"When I sees him first is ages before, when I freights with eight

mules over the Old Fort Bascome trail from Vegas to the Panhandle.

This sharp--which he's a tenderfoot at the time, but plumb wolf by

nacher-trails up to me in the Early Rose Saloon in Vegas one day,

an' allows he'd like to make a deal an' go projectin' over into the

Panhandle country with me for a trip. "Freightin' that a-way three

weeks alone on the trail is some harrowin' to the sperits of a gent

who loves company like me, so I agrees, an' no delay to it.

"Which I'm yere to mention I regrets later I'm that easy I takes

this person along. Not that he turns hostile, but he's allers havin'

adventures, an' things keeps happenin' to him; an' final, I thinks

he's shorely dead an' gone complete--the same, as I afterward

learns, bein' error; an', takin' it up one trail an' down another,

that trip breaks me offen foolin' with shorthorns complete, an' I

don't go near 'em for years, more'n if they's stingin' lizards.

"Whatever does this yere maverick do to me? Well, nothin' much to me

personal; but he keeps a-breedin' of events which pesters me.

"We're out about four days when them mishaps begins. I camps over

one sun on the Concha to rest my mules. I'm loaded some heavy with

six thousand pounds in the lead, an' mebby four thousand pounds in

the trail wagon; an' I stops a day to give my stock a chance to roll

an' breathe an' brace up. My off-wheel mule--a reg'lar shave-tail--

is bad med'cine. Which he's not only eager to kick towerists an'

others he takes a notion ag'inst; but he's likewise what you-alls

calls a kleptomaniac, an' is out to steal an' sim'lar low-down

plays.

"I warns this yere tenderfoot--his name's Smith, but I pulls on him

when conversin' as 'Colonel'--I warns this shorthorn not to fuss

'round my Jerry mule, bein', as I states, a mule whose mood is

ornery.

"'Don't go near him, Colonel,' says I; 'an' partic'lar don't go

crowdin' 'round to get no r'ar views of him. You-all has no idee of

the radius of that mule; what you might call his sweep. You never

will till he's kicked you once or twice, an' the information ain't

worth no sech price. So I don't reckon I'd fool with him, none

whatever.

"'An' speshul, Colonel,' I goes on, for I shore aims to do my dooty

by him, 'don't lay nothin' 'round loose where this yere Jerry mule

can grab it off. I'm the last freighter on the Plains to go

slanderin' an' detractin' of a pore he'pless mule onless it's

straight; but if you-all takes to leavin' keepsakes an' mementoes

layin' about casooal an' careless that a-way, Jerry'll eat 'em; an'

the first you saveys your keepsakes is within Jerry's interior, an'

thar you be.

"'The fact is, stranger, this Jerry mule's a thief,' I says. 'If

he's a human, Jerry would be lynched. But otherwise he's a sincere,

earnest mule; an up hill or at a quicksand crossin' Jerry goes into

his collar like a lion; so I forgives him bein' a thief an' allows

it's a peccadillo."

"'Well, you bet!' says this tenderfoot Colonel, 'this yere Jerry

better not come no peccadillos on me.'

"'If you-all maintains about twenty feet,' I replies, 'between

Jerry's hind-Hocks an' you; an' if you keeps your bric-a-brac in

your war-bags, you an' Jerry'll get along like lambs. Now, I warns

you, an' that's got to do. If Jerry an' you gets tangled up

yereafter you-all ain't goin' to harbor no revenges ag'in him, nor

make no ranikaboo plays to get even.'

"As I states, I'm camped on the Concha, an` the Colonel, who's

allers out to try experiments an' new deals, puts it up he'll go

down to the river an' take a swim. Tharupon he lines out for the

water.

"Jerry's hangin' about camp--for he's sorter a pet mule--allowin'

mebby I submits a ham-rind or some sech delicacy to him to chew on;

an' he hears the Colonel su'gest he'll swim some. So when the

Colonel p'ints for the Concha, Jerry sa'nters along after,

figgerin', mighty likely, as how he'll pass the hour a-watchin' the

Colonel swim.

"I'm busy on flapjacks at the time--which flapjacks is shore good

food--an' I don't observe nothln' of Jerry nor the Colonel neither.

They's away half an hour when I overhears ejac'lations, though I

can't make out no words. I don't have to get caught in no landslide

to tumble to a game, an' I'm aware at once that Jerry an' the

Colonel has got their destinies mixed.

"Nacherally, I goes over to the held of strife, aimin' to save

Jerry, or save the Colonel, whichever has the other down. When I

bursts on the scene, the Colonel starts for me, splutterin' an'

makin' noises an' p'intin' at Jerry, who stands thar with an air of

innocence. The Colonel's upper lip hangs down queer, like an ant-

eater's, an' he can't talk. It's all mighty amazin'.

"'What's all this toomult about?' I says.

"The short of the riot is this: The Colonel goes in for a swim, an'

he lays out his false teeth that a-way on a stone. When he comes for

his teeth they's shorely gone, an' thar stands Jerry puttin' it on

he's asleep. Them teeth is filed away in Jerry.

"Which the Colonel raves 'round frightful, an' wants to kill Jerry

an' amputate him, an' scout for the teeth. But I won't have it. I'm

goin' to need Jerry down further on the quicksand fords of the

Canadian; an', as I explains, them teeth is a wreck by now, an' no

good if he get's 'em ag'in; Jerry munchin' of his food powerful.

"After a while I rounds up the Colonel an' herds him back to camp.

Jerry has shore sawed off a sore affliction on that tenderfoot when

he takes in them teeth; I can see that. His lip hangs like a

blacksmith's apron, an' he can't talk a little bit; jest makes signs

or motions, like he's Injun or deef.

"It's mebby two weeks later when Jerry gets another shot at the

Colonel. It's the evenin' after the night Jerry sneaks into camp,

soft-foot as a coyote, noses open the grub-box, an' eats five

bottles of whiskey; all we has. We've pitched camp, an' I've hobbled

this Jerry mule an' his mate--the other wheeler--an' throwed 'em

loose, an' is busy hobblin' my nigh-swing mule, when trouble begins

fomentin' between my tenderfoot an' Jerry.

"The fact is it's done fomented. This Colonel, bein' some heated

about that whiskey, an' plumb sore on Jerry on account of them

teeth, allows to himse'f he'll take a trace-chain an' warp Jerry

once for luck.

"If this yere tenderfoot had been free with me, an' invited me into

his confidence touchin' his designs, I'd took a lariat an' roped an'

throwed Jerry for him, an' tied the felon down, an' let the Colonel

wallop him an hour or so: but the Colonel's full of variety that a-

way, or mebby he thinks I'll side with Jerry. Anyhow, he selects a

trace-chain, an', without sayin' a word, dances all cautious towards

his prey. Which this is relaxation for Jerry.

[drawing of Jerry kicking the Colonel with caption: "That he'pless

shorthorn stops both heels.]

"While that Colonel tenderfoot is a rod away, Jerry turns his tail

some sudden in his direction, an' the next instant that he'pless

shorthorn stops both heels some'ers about the second button of his

shirt. That settles it; the Colonel's an invalid immediate. I

shorely has a time with him that night.

"The next day he can't walk, an' he can't ride in the wagon 'cause

of the jolts. It all touches my heart, an' at last I ups an' make a

hammock outen a Navajo blanket, which is good an' strong, an' swings

the Colonel to the reach of the trail wagon.

"It's mostly a good scheme. Where the ground's level the Colonel

comes on all right; but now an' then, when a wheel slumps into a

rut, the Colonel can't he'p none but smite the ground where he's the

lowest, an' it all draws groans an' laments from him a heap.

"One time, when the Colonel's agony makes him groan speshul strong,

I sees Jerry bat his eyes like he enjoys it; an' then Jerry mentions

somethin' to his mate over the chain. We're trottin' along the trail

at the time, an', bein' he's the nigh-wheeler--which is the saddle-

mule of a team--I'm ridin' Jerry's compadre, an' when I notes how

Jerry is that joyous about it I reaches across an' belts him some

abrupt between the y'ears with the butt of a shot-filled black-

snake. It rather lets the whey outen Jerry's glee, an' he don't get

so much bliss from that tenderfoot's misfortunes as he did.

"It goes along all right ontil I swings down to the crossin' of the

Canadian. It's about fourth-drink time in the afternoon, an' I'm

allowin' to ford the Canadian that evenin' an' camp on t'other side.

The river is high an' rapid from rain some'ers back on its head

waters, an' it's wide an' ugly. It ain't more'n four foot deep, but

the bottom is quicksand, an' that false, if I lets my wagons stop

ten seconds anywhere between bank an' bank, I'm goin' to be shy

wagons at the close. I'll be lucky if I win out the mules. It's

shore a hard, swift crossin'.

"I swings down, as I says, to the river's aige with my mind filled

up about the rush I've got to make. It's go through on the run or

bog down. First I settles in my saddle, gives the outfit the word,

an' then, pourin' the whip into the two leaders, I sends the whole

eight into the water on the jump. The river is runnin' like a scared

wolf, an' the little lead mules hardly touches bottom.

"As the trail wagon takes the water, an' the two leaders is plumb in

to the y'ears, a howl develops to the r'ar. It's my pore tenderfoot

in his hammock onder the trail wagon. He shrieks as the water gets

to him; an' it all hits me like a bullet, for I plumb overlooks him,

thinkin' of that quicksand crossin'.

"It's shore too late now; I'm in, an' I can't stop. To make things

more complex, as the water cuts off the tenderfoot's yell like

puffin' out a candle, a little old black mule, which is my off-

p'inter, loses his feet an' goes down. I pours the leather into the

team the harder, an' the others soars into their collars an' drug my

black p'inter with 'em; only he's onder water. Of course I allows

both the black p'inter an' the Colonel's shorely due to drown a

whole lot.

"We gets across, the seven other mules an' me; an' the second he's

skated out on the sand on his side, the drowned mule gets up an'

sings as triumphant as I ever hears. Swimmin' onder the river don't

wear on him a bit.

"Then I goes scoutin' for the Colonel, but he's vanished complete.

Nacherally, I takes him for a dead-an'-gone gent; an' figgers if

some eddy or counter-current don't get him, or he don't go aground

on no sand-bar, his fellow-men will fish him out some'ers between me

an' New Orleans, an' plant him an' hold services over him.

"Bein' as I can't be of no use where it's a clean-sweep play like

this, I dismisses the Colonel from my mind. After hobblin' an'

throwin' loose my team, I lugs out the grub-box all sorrowful an'

goes into camp.

"Which I should allers have played the Colonel for dead, if it ain't

that years later he one day comes wanderin' into Wolfville. He ain't

tender now; he's as hard as moss-agates, an' as worthless.

"I renews my acquaintance with him, an' he tells how he gets outen

the Canadian that day; but beyond that we consoomes a drink or two

together, I rather passes him up. Thar's a heap about him I don't

take to.

