openin' for blood that ever presents itse'f. An'after considerin' the case in all its b'arin's, I refooses theopportunity an' the chance goes glidin' by. As a result thar'sprobably one more Yank than otherwise; an' now that peace is yere an'we-all is earnestly settlin' to be brothers No'th and South, I regyardsthat extra Yank as a advantage. Shore, he's a commoonal asset. '

"'Tell us how you fails to c'llect this Yankee, Major, ' says Faro Nell:'which I'm plumb interested every time that some one don't get killed. '

"'I reecounts that exploit with pleasure, ' says, the Major, bowin'p'lite as Noo Orleans first circles an' touchin' his hat to Nell. 'It's one day when we're in a fight. The line of battle is mebbystretched out half a mile. As I su'gests, I'm spraddlin' 'roundpermiscus with no stated arena of effort, carryin' despatches an'turnin' in at anything that offers, as handy as I can. I'm sent finalwith a dispatch from the left to the extreme right of our lines. 

"'When we goes into this skrimmage we jumps the Lincoln people somewhatonexpected. They has their blankets an' knapsacks on, an' as theyframes themse'fs up for the struggle they casts off this yere baggage, an' thar it lays, a windrow of knapsacks, blankets an' haversacks, mighty near a half mile in length across the plain. As we-all rebs hasbeen pushin' the Yankees back a lot, this windrow is now to our r'ar, an' I goes canterin' along it on my mission to the far right. 

"'Without a word of warnin' a Yank leaps up from where he's beenburrowin' down among this plunder an' snaps a Enfield rifle in my face. I pulls my boss back so he's almost settin' on his hocks; an' betweenus, gents, that onexpected sortie comes mighty near surprisin' me plumbout of the saddle. But the Enfield don't go off none; an' with thatthe Yank throws her down an' starts to' run. He shorely does _vamos_with the velocity of jackrabbits!

"'As soon as me an' my hoss recovers our composure we gives chase. Bein' the pore Yank is afoot, I runs onto him in the first two hundredyards. As I comes up, I've got my six-shooter in my hand. I puts themuzzle on him, sort o' p'intin' between the shoulders for gen'ralresults; but when it comes to onhookin' my weepon I jest can't turn thetrick. It's too much like murder. Meanwhile, the flyin' Yank isstampedin' along like he ain't got a thing on his mind an' neverturnin' his head. 

"'I calls on him to surrender. He makes a roode remark over hisshoulder at this military manoover an' pelts ahead all onabated. ThenI evolves a scheme to whack him on the head with my gun. I pushes myhoss up ontil his nose is right by that No'thern party's y'ear. Steadyin' myse'f, I makes a wallop at him an' misses. I invests somuch soul in the blow that missin' that a-way, I comes within' a ace ofclubs of goin' off my hoss an' onto my head. An' still thatexasperatin' Yank goes rackin' along, an' if anything some faster thanbefore. At that I begins to lose my temper ag'in. 

"'I reorganises, --for at the time I nearly makes the dive outen thestirrups, I pulls the hoss to a stop, --an' once more takes up thepursoot of my locoed prey. He's a pris'ner fair enough, only he's tooobstinate to admit it. As I closes on him ag'in, I starts for thesecond time to drill him, but I can't make the landin'. I'm too young;my heart ain't hard enough; I rides along by him for a bit an' for thesecond time su'gests that he surrender. The Yank ignores me; he keepson runnin'. 

"'Which sech conduct baffles me! It's absolootely ag'in military law. By every roole of the game that Yank's my captive; but defyin'restraint he goes caperin' on like he's free. 

"'As I gallops along about four foot to his r'ar I confess I begins tofeel a heap he'pless about him. I'm too tender to shoot, an' he won'tstop, an' thar we be. 

"'While I'm keepin' him company on this retreat, I reflects that evenif I downs him, the war would go on jest the same; it wouldn't stop therebellion none, nor gain the South her independence. The more Iconsiders, too, the war looks bigger an' the life of this flyin' Yanklooks smaller. Likewise, it occurs to me that he's headed no'th. Ifhe keeps up his gait an' don't turn or twist he'll have quittedSouthern territory by the end of the week. 

