“No,” says I, “but that don’t matter, because nobody except the Injuns
can, and if any Injun doubts my word I’ll run him ragged.”
I can do it, too, Hank. I often wonder why a man like Daniel Crockett
wanted to pack a gun for, when he could likely have knocked them upside
down with his hands.
Well, Hank, they didn’t have just what I wanted, but it ain’t what we
want in this world, but what we get, as the sheriff said to the
horse-thief. I sure got some great stuff. The feller said I was getting
a bargain in history stuff, and I guess I did. I got Geronimo’s
war-bonnet, Sitting Bull’s shirt, Chief Joseph’s moccasins, and a pair
of beaded pants, which the feller said belonged to Pokyhontas. They’re
all heirlooms.
The feller wanted to sell me a squirrel-rifle, but I told him I was out
for bigger game, and he said I ought to get a scatter-gun, so I could
kill a hundred at a shot.
I said, “I never seen that many squirrels in one flock in my life,” and
he said, “You sure have been lucky, but if I was you I’d look out.”
Hank, city folks made me laugh. I’ve been bred and born in the open, and
ought to feel sorry for them, I suppose, but I couldn’t help saying, “If
you knew anything about natural history you’d know that squirrels are
harmless,” and he says, “They’ve got to eat, ain’t they?”
Wasn’t that a foolish answer, Hank? I sold my own clothes to him for
fifteen dollars, which hadn’t been worn out much. Pete wanted me to pay
him six dollars for that star, but I wouldn’t; so we made a contract, in
which I’m to give him ten per cent. on all the outlaws I caught in the
first six months. Pete thinks he’s smart, but I’ll show him: I figure to
hold off on the bounty for the first six months and then cash in strong.
Well, Hank, there ain’t nothing worth reading, so will close, hoping to
hear from you soon.
I hope the next time you write it will be with a pure heart and not full
of sarcasm. You’re a old friend of mine and I think of you more in
sorrow than in anger, because you can’t help being what you are, and I
don’t expect it.
Yours resp’y as ever,
DOBIE DALTON, Helena, Aug. 10.
P. S. Hank, I had a funny experience when I went to the hotel to get my
war-bag. I went in the back way and was just trying to get into my room
when a feller steps up to me and says, “What’s the idea?”
I says to him, “Who are you?” and he says, “The house detective,” and I
says, “My gosh, are the buildings mixed up in this fearful wave of
crime?”
He says, “You’re too smart for a Injun,” and I says, “Yes, and for any
house detective.”
Hank, my room is on the second floor. You go down about thirty steps,
turn to the right and go down about thirty more. I think we missed the
first thirty, and then bounced over the railing to the lower floor.
There was a lot of folks setting around in them plush chairs, but they
takes one look at a Injun chief going high and handsome with a paleface,
and then they just kind of faded out. One fat feller hit a big window
dead center, and opened up—one whole side of the place. I picked up my
opponent and threw him over the counter, where he lit on the clerk’s
head, who was hiding.
I stops to get my wind, and then the clerk pokes his head over the edge
of the counter, and he says to me, “Do you wish to check out?” I says,
“I ain’t the kind of a whippoorwill that wastes valuable time in
wishing, but I’ll be polite enough to wish thee a fond fare-thee-well.”
I starts out and he says, “Don’t you want your Bill?” and I says, “I
didn’t know his name was Bill, but if it is let him go as he lays,
because I can’t use him any more.”
Pete got me out of jail, and says I ought to pay him something for
showing up at the right time, but his watch must have been slow, because
the right time would have been just before them seventeen policemen hit
me all to once.
Them wolves of the law sure patted me on the head, Hank, and if I wasn’t
a wonderful constitution you would be putting flowers on my alabaster
brow before this. I sure stood a lot of petting on the head.
Pete is a old fox. He told the judge that I wasn’t all there in the
head, but he would see that I left town right away. He took me up to his
room and fixed my head, where I am now.
Don’t tell anybody that I’m a detective, Hank, because they’ll find it
out sooner or later. You can’t hide my light under a bushel, Hank,
because I’m a shiner.
Yours for the law,
DOBIE
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