"The Colonel lays 'round Wolfville mebby it's a week, peerin' an'

spyin' about. He says he's lookin' for an openin'. An' I reckons he

is, for at the end of a week he slaps up a joint outen tent-cloth

an' fence-boards, an' opens a dance-hall squar' ag'inst Jim

Hamilton's which is already thar.

"This yere alone is likely to brood an' hatch trouble; but, as if

takin' a straight header into Hamilton's game ain't enough, this

Colonel of mine don't get no pianer; don't round-up no music of his

own; but stands pat an' pulls off reels, an' quadrilles, an' green-

corn dances to Hamilton's music goin' on next door.

"I'm through the Lincoln County war, an' has been romancin' about

the frontier for years; but I never tracks up on no sech outrage in

my life as this disgraceful Colonel openin' a hurdy-gurdy ag'in

Hamilton's, an' maverickin' his music that a-way, an' dancin'

tharunto.

"It's the second night, an' Hamilton concloods he'll see about it

some. He comes into the Colonel's joint, ca'm an' considerate, an'

gives it out thar's goin' to be trouble if the Colonel don't close

his game or play in his own fiddlers.

"'Which if you-all don't close your game or hunt out your own

music,' says Hamilton, 'I'm mighty likely to get my six-shooter an'

close it for you.'

"'See yere,' says my Colonel--which he's shore been learnin' since I

parts with him on the Canadian--'the first hold-up who comes foolin'

'round to break up a baile of mine, I'll shorely make him hard to

find. What business you got fillin' up my place with your melodies?

You rolls your tunes in yere like you owns the ranch; an' then you

comes curvin' over an' talks of a gun-play 'cause, instead of layin'

for you for that you disturbs my peace with them harmonies, I'm that

good-nachered I yields the p'int an' dances to 'em. You-all pull

your freight,' says the Colonel, 'or I'll fill you full of lead.'

"This argument of the Colonel's dazzles Hamilton to that degree he

don't know whether he's got the high hand or not. He thinks a

minute, an' then p'ints over to the Red Light for Enright an' Doc

Peets. As he leaves the rival dance-hall, the Colonel, who's callin'

off his dances, turns to the quadrille, which is pausin pendin' the

dispoote, an' shouts:

"'You bet I knows my business! Right hand to your partner; grand

right an' left!'

"When Hamilton turns away they's shore makin' things rock an'

tremble; an' all to the strains of 'The Arkansaw Traveller,' which

is bein' evolved next door at Hamilton's expense.

"Which somethin's goin' to pop; says Hamilton, mighty ugly to

Enright an' the rest of us, as he pours a drink into his neck. 'I

allows in the interests of peace that I canters over an' sees you-

alls first. I ain't out to shake up Wolfville, nor give Red Dog a

chance to criticise us none as a disorderly camp; but I asks you

gents, as citizens an' members of the vig'lance committee, whether

I'm to stand an' let this yere sharp round-up my music to hold his

revels by, an' put it all over me nightly?'

"'I don't see no difference,' says Dan Boggs, 'between this convict

a-stealin' of Hamilton's music, than if he goes an' stands up Old

Monte an' the stage.'

"'The same bein' my idee exact,' says Texas Thompson. 'Yere's

Hamilton caterin' to this camp with a dance-hall. It's a public good

thing. If a gent's morose, an' his whiskey's slow placin' itse'f, he

goes over to Hamilton's hurdy-gurdy an' finds relaxation an' relief.

Now yere comes this stranger--an' I makes it fifty dollars even he's

from Massachusetts--an' what does he do? Never antes nor sticks in a

white chip, but purloins Hamilton's strains, an' pulls off his

dances tharby. It's plumb wrong, an' what this party needs is

hangin'.'

"'Oh, I don't know,' says Cherokee Hall, who's in on the talk.

'Hamilton's all right, an' a squar' man. All he wants is jestice.

Now, while I deems the conduct of this stranger low an' ornery;

still, comin' down to the turn, he's on his trail all right. As this

sharp says: Who gives Hamilton any license to go fillin' his hurdy-

gurdy full of dance-music? S'pose this gent would come caperin' over

an' set in a stack ag'in Hamilton for overloadin' his joint with

pianer an' fiddle noises without his consent; an' puttin' it up he's

out to drag the camp if Hamilton don't cease? The only way Hamilton

gets 'round that kind of complaint is, he don't own them walses an'

quadrilles after they fetches loose from his fiddle; that they ain't

his quadrilles no more, an' he's not responsible after they

stampedes off into space.'

"'That's straight,' says Dave Tutt, 'you-alls can't run no brand on

melodies. A gent can't own no music after he cuts it loose that a-

way. The minute it leaves the bosoms of his fiddles, that's where he

lets go. After that it belongs to any gent to dance by, cry by, set

by, or fight by, as he deems meet an' pleasant at the time.'

"'What do you-alls say?' says Hamilton to Enright an' Peets. 'Does

this yere piece of oppression on a leadin' citizen, perpetrated by a

rank outsider, go? I shore waits for your reply with impatience, for

I eetches to go back an' shoot up this new hurdy-gurdy from now till

sun-up.'

"Enright takes Doc Peets down by the end of the bar--an' thar's no

doubt about it, that Peets is the wisest longhorn west of the

Missoury--an' they has a deep consultation. We-alls is waitin'. some

interested, to see what they says. It's shore a fine p'int this

Colonel's makin' to jestify an' back his game.

"'Get a move on you, Enright!' at last says Dan Boggs, who is a

hasty, eager man, who likes action; 'get a move on you, you an'

Peets, an' settle this. You're queerin' the kyards an' delayin' the

play.'

"'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, comin' back where we-alls is

by the door, 'Peets an' me sees no need decidin' on them questions

about who owns a tune after said tune has been played. But thar is a

subject, that a-way, which requires consideration; an' which most

likely solves this dance-hall deadlock. In all trade matters in a

growin' camp like Wolfville, it's better to preserve a equilibrium.

It's ag'in public interest to have two or three dance-halls, or two

or three saloons, all in a bunch that a-way. It's better they be

spraddled 'round wide apart, which is more convenient. So Peets an'

me proposes as a roole for this yere camp that two hurdy-gurdies be

forbid to be carried on within five hundred feet of each other. As

it looks like nobody objects, we concloods it's adopted. Nacherally,

the last hurdy-gurdy up has to move, which disposes of this yere

trouble.'

"'Before I ends what I has to say,' goes on Enright, 'I wants to

thank our townsman, Mister Hamilton, for consultin' of the

Stranglers prior to a killin'. It shows he's a law-abidin' gent an'

a credit to the camp. An' mighty likely he prolongs his stay on

earth. If he'd pranced in an' skelped this maraudin' stranger, I

don't reckon we could avoid swingin' him at the end of a lariat

without makin' a dangerous preceedent. As it is, his rival will be

routed an' his life made sereen as yeretofore.'

"'As to the execution of this new roole,' concloods Enright, 'we

leaves that to Jack Moore. He will wait on this party an' explain

the play. He must up stakes an' move his camp; an' if he calls on

another shindig after he's warned, we-alls takes our ponies an' our

ropes an' yanks his outfit up by the roots. A gent of his

enterprise, however, will come to a dead halt; an' his persecutions

of Hamilton will cease.'

"'An' you-all calls this yere a free American outfit!' says my

Colonel, mighty scornful, when Jack Moore notifies him. 'If I don't

line out for t'other end of camp you-alls is allowin' to rope my

joint an' pull it down! Well, that lets me out; I quits you. I'd be

shorely degraded to put in my time with any sech low-flung passel of

sports. You-all may go back an' tell your folks that as you leaves

you hears me give the call to my guests, "All promenade to the bar";

an' the dancin' is done. To-morrow I departs for Red Dog to begin

life anew. Wolfville is too slow a camp for any gent with any

swiftness to him.'"

CHAPTER XV.

SLIM JIM'S SISTER.

"Which thar's folks in this caravansary I don't like none," remarked

the Old Cattleman, as I joined him one afternoon on the lawn. His

tone was as of one half sullen, half hurt, and as he jerked his

thumb toward the hotel behind us, it was a gesture full of scorn.

"Thar's folks thar, takin' 'em up an' down, horns, hide, tallow, an'

beef, who ain't worth heatin' a runnin'-iron to brand."

"What's the trouble?" I inquired, as I organized for comfort with my

back against the elm-tree which shadowed us.

"No trouble at all," replied my old friend sourly, "leastwise

nothin' poignant. It's that yoothful party in the black surtoot who

comes pesterin' me a moment ago about the West bein', as he says, a

roode an' irreligious outfit."

"He's a young preacher," I explained. "Possibly he was moved by an

anxiety touching your soul's welfare."

"Well, if he's out to save souls," retorted the old gentleman, "he

oughter whirl a bigger loop. No, no, he won't do,"he continued,

shaking his head with an air of mournful yet resentful decision,

"this yere gent's too narrow; which his head is built too much the

shape of a quail-trap. He may do to chase jack-rabbits an' sech, but

he's a size too small for game like me. Save souls, says you! Why,

if that onp'lite young person was to meet a soul like mine comin' up

the trail, he'd shorely omit what to do entire; he'd be that

stampeded. He'd be some hard to locate, I takes it, after he meets

up with a soul like mine a whole lot."

The Old Cattleman made this proclamation rather to himself than me,

but I could detect an air of pride. Then he went on:

"'This yere West you emanates from,' says this young preacher-sharp

to me that a-way, 'this yere West you hails from is roode, an' don't

yield none to religious inflooences.'

"'Well,' I says back to him, fillin' my pipe at the same time, 'I

reckons you shorely can c'llect more with a gun than a contreebution

box in the West, if that's what you-all is aimin' at. But if you

figgers we don't make our own little religious breaks out in

Arizona, stranger, you figgers a heap wrong. You oughter have heard

Short Creek Dave that time when he turns 'vangelist an' prances into

the warehouse back of the New York Store, an' shows Wolfville she's

shore h'ar-hung an' breeze-shaken over hell that a-way. Short Creek

has the camp all spraddled out before he turns his deal-box up an'

closes his game.'

"'But this yere Short Creek Dave,' he remonstrates to me, 'ain't no

reg'lar licensed divine. He ain't workin' in conjunctions with no

shore 'nough' sociation, I takes it. This Short Creek person is most

likely one of them irrelevant exhortin' folks, an' that makes a

difference. He don't belong to no reg'lar denom'nation.'

"'That's troo, too,' I says. 'Short Creek ain't workin' with no

reg'lar religious round-up; he's sorter runnin' a floatin' outfit,

criss-crossin' the range, prowlin' for mavericks an' strays on his

own game. But what of that? He's shorely tyin' 'em down an' brandin'

'em right along.'

"'Oh, I don't dispoote none the efficacy of your friend's work that

a-way,' replies the young preacher-sharp, 'but it's irreg'lar; it's

plumb out of line. Now what you-alls needs in the West is real

churches, same as we-alls has in the East.'