"'After makin' a complete round-up of the sityooation I begins to loseinterest in this Yank; an' at last I leaves him, racin' along alone. By way of stim'lant, as I pauses I cracks off a couple of loads outenmy six-shooter into the air. They has a excellent effect; from thejump the Yank makes at the sound I can see the shots puts ten milesmore run into him shore. He keeps up his gallop ontil he's out ofsight, an' I never after feasts my eyes on him. 

"'Which I regyards your conduct, Major, as mighty hoomane, ' says DanBoggs, raisin' his glass p'litely. 'I approves of it, partic'lar. '

"The Major meets Dan's attentions in the sperit they're proposed. After a moment Enright speaks of them cannons. 

"But you-all got a battery final, Major?' says Enright. 

"'Six brass guns, ' says the Major, an' his gray eyes beams an' hespeaks of 'em like they was six beautiful women. 'Six brass guns, theybe, ' he says. We captured 'em from the enemy an' I'm put in command. Gents, I've witnessed some successes personal, but I never sees the daywhen I'm as satisfied an' as contentedly proud as when I finds myse'fin command of them six brass guns. I was like a lover to every one of'em. 

"'I'm that headlong to get action--we're in middle Loosiana at thetime--that I hauls a couple of 'em over by the Mississippi an' goesprowlin' 'round ontil I pulls on trouble with a little Yankee gun boat. It lasts two hours, an' I shore sinks that naval outfit an' piles theold Mississippi on top of 'em. I'm so puffed up with this yere exploitthat a pigeon looks all sunk in an' consumptif beside me. 

"'Thar's one feacher of this dooel with the little gun boat whichdispleases me, however. Old Butler's got Noo Orleans at the time, an'among other things he's editin' the papers. I reads in one of 'em amonth later about me sinkin' that scow. It says I'm a barb'rousvillain, the story does, an' shoots up the boat after it surrenders, an' old Butler allows he'll hang me a whole lot the moment ever he getsthem remarkable eyes onto me. I don't care none at the time much, onlyI resents this yere charge. I shore never fires a shot at that gunboatafter it gives up; I ain't so opulent of amm'nition as all that. Astime goes on, however, thar's a day when I'm goin' to take thedetermination of old Butler more to heart. 

"'Followin' the gun-boat eepisode I'm more locoed than ever to get mybattery into a fight. An' at last I has my hopes entirely fulfilled. It's about four o'clock one evenin' when we caroms on about threebrigades of Yanks. Thar's mebby twelve thousand of us rebs an' all offourteen thousand of the Lincoln people. My battery is all the bigguns we-all has, while said Yanks is strong with six full batteries. 

"'The battle opens up; we're on a old sugar plantation, an' aftermanooverin' about a while we settles down to work. It's that day I hasmy dreams of carnage realised in full. I turns loose my six guns withverve an' fervour, an' it ain't time for a second drink before Iattracts the warmest attention from every one of the Yankee batteries. She's shore a scandal the way them gents in bloo does shoot me up!Jest to give you-all a idee: the Yankees slams away at me for twentyminutes; they dismounts two of my guns; they kills or creases forty ofmy sixty-six men; an' when they gets through you-all could plant cottonwhere my battery stands, it's that ploughed up. 

"'It's in the midst of the _baile_, an' I'm standin' near my number-onegun. Thar's a man comes up with a cartridge. A piece of a shell t'arshim open, an' he falls across the gun, limp as a towel, an' then ontothe ground. I orders a party named Williams to the place. Somethingcomes flyin' down outen the heavens above an' smites Williams on topthe head; an' he's gone. I orders up another. He assoomes theresponsibilities of this p'sition jest in time to get a rifle bulletthrough the jaw. He lives though; I sees him after the war. 

"'As that's no more men for the place, I steps for'ard myse'f. I'm notthar a minute when I sinks down to the ground. I don't feel nothin'an' can't make it out. 

"'While I'm revolvin' this yere phenomenon of me wiltin' that a-way an'tryin to form some opinions about it, thar's a explosion like fortybattles all in one. For a moment, I reckons that somehow we-all hasopened up a volcano inadvertent, an' that from now on Loosiana canboast a Hecla of her own. But it ain't no volcano. It's my ammunitionwaggons which, with two thousund rounds is standin' about one hundredyards to my r'ar. The Yanks done blows up the whole outfit with one oftheir shells. 