"`I ain't none shore of that.' I says, 'an' I'm gettin' a little

warm onder the collar some with them frills he puts on; 'I ain't

none shore. The East needn't deem itse'f the only king in the deck;

none whatever. The West can afford the usual rooles an' let all bets

go as they lays, an' still get up winner on the deal. I takes it

you-alls never notes the West sendin' East for he'p?'

"'But that ain't the idee,' he urges. 'Churches that a-way is the

right thing. They molds a commoonity, churches does. You b'ars

witness yourse'f that where churches exists the commoonity is the

most orderly an' fuller of quietood an' peace.'

"'Not necessarily I don't,' I replies back, for I'm goin' to play my

hand out if it gets my last chip, 'not necessarily. What I b'ars

witness to is that where the commoonity is the most orderly that a-

way an' fuller of quietood an' peace, the churches exists.'

"'Which I'm shorely some afraid,' he says,--an' his looks shows he's

gettin' a horror of me,--'you belongs to a perverse generation. You-

all is vain of your own evil-doin'. Look at them murders that

reddens the West, an' then sit yere an' tell me it don't need no

inflooences.'

"'Them ain't murders,' I answers; them's killin's. An' as for

inflooenccs, if you-all don't reckon the presence of a vig'lance

committee in a camp don't cause a gent to pause an' ponder none

before he pulls his gun, you dwells in ignorance. However, I'm yere

to admit, I don't discern no sech sin-encrusted play in a killin'

when the parties breaks even at the start, an' both gents is workin'

to the same end unanimous. It does some folks a heap of good to kill

'em a lot.'

"It's at this p'int the young preacher-sharp pulls his freight, an'

I observes, by the way he stacks me up with his eyes that a-way, he

allows mebby I'm locoed."

The Old Cattleman said no more for a moment, but puffed at his cob

pipe in thought and silence. I had no notion of involving myself in

any combat of morals or theology, so I did not invade his mood. At

last I suggested in a half-tone of inoffensive sympathy that the

West was no doubt much misunderstood.

"Life there," I remarked, "amid new and rough conditions must be

full of hardship and tragedy."

This vague arrow in the air had the effect of sending the old fellow

off at a tangent. His bent was evidently discursive, and all

thoughts of his late religious controversy seemed to pass from his

mind.

"Full of hardship an' tragedy is your remark," he retorted, "an' I

joins you tharin. Take them disasters that pounces on Slim Jim. What

happens in the case of this yere Slim Jim tenderfoot," the old

fellow continued as a damp gleam of sympathy shone in his eye,"is

both hardship an' tragedy. Which of course thar's a mighty sight of

difference. A hardship a gent lives through; but it's a tragedy when

his light's put out. An' as Slim Jim don't live through this none,

it's nacherally a tragedy that a-way.

"I frequent sees bad luck to other folks, as well as comin' to me

personal, in the years I inhabits the grass country, but this was

shorely the toughest. It even overplays anythin' Rainbow Sam ever is

ag'inst; an' the hard luck of Rainbow Sam is a proverb of Arizona.

"'Which I reckons I was foaled with a copper on me,' says this

Rainbow Sam to Enright one day. 'In all my born days I never makes a

killin'--never gets up winner once. I was foaled a loser, an' I'll

keep a-losin' ontil this yere malady--which it's consumption-which

has me in charge delivers me to the angels an' gets its receipt.'

"It's a mockery what transpires touchin' this Rainbow Sam. Jest as

he states, the consumption's got him treed an' out on a limb. Doc

Peets says, himse'f, nothin' can he'p him; an' when Peets quits a

little thing like consumption an' shoves his chair back, you-alls

can gamble a gent's health, that a-way, is on a dead kyard.

"I recalls how Rainbow Sam dies; which he rides out into eternity

easy an' painless. We-alls is into a poker-game nne night-that is,

five of us--when Doc Peets is called away.

"'See yere, Rainbow,' says Peets to Rainbow Sam, who's penniless an'

tharfore lookin' on; 'you never has a morsel of luck in your life.

Now, yere: You play my hand an' chips awhile. I'm on velvet for

three hundred an' fifty, an' I'd as soon you'd lose it into the game

as any sport I knows. An' to rouse your moral nacher I wants to tell

you, whatever you rakes in you keeps. Now thar's luck at the jump;

you can't lose an' you may win, so set in yere. Napoleon never has

half the show.'

"Peets goes away for an hour about somethin', an' Rainbow Sam takes

his seat; an', merely to show how one gent outlucks another, while

Peets has had the luck of dogs it's that profuse an' good, it looks

like the best Rainbow can get is an even break. For half an hour he

wins an' he loses about equal; an' he's shore tryin' hard to win,

too.

"'If I takes in a couple of hundred or so,' says this Rainbow to me,

'I allows I'll visit my folks in the States once for luck.'

"But he never visits them folks he adverts to. It's on Boggs's deal,

an' he's throwin' the kyards 'round when Rainbow's took bad. His

consumption sorter mutinies onto him all at once. He's got the seat

on the left of Boggs, too,--got the age.

"'Play my hand,' he says to Hamilton, who's stepped in from the

dance-hall; 'play my hand, Jim, till I feels a little better. I'll

be all right in a moment. Barkeep, deal me some whiskey.'

"So Rainbow walks over to the bar, an' Hamilton picks up his kyards.

I notes that Rainbow steps off that time some tottersome; but he's

so plumb weak that a-way, cats is robust to him; an' so I deems

nothin' tharof. I'm skinnin' my kyards a bit interested anyhow,

bein' in the hole myse'f.

"Everybody comes in this deal, an' when the chips is in the center--

this yere's before the draw--Hamilton, speakin' up for Rainbow,

says:

"'These yere's Doc Peets's chips anyhow?'

"'Which they shorely be,' says Boggs, 'so play 'em merciless, 'cause

Peets is rich.'

"'That's what I asks for,' says Hamilton, 'for I don't aim to make

no mistakes with pore Rainbow's money.'

"'That's all right,' says Boggs, 'dump 'em in. If you-all lose, it's

Peets's; if you win, it's Rainbow's.'

"'Play 'em game an' liberal, Old Man,' says Rainbow over by the

bar,--an' it strikes me at the time his tones is weak an' queer; but

bein' as I jest then notes a third queen in my hand, I don't have no

chance to dwell on the fact. 'Play 'em game an' free,' says Rainbow

ag'in. 'Free as the waters of life. Win or lose, she's all the same

a hundred year from now.'

"Hamilton takes another look an' then raises the ante a hundred

dollars. This yere is table stakes; this game was; an' the stakes is

five hundred.

"'Which I plays this,' says Hamilton, as he comes up with the

hundred raise, 'the same as I would for myse'f, which the same means

plenteous an' free as a king.'

"Thar's three of us who stays, one of the same bein' me. I allers

recalls it easy, 'cause it frost-bites my three queens for over

three hundred dollars before the excitement dies away. Boggs, who's

so vociferous recent about Hamilton playin' wide open, stays out;

not havin' as good as nine-high.

"On the draw Hamilton allows Rainbow's hand needs one kyard, an' he

gets it. I takes one also; the same bein' futile, so far as he'pin'

my hand goes; an' the others takes kyards various.

"Thar's only one raise, an' that's when it gets to Hamilton. He sets

in a little over two hundred dollars, bein' the balance of the

stake; an' two of us is feeble-minded enough to call. What does he

have? Well, it's ample for our ondoin' that a-way. It's a straight

flush of diamonds; jack at the head of the class. It shorely carries

off the pot like it's a whirlwind. As near as I can measure,

Hamilton claws off with about six hundred dollars for Rainbow on

that one hand.

"'Yere you be, Rainbow!' shouts Boggs. 'Come a-runnin'! It's now you

visits them relations; you makes a killin' at last.'

"It turns out some late for Rainbow though. Thar's no reply to

Boggs's talk, an' when we-alls goes over to him where he's set down

by the end of the bar thar, with his arm on a monte-table, an' his

chin on his shirt, Rainbow Sam is dead.

"'Which I regrets,' says Doc Peets when he returns, 'that Rainbow

don't stay long enough to onderstand how luck sets his way at last.

It most likely comforts him an' makes his goin' out more cheerful.'

"'It's a good sign, though,' says Cherokee Hall, 'that straight

flush is. Which it shows Rainbow strikes a streak of luck; an' mebby

it lasts long enough to get him by the gates above all right. That's

all I asks when my time comes; that I dies when I'm commencin' a run

of luck.'

"Oh! about this Slim Jim tenderfoot an' his tragedy! Do you know I

plumb overlooks him. I gets trailed off that a-way after pore old

Rainbow Sam, an' Slim Jim escapes my mem'ry complete.

"Which the story of this gent, even the little we-alls knows, is a

heap onusual. No one, onless he's the postmaster, ever does hear his

name. He sorter ha'nts about Red Dog an' Wolfville indiscriminate

for mighty nigh a year; an' they calls him 'Slim Jim' with us, an'

'The Tenderfoot' in Red Dog; but, as I says, what's his real name

never does poke up its head.

"Whatever brings this yere Slim Jim into the cow country is too

boggy a crossin' for me. Thar ain't a thing he can do or learn to.

We-alls has him on one round-up, an' it's cl'ar from the jump he

ain't meant by Providence for the cattle business. The meekest

bronco in the bunch bucks him off; an' actooally he's that timid

he's plumb afraid of ponies an' cattle both.

"We-alls fixes Slim Jim's saddle with buckin'-straps; an' even

fastens a roll of blankets across the saddle-horn; but it ain't

enough. Nothin' bar tyin' Slim Jim into the saddle, like the hoss-

back Injuns does to papooses, could save him.

"An' aside from nacheral awk'ardness an' a light an' fitful seat in

a saddle, it looks like this Slim Jim has baleful effects on a

bronco. To show you: One mornin' we ropes up for him a pony which

has renown for its low sperits. It acts, this yere pony does, like

it's suffered some disapp'intment which blights it an' breaks its

heart; an' no amount of tightenin' of the back cinch; not even

spurrin' of it in the shoulder an' neck like playful people who's

out for a circus does, is ever known to evolve a buck-jump outen

him, he's that sad. Which this is so well known, the pony's name is

'Remorse.'

"As I says, merely to show the malignant spell this yere Slim Jim

casts over a bronco, we-alls throws him onto this Remorse pony one

mornin'.

"'Which if you can't get along with that cayouse,' remarks Jack

Moore at the time, 'I reckons it's foreordained you-all has to go

afoot.'

"An' that's how it turns out. No sooner is Slim Jim in the saddle

than that Remorse pony arches his back like a hoop, sticks his nose

between his knees, an' gives way to sech a fit of real old worm-

fence buckin' as lands Slim Jim on his sombrero, an' makes expert

ponies simply stand an' admire.

"That's the last round-up Slim Jim attempts; workin' cattle he says

himse'f is too deep a game for him, an' he never does try no more.

So he hangs about Wolfville an' Red Dog alternate, turnin' little

jim-crow tricks for the express company, or he'pin' over to the

stage company's corrals, an' sorter manages to live.

"Now an' then some party who's busy drinkin', an' tharfore hasn't

time for faro, an' yet is desirous the same be played, stakes Slim

Jim ag'inst the game; an' it happens at times he makes a small pick-

up that a-way. But his means of livelihood is shorely what you-alls

would call precar'ous.

"An' yet, as I sends my mind back over the trail, I never knows of

nothin' bad this yere Slim Jim does. You needn't go inferrin' none,

from his havin' a terror of steers an' broncos that a-way, that he's

timid plumb through. Thar's reason to deem him game when he's up

ag'inst mere man.

"Once, so they tells the story, Curly Bill rounds up this Slim Jim

in a Red Dog hurdy-gurdy an' concloods to have some entertainment

with him.

"'Dance, you shorthorn!' says this yere Curly Bill, yankin' out his

six-shooter an' p'intin' it mighty sudden at Slim Jim's foot;

'shuffle somethin' right peart now, or you-all emerges shy a toe.'

"Does this Slim Jim dance? Never cavorts a step. At the first move

he swarms all over this Curly Bill like a wild-cat, makes him drop

his gun, an' sends him out of the hurdy-gurdy on a canter. That's

straight; that's the painful fact in the case of Curly Bill, who

makes overgay with the wrong gent.

"Later, mebby an hour, so the party says who relates it to me, Curly

Bill sends back word into the hurdy-gurdy, tellin' the barkeep, if

his credit's good after sech vicissitoodes, to treat the house. He

allows the drinks is on him, an' that a committee can find him

settin' on the post office steps sorter goin' over himse'f for

fractures, if it's held necessary for him to be present when the

drinks is took.

"Which of course any gent's credit is good at the bar that a-way;

an' so a small delegation of three ropes up this yere Curly Bill an'

brings him back to the hurdy-gurdy, where he gets his gun ag'in, an'

Slim Jim an' him makes up.

"'Which I renounces all idee of ever seein' you dance some,' says

Curly Bill, when he an' Jim shakes; 'an' I yereby marks your

moccasins plumb off my list of targets.'

"Everybody's pleased at this; an' the barkeep is delighted speshul,

as one of them reeconciliations that a-way is mighty condoosive to

the sale of nose-paint. I'm yere to remark, if thar ain't no more

reeconciliations on earth, an' everybody stands pat on them hatreds

an' enmities of his, whiskey-drinkin' falls off half.

"I only su'gest this turn-up with Curly Bill to 'lustrate that it's

about as I says, an' that while Slim Jim's reluctant an' hesitatin'

in the presence of wild steers, an' can't adhere to a pony much,

this yere girlishness don't extend to men none; which last he faces

prompt an' willin' as a lion.

"Thar's times when I shorely ponders the case of this Slim Jim a

mighty sight, 'cause he keeps strikin' me as a good gent gone bad,

an' as bein' the right gent in the wrong place.

"'This pore maverick is plumb Eastern, that's all,' says Enright one

day, while he's discussin' of this Slim Jim. 'He ain't to blame, but

he ain't never goin' to do, none whatever, out yere. He can't no

more get used to Arizona than one of the Disciples, an' he might

camp 'round for years.'

"It's mebby hard onto a year when along comes the beginnin' of the

end as far as this Slim Jim's concerned, only we-alls don't know it.

The postmaster says afterward he gets a letter; an' by what's found

on the remainder it looks like the postmaster's right, an' this

letter sets him goin' wrong. I allers allows, after he gets this

missive, that he sees the need of money that a-way an' plenty of it;

an' that it's got to come quick.

"Most likely he's been bluffin' some parties in the East about how

rich he is an' how lucrative he's doin',--sech bluffs bein' common

in the West,--an' now along comes events an' folks he's fooled, an'

his bluff is called.

"When it arrives, none of us knows of this yere letter the

postmaster mentions, an' which is later read by all; but it's about

that time Slim Jim acts queer an' locoed. He's flustered an'

stampeded about somethin', we-alls notes that; an' Dave Tutt even

forgets himse'f as a gent so far as to ask Slim Jim what's up.

"`Which you looks oneasy these autumn days,' says Tutt to Slim Jim.

'What's wrong?'

"'Nothin',' says Slim Jim, lookin' a bit woozy, 'nothin' wrong. A

friend of mine is likely to show up yere; that's all.'

"'Which he has the air of a fugitive from jestice when he says it,'

observes Tutt, when he speaks of it after all's over; 'though

jedgin' by the party who's on his trail that time I don't reckon

he's done nothin' neither.'

"It's shorely the need of money drives this Slim Jim to turnin'

route-agent an' go holdin' up the stage, for the evenin' he quits

camp he says to Cherokee Hall: 'S'pose I asks you-all to lend me

money, quite a bundle, say, would you do it?'

"'I turns faro for my money,' says Cherokee; 'which I merely

mentions it to show I comes honestly by my roll. As to borrowin' of

me, you-all or any gent in hard lines can get my money by showin' he

needs it worse than I do; an' to encourage you I might say I don't

need money much. So, go on an' tell me the news about yourse'f, an'

if it's as bad as the way you looks, I reckons I'll have to stake

you, even if it takes half my pile.' Tharupon Cherokee urges Slim

Jim to onfold his story.

"But Slim Jim gets shy an' won't talk or tell Cherokee what's

pesterin' him, or how much money he needs.

"'No,' he says, after thinkin' a little, 'I never begs a stake yet,

an' I never will. Anyhow I sees another way which is better.'

"Countin' noses afterwards, it's probably this talk with Cherokee is

the last Slim Jim has before he breaks over into the hills on the

hunt for money. He goes afoot, too; for he don't own no pony, an' he

couldn't, as I explains previous, stay on him if he does.

"But he fixes himse'f with a Winchester which he gets from the

stage-company people themse'fs on a talk he makes about takin' some

reecreation with the coyotes, an' p'ints straight over into Rawhide

Canyon,--mebby it's six miles from camp. When the stage gets along

an hour later, this Slim Jim's made himse'f a mask with a

handkerchief, an' is a full-fledged hold-up which any express

company could be proud to down. Old Monte relates what happens in

the canyon, 'cause from where he's stuck up on the box he gets a

better view.

"'Yere's how this happens,' says Old Monte, while renooin' his yooth

with Red Light licker after he's got in. 'It's a little hazy in the

canyon, comin' evenin' that a-way, an' my eyes is watery with the

shootin' goin' on, an' I tharfore don't say I notes things none

minoote; but as near as I can, you gets the story.

"`Thar's only one passenger, an' she's a woman. Which for that

matter she's a beautiful girl, with eyes like a buck antelope's; but

bein' she's layin' over to the stage station defunct right now,

along with this yere Slim Jim, I don't dwell none on how she looks.'

"'When I pulls out from Tucson I has this yere young female inside;

an' the company puts two Wells-Fargo gyards on top of the coach, the

same bein' the first time in months. These Wells-Fargo parties ain't

along for hold-ups, but jest 'cause they has business over yere, an'

so comes by stage same as other gents.

"`It all goes smooth ontil I'm rattlin' along in Rawhide Canyon not

half-a-dozen miles from where we-alls is now drinkin' all free an'

amiable, like life's nothin' but sunshine.

"'The first p'inter I has that I'm up ag'inst it, bang! goes a

Winchester, an' throws my off leader dead ag'inst the trail. Thar's

no goin' 'round the dead hoss, an' bar the nacheral rarin' an'

pitchin' of the other five on beholdin' of the ontimely end of their

companion that a-way, the whole business comes to a dead stop.

"'"Hold up your hands!" says a voice up the rocks on one side.

"'My hands is already up, for I'm an old stage-driver, gents, an'

you-alls can gamble I knows my trade. I'm hired to drive. It ain't

no part of my game to fight hold-ups an' stand off route-agents that

a-way, an' get shot dead for it by their pards the next trip; so, as

I says, the moment that Winchester goes off, I clamps my fingers

back of my head an' sets thar. Of course I talks back at this hold-

up a heap profane, for I don't aim to have the name of allowin' any

gent to rustle my stage an' me not cuss him out. "'But these yere

Wells-Fargo sharps, they never holds up their hands. That's nacheral

enough, for them gents is hired to fight, an' this partic'lar trip

thar's full six thousand dollars to go to war over.

"With the first shot the Wells-Fargo gents--they was game as goats

both of 'em--slides offen the coach an' takes to shootin'. The guns

is makin' a high old rattle of it, an' I'm hopin' the hold-up won't

get to over-shootin' an' drill me, when the first casooalty occurs.

One of the Wells-Fargo sports gets a bullet plumb through his frame,

an' is dead an' out in the crack of a whip.

"'It looks like the hold-up sees him tumble, for it's then he cuts

loose a whoop, jumps down onto the trail an' charges. He comes a-

shootin', too, an' the way the lead an' fire fetches forth from that

Winchester he's managin' shore reminds me of them Roman candles last

July.

"'All this yere don't take ten seconds. An' it don't last ten

seconds more. As my hold-up comes chargin' an' shootin' towards the

stage, I overhears a scream inside, an' the next moment that young

female passenger opens the door an' comes scamperin' out.

"'If she tries she couldn't have selected no worse epock. She hits

the ground, an' the second she does--for I'm lookin' over at her at

the time--she stops one of that hold-up's bullets an' goes down with

a great cry.

"'It's on me, gents, at this p'int to take all resks an' go down an'

look-out the play for the girl. But I never gets a chance, an' it's

as well I don't; for towards the last the shootin' of the remainin'

Wells-Fargo person is reckless an' inordinate. It's plumb

reedundant; that shootin' is. But as I remarks, I never has no

occasion to go to the girl; for as I feels the impulse I hears the

hold-up shout:

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

"'Thar's a letter on him we finds later, which shows this statement

about my passenger bein' his sister is troo; an' that she's p'intin'

out when downed, now they's orphans--which the letter states their

father's jest cashed in--to come an' keep house for him. As the

hold-up makes this yere exclamation about the girl bein' his

relative that a-way, his Winchester goes a-rattlin' onto the trail

an' he gathers her in his arms. However, he don't last longer than a

drink of whiskey now. He don't no more'n lift her up, before even he

kisses her, the remainin' Wells-Fargo gent downs him, an' the riot's

over complete.

"'Three killed an' none wounded is how results stacks up; an' after

me an' the live Wells-Fargo gent cl'ars the dead leader outen the

trail, we-alls lays out the remainders inside all peaceful, an'

comes a-curvin' on to Wolfville. It's then, as we puts 'em in the

coach, I sees that my hold-up's that onfortunate felon, Slim Jim.