"'It's strictly the thing, however, which lets my battery out. Thethick smoke of the two thousand cartridges drifts down an' blanketswhat's left of us like a fog. The Yanks quits us; they allows mostlikely they've lifted me an' my six brass guns plumb off the earth. Thar's some roodiments of trooth in the theery for that matter. 

"'These last interestin' details sort o' all happens at once. I'vejest dropped at the time when my ammunition waggons enters into thesperit of the o'casion like I describes. As I lays thar one of my mencomes gropin' along down to me in the smoke. 

"'"Be you hurt, Major?" he says. 

"'"I don't know, " I replies: "my idee is that you better investigatean' see. "

"'He t'ars open my coat; thar's no blood on my shirt. He lifts one arman' then the other; they're sound as gold pieces. Then I lifts up myleft laig; I've got on high hoss-man boots. 

"'"Pull off this moccasin, " I says. 

"'He pulls her off an' thar's nothin' the matter thar. I breaks outinto a profoose sweat; gents, I'm scared speechless. I begins to fearI ain't plugged at all; that I've fainted away on a field of battle an'doo to become the scandal of two armies. I never feels so weak an'sick!

"'I've got one chance left an' trembles as I plays it; I lifts up myright boot. I win; about a quart of blood runs out. Talk ofreprievin' folks who's sentenced to death! Gents, their emotions isonly imitations of what I feels when I finds that the Yanks done got mean' nary doubt. It's all right--a rifle bullet through my ankle!

"'That night I'm mowed away, with twenty other wounded folks, in alittle cabin off to one side, an' thar's a couple of doctors sizin' upmy laig. 

"'"Joe, " says one, that a-way, "we've got to cut it off. "

"'But I votes "no" emphatic; I'm too young to talk about goin shy alaig. With that they ties it up as well as ever they can, warnin' memeanwhile that I've got about one chance in a score to beat the game. Then they imparts a piece of news that's a mighty sight worse than mylaig. 

"'"Joe, " says this doctor, when he's got me bandaged, "our army's gotto rustle out of yere a whole lot. She's on the retreat right now. Them Yanks outheld us an' out-played us an' we've got to go stampedin'. The worst is, thar's no way to take you along, an' we'll have to leaveyou behind. "

"'"Then the Yanks will corral me?" I asks. 

"'"Shore, " he replies, "but thar's nothin' else for it. "

"'It's then it comes on me about that gunboat an' the promises oldButler makes himse'f about hangin' me when caught. Which these yerereflections infooses new life into me. I makes the doctor who'stalkin' go rummagin' about ontil he rounds up a old nigger daddy, amule an' a two-wheel sugar kyart. It's rainin' by now so's you-allcould stand an' wash your face an' hands in it. As that medical sharploads me in, he gives me a bottle of this yere morphine, an' betweenjolts an' groans I feeds on said drug until mornin. '

"'That old black daddy is dead game. He drives me all night an' allday an' all night ag'n, an' I'm in Shreveport; my ankle's about thesize of a bale of cotton. Thar's one ray through it all, however; Imisses meetin' old man Butler an' I looks on that as a triumph whichshore borders on relief. '

"'An' I reckons now, ' says Dan Boggs, 'you severs your relations withthe war?'

"'No, ' goes on the Major; 'I keeps up my voylence to the close. When Igrows robust enough to ride ag'in I'm in Texas. Thar's a expeditionfittin' out to invade an' subdoo Noo Mexico, an' I j'ines dogs with itas chief of the big guns. Thar's thirty-eight hundred bold and buoyantsperits rides outen Austin on these military experiments we plans, an'as evincin' the luck we has, I need only to p'int out that nine monthslater we returns with a scant eight hundred. Three thousand of 'emkilled, wounded an' missin' shows that efforts to list the trip onderthe head of "picnics" would be irony. 