Which I was shorely astonished. I says to the Wells-Fargo gent, as

we looks at Slim Jim:

"'"Pard, the drinks is due from me on this. If I has a week to guess

in, I'd never said 'Slim Jim.'"

CHAPTER XVI.

JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE.

"Whatever makes this yere jaybird Bob believe he's a humorist," said

the Old Cattleman one afternoon as we slowly returned from a walk,

"whatever it is misleads him to so deem himself is shorely too many

for me. Doc Peets tells him himse'f one day he's plumb wrong.

"'You-all's nacherally a somber, morose party,' says Doc Peets this

time, 'an' nothin' jocose or jocund about you. Your disp'sition,

Jaybird, don't no more run to jokes than a prairie-dog's."

"'Which I would admire to know why not?' says Jaybird Bob.

"'Well,' goes on Doc Peets, 'you thinks too slow--too much like a

cow in a swamp. Your mind moves sluggish that a-way, an' sorter

sinks to the hocks each step. If you was born to be funny your

intellects would be limber an' frivolous.'

"'Bein' all this is personal to me,' says Jaybird Bob, 'I takes

leave to regard you as wrong. My jokes is good, high-grade jokes;

an' when you-all talks of me bein' morose, it's a mere case of

bluff.' An' so Jaybird goes on a-holdin of himse'f funny ontil we-

alls has him to bury.

"No; Jaybird ain't his shore-'nough name; it's jest a handle to his

'dentity, so we-alls picks it up handy and easy. Jaybird's real name

is Graingerford,--Poindexter Graingerford. But the same is cumbersom

an' onwieldy a whole lot; so when he first trails into Wolfville we-

alls considers among ourse'fs an' settles it's a short cut to call

him 'Jaybird Bob,' that a-way. An' we does.

"It's on the spring round-up this yere Jaybird first develops that

he regards himse'f witty. It's in the morning as we-alls has saddled

up an' lines out to comb the range roundabout for cattle. Thar's a

tenderfoot along whose name is Todd, an', as he's canterin' off,

Jaybird comes a-curvin' up on his bronco an' reaches over an' tails

this shorthorn's pony.

"What's tailin' a pony? It's ridin' up from the r'ar an' takin' a

half-hitch on your saddle. horn with the tail of another gent's

pony, an' then spurrin' by an' swappin' ends with the whole outfit,-

-gent, hoss, an' all.

"It's really too toomultuous for a joke, an' mebby breaks the pony's

neck, mebby the rider's. But whether he saves his neck or no, the

party whose pony is thus tailed allers emergers tharfrom deshevelled

an' wrought-up, an' hotter than a wolf. So no one plays this yere

joke much; not till he's ready to get shot at.

"As I says, this Jaybird watches Todd as he rides off. Bein' new on

the range that a-way, Todd don't ride easy. A cow saddle ain't built

like these yere Eastern hulls, nohow. The stirrup is set two inches

further back for one thing, an' it's compiled a heap different other

ways. Bein' onused to cow saddles, an' for that matter cow ponies,

this Todd lops over for'ard an' beats with his elbows like he's a

curlew or somethin' flyin', an' I reckons it's sech proceedin's

makes Jaybird allow he's goin' to be funny an' tail Todd's pony.

"As I explains, he capers along after Todd an' reaches over an' gets

a handful of the pony's tail; an' then, wroppin' it 'round his

saddle-horn, he goes by on the jump an' spreads Todd an' his bronco

permiscus about the scene. This yere Todd goes along the grass on

all fours like a jack-rabbit.

"Which Todd, I reckons, is the hostilest gent in south-east Arizona.

Before ever he offers to get up, he lugs out his six-shooter an'

makes some mighty sincere gestures that a-way to shoot up Jaybird.

But he's slow with his weepon, bein' spraddled out on the grass, an'

it gives Dave Tutt an' Enright a chance to jump in between an' stop

the deal.

"We-alls picks Todd up, an' rounds up his pony,--which scrambles to

its feet an' is now cavortin' about like its mind is overturned,--

an' explains to him this yere is a joke. But he's surly an'

relentless about it; an' it don't take no hawk to see he don't

forgive Jaybird a little bit.

"'Tailin' a gent's pony,' says Todd, 'is no doubt thrillin'

amoosement for folks lookin' on, but thar's nothin' of a redeemin'

nature in it from the standp'int of the party whose pony's upheaved

that a-way. Not to be misonderstood at this yere crisis,' goes on

this Todd, 'I wants to announce that from now for'ard life will have

but one purpose with me, which'll be to down the next gent whoever

tails a pony of mine. The present incident goes as a witticism; but

you can gamble the next won't be so regarded.'

"That sorter ends the talk, an' all of us but the cook an' the hoss-

hustlers bein' in the saddle by now, we disperses ourse'fs through

the scenery to work the cattle an' proceed with the round-up we-alls

is on. We notes, though, that tailin' Todd's pony don't go ag'in

with safety.

"It's when we-alls rides away that Doc Peets--who's out with the

round-up, though he ain't got no cattle-brand himse'f--tells Jaybird

he's not a humorist, like I already repeats.

"But, as I su'gests, this Jaybird Bob can't believe it none. He's

mighty shore about his jokes bein' excellent good jokes; an' while

it's plain Todd ain't got no confidence in him an' distrusts him

complete since he tips over his bronco that mornin', it looks like

Jaybird can't let him alone. An' them misdeeds of Jaybird's keeps

goin' on, ontil by the merest mistake--for it's shore an accident if

ever one happens in the cow country--this yere tenderfoot shoots up

Jaybird an' kills him for good.

"It looks to us like it's a speshul Providence to warn folks not to

go projectin' about, engaged in what you might call physical jests

none. Still, this yere removal of Jaybird don't take place till

mighty near the close of the round-up; an' intervenin', he's

pirootin' 'round, stockin' the kyards an' settin' up hands on the

pore shorthorn continuous.

"One of Jaybird's jokes--'one of his best,' Jaybird calls it--

results in stampedin' the herd of cattle we-alls is bringin' along

at the time--bein' all cows an' their calves--to a brandin'-pen.

Which thar's two thousand, big an' little, in the bunch; an'

Jaybird's humor puts 'em to flight like so many blackbirds; an' it

takes two days hard ridin' for the whole outfit to bring 'em

together ag'in.

"Among other weaknesses this Todd imports from the States is, he's

afraid of snakes. Rattlesnakes is his abhorrence, an' if each is a

disembodied sperit he can't want 'em further off. He's allers

alarmed that mebby, somehow, a rattlesnake will come pokin' in onder

his blankets nights, an' camp with him while he's asleep. An' this

yere wretched Jaybird fosters them delusions.

"'About them serpents,' I overhears Jaybird say to him one evenin'

while we-alls is settin' 'round;--all but Moore an' Tutt, who's

ridin' herd; ''bout them serpents; a gent can't be too partic'lar.

It looks like they has but one hope, which it's to crawl into a

gent's blankets an' sleep some with him. Which, if he moves or turns

over, they simply emits a buzz an' grabs him I knows of forty folks

who's bit that a-way by snakes, an' nary a one lives to explain the

game.'

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

Jaybird.

"'Be they thick?' answers Jaybird. 'Well, I shore wishes I had

whiskey for all the rattlesnakes thar is yereabouts. I don't want to

go overstatin' the census to a gent who is out playin' for

information, an' who's learnin' fast, but I s'pose now thar ain't

none less than a billion snakes in southeast Arizona alone. If I

could saw off the little passel of cattle I has on this range, you

can gamble I'd pull my freight to-morrow. It's all right for sech

old Cimmarons as Enright, an' sech parties as that sawbones Peets,

to go bluffin' about thar' bein' no rattlesnakes to speak of, an'

that they couldn't p'ison you to death no how; but you bet I ain't

seen forty of my nearest friends cash in of snake-bites, an' not

learn nothin'. An' almost every time it's a rattlesnake as comes

slidin' into bed with 'em while they's locked in dreams, an' who

gets hot an' goes to chewin' of 'em, because they wants to turn out

before the snake does. Rattlesnakes that a-way wants to sleep till

it's fourth-drink time an' the sun's 'way up yonder. An' when a gent

goes to rollin' out of his blankets say at sun-up, it makes 'em

monstrous angry to be disturbed; an' the first he knows of where

they be an' how they looks on early risin', their teeth's in him up

to the gyard, an' before night thar's one less gent to cook for, an'

an extra saddle rides along in the grub-wagon with the blankets when

they next moves camp.'

"Of course all this is a heap impressive to Todd; an' while Enright

an' Peets both tells him Jaybird's havin' fun with him, you can see

he's mortal afraid every night when he spreads his blankets, an' he

makes a cirele about where he sleeps at with a horse-ha'r lariat

he's got from a Mexican, an' who tells him it'll tickle the snakes'

necks when they goes to crawl across it, an' make 'em keep away.

"The way this yere Jaybird manages to stampede the bunch that time

is this a-way. Jaybird comes ridin' in from the cattle about three

hours before sun-up, to turn out Tutt, who is due to take his place

on herd. Jaybird's got a rawhide rope that he's drugged about in the

grass, which makes it damp an' cold. As Jaybird rides up to camp he

sees this Todd rolled in his blankets, snorin' to beat four of a

kind.

"Nacherally Jaybird's out to be joyous in a second. He rides up

close to this he'pless shorthorn as he lays asleep, an' tosses a

loop of his wet rawhide across his countenance where it's turned up

in the moonlight. As it settles down cold an' startlin' on Todd's

skin, Jaybird yells:

"Snake, Todd! Thar's a rattlesnake on you bigger'n a dog.'

"Jaybird says later as how this Todd behaves tremendous. He b'iles

up into the atmosphere with a howl like a wolf; an', grabbin' a

blanket in each hand, he starts out over the plains in a state of

frenzy. Which the worst is he charges headlong toward the herd; an'

what with them shrieks he volunteers, an' the blankets flappin' an'

wavin', thar ain't a cow in the bunch who stays in her right mind a

moment. Which she springs to her feet, an takin' her offspring

along, goes surgin' off into the hills for good. You couldn't head

or stop 'em then. It's the completest case of stampede I ever turns

out to behold.

"No; this yere Todd never gathers the rights of the eepisode. He's

that peevish an' voylent by nacher no one tells him it's Jaybird;

an' onless, in the light of knowin' more, he has since figgered out

the trooth, he allows to this day a rattlesnake as big as a roll of

blankets tries to recline on his face that time.

"To keep peace in camp an' not let him go to pawin' 'round for real

trouble with the festive Jaybird, Enright stands in to cap the game

himse'f; an' puts it up in confab with this Todd the next day as how

he sees the rattlesnake, an' that it's mighty near bein' a whopper.

"'It's shore,' says Enright, when he an' Todd is conversin' tharon,

'the most giant serpent I ever sees without the aid of licker. An'

when he goes streakin' off into the gloom, bein' amazed an' rattled

by your cries, he leaves, so far as I'm concerned, a trail of relief

behind. You-all can gamble, I wasn't interruptin' of no sech snake,

nor makin' of no pretexts for his detainment.

"'What for was his rattles like?' says Todd; an' he gets pale at the

mere sound of Enright's talk.

"'As to them rattles,' says Enright, like he's mighty thoughtful

tryin' to recall 'em to mind, 'as to this reptile's rattles, it's

that dark that while I sees 'em I couldn't but jest. So far as I

notes anythin' they looks like a belt full of car-tridges, sorter

corrugated an' noomerous.

"Now this yere which I relates, while no doubt burnin' experiences

to Todd, is after all harmless enough. An' to people not careful

about the basis of their glee it might do some to laugh at. But it

all closes up on a play with nothin' gay nor merry in it; leastwise

not for Jaybird Bob.

"This yere finish joke of jaybird's transpires one evenin' as the

cook's startin' in to rustle some chuck. The grub-wagon's been

stopped in the mouth of Peeled Pine Canyon. Every gent's in camp but

this yere tenderfoot Todd. Enright, who's actin' as round-up boss

for the outfit--for everybody's cattle's bein' worked together that

a-way, like we allers does--has sent Todd peerin' 'round for cattle,

'way off up the valley into which the Peeled Pine Canyon opens. This

yere shorthorn's due to be back any time now, 'cause it's only a

question of how far up the valley does he go. He don't run no show

to be lost, for nothin' less aerial than goats could climb out of

the canyon he's in, an' tharfore he's bound to find camp.

"Of course, knowin' every gent's station in the day's ridin', we-

alls is plenty aware that this tenderfoot Todd is some'ers above us

in the valley. None of the rest of us is turnin' our minds to him

probably, except Jaybird Bob. It all of a bump like a buckin' pony

strikes Jaybird that he's missin' a onusual chance to be buoyant.

"'What for a play would it be,' says Jaybird, rousin' up from where

he lays watchin' of the cook slice salt hoss for the fryin'-pan,

'what for a game would it be, I says, for a passel of us to lay out

up the draw, an' bush-whack this yere ontaught person Todd as he

comes ridin' down to camp? We-alls could hop out at him, a-whoopin'

an' shoutin', an' bein' wropped up in blankets, he allows it's shore

Injuns an' goes plumb locoed.'

"`You-all will keep harrowin' away at this Todd party, Jaybird,'

says Enright, 'ontil you arises from the game loser. Now I don't

reckon none I'd play Apache if I'm you. Thar's too much effort in

bein' an Apache that a-way. I'd lay yere an' think up some joke

which don't demand so much industry, an' ain't calc'lated to scare

an innocent gent to death.'

"But Jaybird won't listen. He falls into admiration of his scheme;

an' at last Tutt an' Jack Moore allows they'll go along an' play

they's aborigines with Jaybird an' note how the tenderfoot stands

the racket.

"'As long as this yere Jaybird's bound to make the play,' says Jack

Moore to Enright, talkin' one side, 'it's a heap better to have the

conserv'tive element represented in the deal. So I puts it up, it's

a good sage move for me an' Tutts to stand in. We-alls will come

handy to pull Jaybird an' this shorthorn apart if they gets their

horns locked in the course of them gaities.'

"Enright takes the same view; so Jaybird an' Moore an' Tutt wanders

off up the canyon a mile, an' lays in wait surreptitious to head off

Todd. Jack tells me the story when him an' Tutt comes ridin' back

with the corpse.

"'This is how we does,' says Jack. 'Me an' Tutt an' deceased--which

last is Jaybird all right enough--is ensconced behind a p'int of

rocks. Jaybird's got his blanket wropped, 'round him so he looks

like a savage. It ain't long when we-alls hears the tenderfoot

comin' down the canyon; it's likely he's half-mile away. He's

runnin' onto us at a road-gait; an' when he's about two hundred

yards off Jaybird turns out a yell to make you shiver, shakes a load

or two outen his gun, goes surgin' out from 'round the p'int of

rocks, an' charges straight at this onthinkin' tenderfoot. It is due

to trooth to say, me an' Tutt follows this Jaybird's suit, only not

so voylent as to whoops.

"'Does it scare up the tenderfoot? Well, it shorely alarms him a

heap. He takes Jaybird for an Injun an' makes no question; which the

same is nowise strange; I'd took him for a savage myse'f, only,

bein' in the deal that a-way I knows it's Jaybird. So, as I remarks,

it horrifies the tenderfoot on end, an' at the first sight of

Jaybird he whirls his pony an' lights out up that valley like

antelope.

"'Nacherally we-alls follows; Jaybird leadin', a-whoopin', an' a-

shootin', an' throwin' no end of sperit into it. It's a success,

this piece of wit is, up to this juncture, an' Jaybird puts a heap

of zest into it.

"'The weak spot in all this yere humor grows out of the idees this

tenderfoot's been gainin', an' the improvements he's been makin',

while stragglin' about in our s'ciety. I onhesitatin'ly states that

if this yere joke is pulled off by Jaybird when Todd first enters

our midst, it might have been the vict'ry of his life. But Jaybird

defers it too long. This tenderfoot has acquired a few Western ways;

enough to spoil the fun an' send pore Jaybird a-curvin' to his home

on high.

"'This is what that shorthorn does which teaches me he's learnin'.

While he's humpin' off up the canyon, an' me an' Jaybird an' Tutt is

stampedin' along in pursoot, the fugitive throws loose his six-

shooter, an' without even turnin' his head or lookin' back at us, he

onhooks the entire bundle of lead our way.

"Which the worst feature of it is, this backhanded, blind shootin'

is a winner. The very first shot smites Jaybird plumb through the

hat, an' he goes off his pony without even mentionin' about it to

either Tutt or me.

"`That's all thar is to the report. Dave an' me pulls up our

broncos, abandons the joke, lays Jaybird across his saddle like a

sack of corn, an' returns to state the case.'

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

Enright.

"'Which we never does nothin',' says Jack. 'The last I beholds, he's

flyin' up the valley, hittin' nothin' but the high places. An'

assoomin' his project is to get away, he's succeedin' admirable. As

he vanishes, I should jedge from his motions he's reloadin' his gun;

an' from the luck he has with Jaybird, Tutt an' me is led to believe

thar's no real object in followin' him no further. I don't press my

s'ciety on no gent; shorely not on some locoed tenderfoot that a-way

who's pulled his gun an' is done blazin' away erratic, without

purpose or aim.'

"'Don't you an' Tutt know where he is at?' demands Enright.

"'Which we shorely don't,' says Jack. 'If his hoss holds, an' he

don't swerve none from the direction he's p'inting out in when he

fades from view, he's goin' to be over in the San Simon country by

to-morrow mornin' when we eats our grub; an' that's half way to the

Borax desert. If you yearns for my impressions,' concloods Jack,

'drawn from a-seein' of him depart, I'm free to say I don't reckon

you-alls is goin' to meet this yere tenderfoot none soon.'

"An' that's about the size of it. Jack calls the turn. Jaybird's

last joke alarms this tenderfoot Todd plumb outen Arizona, an' thar

ain't none of us ever sees ha'r, horn, nor hoof mark of him no more.

An' he takes with him, this Todd does, the boss pony in our bunch."

CHAPTER XVX.

BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE.

"No; thar's nothin' prolix about Boggs. Which on the contrary, his

nacher is shorely arduous that a-way. If it's a meetin' of the

committee, for instance, with intent then an' thar to dwell a whole

lot on the doin's of some malefactor, Boggs allers gets to a mental

show-down ahead of the other gents involved. Either he's out to

throw this party loose, or stretch his neck, or run him outen camp,

or whatever's deemed exact jestice, long before sech slow-an'-shore

people as Old Man Enright even looks at their hands. The trooth is,

Boggs ain't so strong on jedgement; his long suit is instinct. An'

moreover I knows from his drawin' four kyards so much in poker,

Boggs is plumb emotional."

At this point in his discourse the Old Cattle man paused and put in

several profound minutes in apparent contemplation of Boggs. Then he

went on.

"That's it; Boggs is emotional; an' I shorely reckons which he'd

even been a heap religious, only thar's no churches much on Boggs's

range. Boggs tells me himse'f he comes mighty near bein' caught in

some speritual round-up one time, an' I allers allows, after hearin'

Boggs relate the tale, that if he'd only been submerged in what you-

alls calls benigner inflooences that a-way, he'd most likely made

the fold all right an' got garnered in with the sheep.

"It's just after Short Creek Dave gets to be one of them

'vangelists. Dave has been exhortin' of Wolfville to leave off its

ways, over in the warehouse of the New York Store, an' that same

evenin' Boggs, bein' some moved, confides in me how once he mebby

half-way makes up his mind he'll be saved.

"'Leastwise,' says Boggs, when he takes me into his past that a-way,

'I allows I'll be religious in the spring after the round-up is

over. But I don't; so you can't, after all, call it a religious

exper'ence none; nothin' more'n a eepisode.

"'It's winter when I makes them grace-of-heaven determinations,'

goes on this Boggs, 'an' the spring round-up is months away. But I

allers puts it up I'd shorely filled my hand an' got plumb into the

play, only it's a bad winter; an' in the spring the cattle, weak an'

starved, is gettin' down an' chillin' to death about the water-

holes; an' as results tharof I'm ridin' the hills, a-cussin' an' a-

swearin'; an' all 'round it's that rough, an' I'm that profane an'

voylent, I reckons towards April probably my soul's buried onder ten

foot of cuss-words, an' that j'inin' the church in my case is mighty

likely to be a bluff. An' so I passes it up.

"'You sees,' says Boggs, 'thar's no good tryin' to hold out kyards

on your Redeemer. If your heart ain't right it's no use to set into

the game. No cold deck goes. He sees plumb through every kyard you

holds, an' nothin' but a straight deal does with Him. Nacherally,

then, I thinks--bein' as how you can't bluff your way into heaven,

an' recallin' the bad language I uses workin' them cattle--I won't

even try. An' that's why, when resolvin' one winter to get religion

mebby next June, I persists in my sinful life.

"'It's over to Taos I acquires this religious idee. I'm come new to

the camp from some'ers down 'round Seven Rivers in the Pecos

country, an' I don't know a gent. Which I'm by nacher gregar'ous; so

not knowin' folks that a-way weighs on me; an' the first night I'm

thar, I hastens to remedy this yere evil. I'm the possessor of

wealth to a limit,--for I shore despises bein' broke complete, an'

generally keeps as good as a blue stack in my war-bags,--an' I goes

projectin' 'round from dance-hall to baile, an' deciminates my

dinero an' draws to me nose-paint an' friends. As thar ain't but

three gin-mills, incloosive of the hurdy-gurdy, I'm goin' curvin' in

them grand rounds which I institoots, on a sort of triangle.