"'Comin', as we-all does, from one thousand miles away, thar ain't oneof us who saveys, practical, as much about the sand-blown desertregions we invades as we does of what goes on in the moon. ThatGen'ral Canby, who later gets downed by the Modocs, is on the RioGrande at Fort Craig. While we're pirootin' about in a blind sort o'fashion we ropes up one of Canby's couriers who's p'intin' no'th forFort Union with despatches. This Gen'ral Canby makes the followin'facetious alloosion: After mentionin' our oninvited presence in theterritory, he says:

"'"But let 'em alone. We'll dig the potatoes when they're ripe. "

"'Gents, we was the toobers!' An' yere the Major pauses for a drink. 'We was the potatoes which Canby's exultin' over! We don't onderstandit at the time, but it gets cl'arer as the days drifts by. 

"'I'm never in a more desolate stretch of what would be timber onlythar ain't no trees. Thar's nothin' for the mules an' hosses; half thetime thar ain't even water. An' then it's alkali. An' our days teemsan' staggers with disgustin' experiences. Once we're shy water twodays. It's the third day about fourth drink time in the evenin'. Thesun has two hours yet to go. My battery is toilin' along, sand to thehubs of gun-carriages an' caissons, when I sees the mules p'int theiry'ears for'ard with looks of happy surprise. Then the intelligentanamiles begins a song of praise; an' next while we-all is marvellin'thereat an' before ever a gent can stretch hand to bridle to stop 'em, the mules begins to fly. They yanks my field pieces over the desert asbusy an' full of patriotic ardour as a drunkard on 'lection day. Thewhole battery runs away. Gents, the mules smells water. It's twomiles away, --a big pond she is, --an' that locoed battery never stops, but rushes plumb in over its y'ears; an' I lose sixteen mules an' twoguns before ever I'm safe ag'in on terry firmy. 

"'It's shore remarkable, ' exclaims the Major, settin' down his glass, 'how time softens the view an' changes bitter to sweet that a-way. AsI brings before me in review said details thar's nothin' more harassin'from soda to hock than that campaign on the Rio Grande. Thar's not oneray of sunshine to paint a streak of gold in the picture from frame toframe; all is dark an' gloom an' death. An' yet, lookin' back'ardthrough the years, the mem'ry of it is pleasant an' refreshing a heapmore so than enterprises of greater ease with success instead offailure for the finish. 

"'Thar's one partic'lar incident of this explorin' expeditions into NooMexico which never recurs to my mind without leavin' my eyes some dim. I don't claim to be no expert on pathos an' I'm far from regyardin'myse'f as a sharp on tears, but thar's folks who sort o' makes sadnessa speshulty, women folks lots of 'em, who allows that what I'm about torecount possesses pecooliar elements of sorrow. 

"'Thar's a young captain--he ain't more'n a boy--who's brought a troopof lancers along with us. This boy Captain hails from some'ers up'round Waco, an' thar ain't a handsomer or braver in all Pres'dentDavis's army. This Captain--whose name is Edson, --an' me, bein' we-allis both young, works ourse'fs into a clost friendship for each other; Ifeels about him like he's my brother. Nacherally, over a camp fire an'mebby a stray bottle an' a piece of roast antelope, him an' me confidesabout ourse'fs. This Captain Edson back in Waco has got a old widowmother who's some rich for Texas, an' also thar's a sweetheart he aimsto marry when the war's over an' done. I reckons him an' me talks ofthat mother an' sweetheart of his a hundred times. 

"'It falls out that where we fords the Pecos we runs up on a MexicanPlaza--the "Plaza Chico" they-all calls it--an' we camps thar by theriver a week, givin' our cattle a chance to roll an' recooperate up onthe grass an' water. 

"'Then we goes p'intin' out for the settin' sun ag'in, allowin' tostrike the Rio Grande some'ers below Albuquerque. Captain Edson, whilewe're pesterin' 'round at the Plaza Chico, attaches to his retinoo aMexican boy; an' as our boogles begins to sing an' we lines out forthat west'ard push, this yere boy rides along with Edson an' thelancers. 

"'Our old war chief who has charge of our wanderin's is strictly sternan' hard. An' I reckons now he's the last gent to go makin' softallowances for any warmth of yooth, or puttin' up with any primrosepaths of gentle dalliance, of any an' all who ever buckles on a set ofside arms. It thus befalls that when he discovers on the mornin' ofthe second day that this Mexican boy is a Mexican girl, he goes ragin'into the ambient air like a eagle. 