"'Which it can't be said I don't make runnin' of it, however; I

don't reckon now it's mor'n an hour before I knows all Taos, bar

Mexicans an' what some folks calls "the better elements." It also

follows, like its lariat does a loose pony, that I'm some organized

by whiskey, not to say confused.

"'It's because I'm confused I'm misled into this yere pra'r-meetin.'

Not that them exercises is due to dim my eternal game none, now nor

yereafter; but as I ain't liable to adorn the play nor take proper

part tharin, I'd shorely passed out an' kept on to the hurdy-gurdy

if I'd knowed. As it stands, I blunders into them orisons

inadvertent; but, havin' picked up the hand, I nacherally continues

an' plays it.

"'It's this a-way about them religious exercises: I'm emerged from

the Tub of Blood, an' am p'intin' out for the dance-hall, when I

strikes a wickeyup all lighted, an' singin' on the inside. I takes

it for a joint I ain't seen none as yet, an' tharupon heads up an'

enters. From the noise, I allows mebby it's Mexican; which Greasers

usual puts up a heap of singin' an' scufflin' an' talkin' in

everythin' from monte to a bull-fight.

"'Once I'm in, I notes it ain't Mexicans an' it ain't monte. Good

folks though, I sees that; an' as a passel of 'em near the door

looks shocked at the sight of me, I'm too bashful to break out

ag'in, but sorter aiges into the nearest seat an' stands pat.

"'I can tell the outfit figgers on me raisin' the long yell an'

stampedin' round to make trouble; so I thinks to myse'f I'll fool

'em up a lot. I jest won't say a word. So I sets silent as a coyote

at noon; an' after awhile the sharp who's dealin' for 'em goes on

with them petitions I interrupts as I comes bulgin' in.

"'Their range-boss says one thing I remembers. It's about castin'

your bread upon the waters. He allows you'll get it ag'in an' a band

of mavericks with it. It's playin' white chips to win blues; that's

what this sharp says.

"'It shorely strikes me as easy. Every time you does good, says this

party, Fate is out to play a return game with you; an' it's written

you quits winner on all the good you promulgates that a-way.

"'I sets the deal out an' gets some sleepy at it, too. But I won't

leave an' scand'lize the congregation; an' as I gives up strong when

the plate goes by, I ain't regarded as no setback.

"'When the contreebution-box--which she's a tin plate--comes

chargin' by, I'm sorter noddin,' I'm that weary. I notes the jingle

of money, an' rouses up, allowin' mebby it's a jack-pot, I reckons.

"'"How hard be you-all in?" I says to the gent next to me, who's

gone to the center for a peso.

"'"Dollar," says the gent.

"'"Well," I says, "I ain't seen my hand since the draw, but I'll

raise you nine blind." An' I boards a ten-dollar bill.

"'When the rest goes, I sorter sidles forth an' lines out for the

dance-hall. The fact is I'm needin' what you-alls calls stimulants.

But all the same it sticks in my head about castin' good deeds on

the water that a-way. It sticks thar yet, for that matter.

"Bein' released from them devotions, I starts to drinkin' ag'in with

zeal an' earnestness. An' thar comes a time when all my money's in

my boots. Yere's how: I only takes two stacks of reds when I embarks

on this yere debauch. Bein' deep an' crafty, an' a new Injun at that

agency that a-way, an' not knowin' what game I may go ag'inst, I

puts the rest of my bank-roll over in Howard's store. It turns out,

too, that every time I acquires silver in change, I commits it to my

left boot, which is high an' ample to hold said specie. Why I puts

this yere silver money in my boot-laig is shore too many for me. But

I feels mighty cunnin' over it at the time, an' regards it as a

'way-up play.

"'As I tells you, thar arrives an hour while I'm in the Tub of Blood

when my money's all in my boot, an' thar's still licker to drink.

Fact is, I jest meets a gent named Frosty, as good a citizen as ever

riffles a deck or pulls a trigger, an' p'liteness demands we-alls

puts the nose-paint in play. That's why I has to have money.

"'I don't care to go pullin' off my moccasins in the Tub of Blood,

an' makin' a vulgar display of my wealth by pourin' the silver onto

the floor. Thar's a peck of it, if thar's dos reals; an' sech an

exhibition as spillin' it out in the Tub of Blood is bound to

mortify me, an' the barkeep, an' Frosty, an' most likely lead to

makin' remarks. So I concloods I'll round up my silver outside an'

then return.

"'Excuse me," I says to Frosty. "You stay right yere with the

bottle, an' I'll be among you ag'in in a minute all spraddled out."

"'I goes wanderin' out back of the Tub of Blood, where it's

lonesome, an' camps down by a Spanish-bayonet, an' tugs away to get

my boot off an' my dinero into circ'lation.

"'An' while I'm at it, sleep an' nose-paint seizes me, an' my light

goes plumb out. I rolls over behind the bayonet-bush an' raises a

snore. As for that Frosty, he waits a while; then he pulls his

freight, allowin' I'm too deliberate about comin' back, for him.

"'It must have made them coyotes stop an' consider a whole lot about

what I be. To show you how good them coyotes is, I wants to tell

you: I don't notice it ontil the next day. While I'm curled up to

the r'ar of that bush they comes mighty near gnawin' the scabbard

offen my gun. Fact; the leather looks like some pup has been chewin'

it. But right then I ain't mindin' nothin' so oninterestin' as a

coyote bitin' on the leather of my gun.

"'Now this is where that bluff about bread on the waters comes in;

an' it falls so pat on the heels of them devotions of mine, it he'ps

brand it on my mem'ry. While I'm layin' thar, an' mighty likely

while them coyotes is lunchin' offen my scabbard that a-way, along

comes a rank stranger they calls Spanish Bill.

"'I learns afterward how this Spanish Bill is hard, plumb through.

He's rustled everythin' from a bunch of ponies to the mail-bags, an'

is nothin' but a hold-up who needs hangin' every hour. Whatever

takes him to where I lays by my bayonet-bush I never knows. He don't

disclose nothin' on that p'int afterward, an' mebby he tracks up on

me accidental.

"'But what informs me plain that he explores my war-bags for stuff,

before ever he concloods to look after my health, is this: Later,

when we gets acquainted an' I onfurls my finances onto him, he seems

disapp'inted an' hurt.

"'The statistics of the barkeep of the Tub of Blood next day, goes

to the effect that I'm shorely out thar four hours; an' when Spanish

Bill discovers me I'm mighty near froze. Taos nights in November has

a heap of things in common with them Artic regions we hears of,

where them fur-lined sports goes in pursoot of that North Pole.

Bein' froze, an' mebby from an over-dab of nose-paint, I never

saveys about this yere Spanish Bill meetin' up with me that a-way

ontil later. But by what the barkeep says, he drug me into the Tub

of Blood an' allows he's got a maverick.

"'"Fix this yere froze gent up somethin' with teeth," says Spanish

Bill to the barkeep. "I don't know his name none, but he's sufferin'

an' has got to be recovered if it takes the entire check-rack."

"'Which the barkeep stands in an' brings me to. I comes 'round an'

can walk some if Spanish Bill goes along steadyin' of me by the

collar. Tharupon said Bill rides herd on me down to the Jackson

House an' spreads me on some blankets.

"'It's daylight when I begins to be aware my name's Boggs, an' that

I'm a native of Kentucky, an' little personalities like that; an'

what wakes me up is this Spanish Bill.

"'"See yere," says this hold-up, "I'm goin' to turn in now, an' it's

time you-all is up. Yere's what you do: Thar's five whiskey-checks

on the Tub of Blood, which will he'p you to an appetite. Followin'

of a s'fficient quantity of fire-water, you will return to the

Jackson House an' eat. I pays for it. I won't be outen my blankets

by then; but they knows that Spanish Bill makes good, 'cause I

impresses it on 'em speshul when I comes in.

"'"You-all don't know me," goes on this Spanish Bill, as I sets up

an' blinks at him some foggy an' blurred, "an' I don't know you"--

which we-alls allows, outen p'liteness, is a dead loss to both. "But

my name's Spanish Bill, an' I'm turnin' monte in the Bank Exchange.

I'll be thar at my table by first-drink time this evenin'; an' if

you sa'nters that a-way at that epock, we'll have a drink; an' bein'

as you're busted, of course I stakes you moderate on your way."

"'It's this bluff about me not havin' money puts me in mind later

that this Bill must have rustled my raiments when he finds me that

time when I'm presided over by coyotes while I sleeps. When he says

it, however, I merely remarks that while I'm grateful to him as

mockin'-birds, money after all ain't no object with me; an', pullin'

off my nigh moccasin, I pours some two pounds of specie onto the

blankets.

"'"Which I packs this in my boot," I observes, "to put mysc'f in

mind I've got a roll big enough to fill a nose-bag over to Howard's

store."

"'"An' I'm feelin' the galiest to hear it," says this Spanish Bill;

though as I su'gests he acts pained an' amazed, like a gent who's

over-looked a bet.

"'Well, that's all thar is to that part. That's where Spanish Bill

launches that bread of his'n; an' the way it later turns out it

sorter b'ars down on me, an' keeps me rememberin' what that skyscout

says at the pra'r-meetin' about the action a gent gets by playin' a

good deed to win.

"'It's the middle of January, mebby two months later, when I'm over

on the Upper Caliente about fifty miles back of the Spanish Peaks.

I'm workin' a bunch of cattle; Cross-K is the brand; y'ear-marks a

swallow-fork in the left, with the right y'ear onderhacked.'

"What's the good of a y'ear-mark when thar's a brand?" repeated the

Old Cattleman after me, for I had interrupted with the question.

"Whatever's the good of y'ear-marks? Why, when mixed cattle is in a

bunch, standin' so close you can't see no brands on their sides, an'

you-all is ridin' through the outfit cuttin' out, y'ear-marks is

what you goes by. Cattle turns to look as you comes ridin' an'

pesterin' among 'em, an' their two y'ears p'ints for'ard like fans.

You gets their y'ear-marks like printin' on the page of a book. If

you was to go over a herd by the brands, you wouldn't cut out a

steer an hour. But to trail back after Boggs.

"`It's two months later, an' I'm ridin' down a draw one day,' says

this Dan Boggs, 'cussin' the range an' the weather, when my pony

goes to havin' symptoms. This yere pony is that sagacious that while

it makes not the slightest mention of cattle when they's near, it

never comes up on deer, or people in the hills, but it takes to

givin' of manifestations. This is so I can squar myse'f for whatever

game they opens on us.

"`As I says, me an' this yere wise pony is pushin' out into the

Caliente when the pony begins to make signs. I brings him down all

cautious where we can look across the valley, an'

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

careful]

you-all can gamble I'm some astonished to see a gent walkin' along

afoot, off mebby a couple hundred yards. He sorter limps an' leans

over on one side like he's hurt. Nacherally I stops an' surveys him

careful. It's plenty strange he's thar at all; an' stranger still

he's afoot. I looks him over for weepons; I wants to note what he's

like an' how he's heeled.