"'The Old Man claps Edson onder arrest an' commands the girl to saddleup an' go streakin' for the Plaza Chico. As it's only a slow day'smarch an' as these Mexicans knows the country like a coyote, it's acinch the girl meets no harm an' runs no resks. But it serves to plantthe thorns of wrath in the heart of Captain Edson. 

"'The Old Man makes him loose an' gives him back his lancers beforeever we rides half a day, but it don't work no mollifications with theyoung Captain. He offers no remarks, bein' too good a soldier; but henever speaks to the Old Man no more, except it's business. 

"'"Joe, " he says to me, as we rides along, or mebby after we're in campat night, "I'll never go back to Texas. I've been disgraced at thehead of my troop an' I'll take no sech record home. "

"'"You oughter not talk that a-way, Ed, " I'd say, tryin' to get hissensibilities smoothed down. "If you don't care none for yourse'f orfor your footure, you-all should remember thar's something comin' tothe loved ones at home. Moreover, it's weak sayin' you-all ain't goin'back to Texas. How be you goin' to he'p it, onless you piles upshore-enough disgrace by desertin' them lancers of yours?"

"'"Which if we has the luck, " says this Captain Edson, "to cross upwith any Yanks who's capable of aimin' low an' shootin' half way troo, I'll find a way to dodge that goin' back without desertin'. "

"'No, I don't make no argyments with him; it's hopeless talkin' to agent who's melancholly an' who's pride's been jarred; thar's nothingbut time can fix things up for him. An' I allers allows that this boyCaptain would have emerged from the clouds eventooal, only it happenshe don't get the time. His chance comes too soon; an' he shore playsit desperate. 

"'Our first offishul act after reachin' the Rio Grande is to lay for apassel of Yank cavalry--thar's two thousand of 'em I reckons. We ridesup on these yere lively persons as we sounds a halt for the evenin'. It looks like our boogles is a summons, for they comes buttin' intoview through a dry arroya an' out onto the wide green bottoms of theRio Grande at the first call. They're about a mile away, an' at sightof us they begins in a fashion of idle indifference to throw out a lineof battle. They fights on foot, them bloo folks do; dismounting withevery fourth man to hold the hosses. They displays a heap of insolencefor nothin' but cavalry an' no big guns; but as they fights likeinfantry an' is armed with Spencer seven-shooters besides, the playain't so owdacious neither. 

"'Thar's mebby a hour of sun an' I'm feelin' mighty surly as I gets mybattery into line. I'm disgusted to think we've got to fight for ournight's camp, an' swearin' to myse'f in a low tone, so's not to setprofane examples to my men, at the idee that these yere Yanks is thatpreecip'tate they can't wait till mornin' for their war-jig. But Ican't he'p myse'f. That proverb about it takin' two to make a fight isall a bluff. It only takes one to make a fight. As far as we-all rebsis concerned that evenin' we ain't honin' for trouble, leastwise, notontil mornin'; but them inordinate Yanks will have it, an' thar you be. The fight can't be postponed. 

"'Thar's no tumblin' hurry about how any of us goes to work. Bothsides has got old at the game an' war ain't the novelty she is once. The Yanks is takin' their p'sition, an' we're locatin' our lines an'all as ca'mly an' with no more excitement than if it's dress p'rade. The Yanks is from Colorado. My sergeant speaks of 'em to me the nextday an' gives his opinion touchin' their merits. 

"'"Where did you say them Yankees comes from, Major?" says my serjeant. 

"'"Colorado, " I replies. 

"'"Which thar's about thirty minutes last evenin', " says my serjeant, "when I shorely thinks they're recrooted in hell, " an' my serjeantshakes his head. 

"'While I'm linin' up my battery mighty discontented an' disgruntled, an orderly pulls my sleeve. 

"'"Look thar, Major!" he says. 

"'I turns, an' thar over on our right, all alone, goes Captain Edsonan' his lancers. Without waiting an' without commands, Captain Edsonhas his boogler sound a charge; an' thar goes the lancers stampedin'along like they're a army corps an' cap'ble of sweepin' the twothousand cool an' c'llected Yankees off the Rio Grande. 

"'For a moment all we does is stand an' look; the surprise of it leavesno idee of action. The lancers swings across the grassy levels. Thar's not a shot fired; Edson's people ain't got nothin' but themreedic'lous spears, an' the Yanks, who seems to know it, stands likethe rest of us without firin' an' watches 'em come. It's like apicture, with the thin bright air an' the settin' sun shinin' sidewaysover the gray line of mountains fifty miles to the west. 

"'I never sees folks more placid than the Yanks an' at the same time soplumb alert. Mountain lions is lethargic to 'em. When Captain Edsonan' his lancers charges into 'em the Yanks opens right an' left, eachsharp of 'em gettin' outen the way of that partic'lar lancer who'stryin' to spear him; but all in a steady, onruffled fashion that's asthreatenin' as it is excellent. The lancers, with Captain Edson, goesthrough, full charge, twenty rods to the r'ar of the Yankee line. An', gents, never a man comes back. 

"'As Edson an' his troop goes through, the Yanks turns an' opens on'em. The voices of the Spencers sounds like the long roll of a drum. Hoss an' man goes down, dead an' wounded; never a gent of 'em all ridesback through that awful Yankee line. Pore Edson shore has his wish;he's cut the trail of folks who's cap'ble of aimin' low an' shootin'half way troo. 

"'These sperited moves I've been relatin' don't take no time in thedoin'. The hairbrain play of Captain Edson forces our hands. The OldMan orders a charge, an' we pushes the Yanks back onto their hosses an'rescoos what's left of Edson an' his lancers. After skirmishin' alittle the Yanks draws away an' leaves us alone on the field. Theyearns the encomiums of my serjeant, though, before ever they decides to_vamos_. 

"'Edson's been shot hard and frequent; thar's no chance for him. Helooks up at me, when we're bringin' him off, an' says:

"'"Joe, " an' he smiles an' squeezes my hand, while his tones is plentyfeeble, "Joe, you notes don't you that while I ain't goin' back toTexas, I don't have to desert. "

"'That night we beds down our boy Captain in a sol'tary Mexican 'doby. He's layin' on a pile of blankets clost by the door while the moonshines down an' makes things light as noonday. He's been talkin' to mean' givin' me messages for his mother an' the rest of his outfit atWaco, an' I promises to carry 'em safe an' deliver 'em when I rides inag'in on good old Texas. Then he wants his mare brought up where hecan pet her muzzle an' say _Adios_ to her. 

"'"For, Joe, " he says, "I'm doo to go at once now, an' my days is downto minutes. "

"'"The medicine man, Ed, " I says, "tells me that you-all has hours tolive. "

"'"But, Joe, " he replies, "I knows. I'm a mighty good prophet yourecalls about my not goin' back, an' you can gamble I'm not makin' anymistakes now. It's down to minutes, I tells you, an' I wants to see mymare. "

"'Which the mare is brought up an' stands thar with her velvet nose inhis face; her name's "Ruth, " after Edson's sweetheart. The mare is assplendid as a picture; pure blood, an' her speed an' bottom is thewonder of the army. Usual a hoss is locoed by the smell of blood, butit don't stampede this Ruth; an' she stays thar with him as still an'tender as a woman, an' with all the sorrow in her heart of folks. AsEdson rubs her nose with his weak hand an' pets her, he asks me to takethis Ruth back to his sweetheart with all his love. 

"'"Which now I'm goin', " he whispers, "no one's to mention thateepisode of the Pecos an' the little Mexican girl of Plaza Chico!"

"'Edson is still a moment; an' then after sayin' "Good-by, " he lets onthat he desires me to leave him alone with the mare. 

"'"I'll give Ruth yere a kiss an' a extra message for my sweetheart, "he says, "an' then I'll sleep some. "

"'I camps down outside the 'doby an' looks up at the moon an' begins tolet my own thoughts go grazin' off towards Texas. It's perhaps aminute when thar's the quick _crack_! of a six-shooter, an' the mareRuth r'ars up an' back'ard ontil she's almost down. But she recoversherse'f an' stands sweatin' an' shiverin' an' her eyes burnin' like shesees a ghost. Shore, it's over; pore Edson won't wait; he's got to hisguns, an' thar's a bullet through his head. '"

THE END.