"'You saveys as well as me it don't do to go canterin' out to

strangers that a-way in the hills; speshully a stranger who's afoot.

He might hunger for your pony for one thing, an' open a play on you

with his gun, as would leave you afoot an' likewise too dead to know

it.

"'I'm allers cautious that a-way, around a party who's lost his

hoss. It locoes him an' makes him f'rocious; I s'pose bein' afoot he

feels he'pless, an' let out an' crazy. A gent afoot is a heap easier

to aggravate, too; an' a mighty sight more likely to lay for you

than when he's in a Texas saddle with a pony between his knees.

"'Which is why I remarks, that I stacks up this pedestrian careful

an' accurate before I goes after him.

"'As I says, he carries on like he's hurt; an' he's packin' a six-

shooter. He seems familiar, too; an' while I looks him over I'm

wonderin' where I cuts his trail before.

"'As I has the advantage of a Winchester, I at last rides into the

open an' gives a whoopee. The party turns, comes limpin' toward me,

an' whoever do you allow it is? Which it's shorely Spanish Bill; an'

it's right yere he gets action on that bread on the waters he plays

in when he recovers me that time in Taos.

"'To make it brief, Spanish Bill tells me that after I leaves Taos

he goes over an' deals monte a bit at Wagon Mound. One night a

Mexican comes caperin' in, an' Bill gives him a layout or two. At

last he makes an alcy bet of fifty dollars on the queen; what the

Greasers calls the "hoss." The Mexican loses; an' instead of takin'

it easy like a sport should, he grabs the money.

"'As was his dooty, Spanish Bill bends his six-shooter over the

Mexican. Tharupon he searches out a knife; an' this yere so

complicates the business, Bill, to simplify things, plugs the

Mexican full of holes.

"'This shootin' is on the squar', an' no one takes hostile notice of

it. Spanish Bill goes on layin' out his monte same as usual. Two

days later, though, he gets a p'inter the Mexicans is fixin' for

him. So that night he moves camp--mebby to where it's a hundred an'

sixty miles from Wagon Mound, over on the Vermejo.

"'But it looks like the Greasers hangs to the trail; for the day

before I tracks up on him a band of 'em hops outen a dry arroya,

where they's bush-wackin' for him, an' goes to shootin'. As might be

expected, Spanish Bill turns loose, free an' frequent, an' they all

shorely has a high, excessive time.

"'The Mexicans downs Spanish Bill's pony, an' a bullet creases

Bill's side; which last is what curves him over an' indooces him to

limp when I trails up with him.

"'As Spanish Bill goes down, the Mexicans scatter. The game is too

high for 'em. They was shy two people, with another plugged deep an'

strong; by which you notes that Bill is aimin' low an' good.

"'After the shootin' Spanish Bill crawls over to a ranch, an',

gettin' a pony an' saddle, which he easy does, he breaks back into

the hills where I encounters him. It's that morning his pony gets

tired of the deal, an' bucks him off, an' goes stampedin' back.

That's why he's afoot.

"'While he's talkin' all this, I recalls how Spanish Bill rounds me

up that night in Taos, so I don't hesitate. I takes him over to my

camp. The next mornin' he turns his nose for Texas on my best pony;

which is the last I sees or hears of Spanish Bill, onless he's the

Bill who's lynched over near Eagle Pass a year later, of which I

surmises it's some likely.

"'But whether Bill's lynched or not, it all brings up ag'in what

that Gospel-gent says about doin' benev'lences; an' how after many

days you dies an' makes a winnin', an' lives on velvet all eternity.

An' don't you know this Spanish Bill pickin' me up that night, an'

then in less than two months, when he's afoot an' hurt in the hills,

gettin' ag'inst me an' drawin' out of the game ahead a saddle, a

pony an' safety, makes it seem like that Bible-sharp is right a

whole lot?

"'That's how it strikes me,' concloods Boggs. 'An' as I tells you;

if so many cattle don't die that spring; an' if I don't give way so

frightful in my talk, I'd shorely hunted down a congregation the

next June, an' stood in."'

CHAPTER XVIII.

DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS.

"Whatever's the difference between the East an' the West?" said the

Old Cattleman, repeating my question rather for the purpose of

consideration than from any failure to understand: "What's the

difference between the East an' the West? Which, so far as I notes,

to relapse into metaphor, as you-alls says, the big difference is

that the East allers shoots from a rest; while the West shoots off

hand.

"The West shore learns easy an' is quick to change a system or alter

a play. It's plumb swift, the West is; an' what some regards as

rough is mere rapidity. The West might go broke at faro-bank in the

mornin', an' be rich at roulette in the afternoon; you can't tell. I

knows partners in Arizona who rolls out in the gray light of

breakin' day an' begins work by dissolvin' an' windin' up the firm's

affairs. By dark them same gents is pards ag'in in a new enterprise

complete. Folks'll fight at sun-up an' cook their chile con carne

together at night, an' then sleep onder the same blankets. For which

causes thar's no prophets in the West; a Western future that a-way

bein' so mighty oncertain no prophet can fasten his lariat.

"Speakin' of pards an' the fog which surrounds what the same is

likely to do, makes me think of the onlicensed an' onlooked-for

carryin's-on of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd. Them two

gents fosters a feud among themse'fs that splits 'em wide open an'

keeps 'em pesterin' each other for years; which the doin's of them

locoed people is the scandal of Wolfville while it lasts.

"It's mebby the spring after we erects the Bird Cage Op'ry House,

an' Wolfville is gettin' to be considerable of a camp. We-alls is

organized for a shore-'nough town, an Jack Moore is a shore-'nough

marshal, with Enright for alcalde that a-way, an' thar's a heap of

improvements.

"When I first tracks into Wolfville, cows is what you might call the

leadin' industry, with whiskey an' faro-bank on the side. But in the

days of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd, ore has been

onearthed, the mines is opened, an' Wolfville's swelled tremendous.

We-alls even wins a county-seat fight with Red Dog, wherein we puts

it all over that ornery hamlet; an' we shorely deals the game for

the entire region.

"As I states, it's the spring after we promotes the Bird Cage Op'ry

House--which temple of amoosements is complete the fall before--that

'Doby an' Billy turns up in Wolfville. I knows she's spring, for I'm

away workin' the round-up at the time, an' them gents is both thar

drunk when I comes in.

"'Doby an' Billy's been pards for ten years. They's miner folks, an'

'Doby tells me himse'f one day that him an' Billy has stood in on

every mine excitement from Alaska to Lower Californy. An' never once

does they get their trails crossed or have a row.

"The two gents strikes at Wolfville when the mines is first opened,

an' stakes out three claims; one for 'Doby, one for Billy. an' one

for both of 'em. They's camped off up a draw about half a mile from

town, where their claims is, an' has a little cabin an' seems to be

gettin' along peaceful as a church; an' I reckons thar's' no doubt

but they be.

"When 'Doby an' Billy first comes caperin' into Wolfville they's

that thick an' friendly with each other, it's a shame to thieves. I

recalls how their relations that a-way excites general admiration,

an' Doc Peets even goes so far he calls 'em 'Jonathan an' David.'

Which Peets would have kept on callin' 'em 'Jonathan an' David'

plumb through, but Billy gets hostile.

"'It ain't me I cares for,' says Billy,--which he waits on Doc Peets

with his gun,--'but no gent's goin' to malign 'Doby Dawson none an'

alloode to him as 'Jonathan' without rebooke.'

"Seein' it pains Billy, an' as thar ain't even a white chip in mere

nomenclature that a-way, of course Doc Peets don't call 'em

'Jonathan an' David' no more.

"'Doby an' Billy's been around mighty likely six months. The camp

gets used to 'em an' likes 'em. They digs an' blasts away in them

badger-holes they calls shafts all day, an' then comes chargin' down

to the Red Light at night. After the two is drunk successful, they

mutually takes each other home. An' as they lines out for their camp

upholdin' an' he'pin' of each other, an' both that dead soaked in

nose-paint they long before abandons tryin' to he'p themse'fs, I

tells you, son, their love is a picture an' a lesson.

"'Which the way them pore, locoed sots,' says Old Man Enright one

night, as 'Doby an' Billy falls outen the Red Light together, an'

then turns in an' assists each other to rise,--'which the way them

pore darkened drunkards rides herd on each other, an' is onse'fish

an' generous that a-way, an' backs each other's play, is as good as

sermons. You-all young men,' says Enright, turnin' on Jack Moore an'

Boggs an' Tutt, 'you-all imatoor bucks whose character ain't really

formed none yet, oughter profit plenty by their example.'

"As I remarks, 'Doby an' Billy's been inhabitin' Wolfville for

mighty hard on six months when the trouble between 'em first shows

its teeth. As Billy walks out one mornin' to sniff the climate some,

he remarks a Mexican--which his name is Jose Salazar, but don't cut

no figger nohow--sorter 'propriatin' of a mule.

"'The same,' as Billy says, in relatin' the casooalty later, 'bein'

our star mule.'

"Nacherally, on notin' the misdeeds of this yere Greaser, Billy

reaches inside the cabin, an' sorts out a Winchester an' plugs said

culprit in among his thoughts, an tharby brings his mule-rustlin'

an' his reflections to a pause some.

"It's two hours later, mebby, when the defunct's daughter--the

outfit abides over in Chihuahua, which is the Mexican part of

Wolfville--goes to a show-down with 'Doby an' Billy an wants to know

does she get the corpse?

"'Shore,' says 'Doby, 'which we-alls has no further use for your

paw, an' his remainder is free an' welcome to you. You can bet me

an' Billy ain't holdin' out no paternal corpses none on their

weepin' offsprings.'

"Followin' of his bluff, 'Doby goes over an' consoles with the

Mexican's daughter, which her name's Manuela, an' she don't look so

bad neither. Doc Peets, whose jedgement of females is a cinch,

allows she's as pretty as a diamond flush, an' you can gamble Doc

Peets ain't makin no blind leads when it's a question of squaws.

"So 'Doby consoles this yere Manuela a whole lot, while Billy, who's

makin' coffee an' bakin'. powder biscuit inside, don't really notice

he's doin' it. Fact is, Billy's plumb busy. The New York Store

havin' changed bakin'-powder onto us the week before--the same

redoocin' biscuits to a conundrum for a month after--an' that

bakin'-powder change sorter engagin' Billy's faculties wholly, he

forgets about deceased an' his daughter complete; that is, complete

temporary. Later, when the biscuits is done an' offen his mind,

Billy recalls all about it ag'in.

"'But 'Doby, who's a good talker an' a mighty tender gent that a-

way, jumps in an' comforts Manuela, an' shows her how this mule her

paw is stealin' is by way an' far the best mule in camp, an' at last

she dries her tears an' allows in her language that she's growin'

resigned. 'Doby winds up by he'pin' Manuela home with what's left of

her paw.

"'Which it's jest like that 'Doby,' says Billy, when he hears of his

partner packin' home his prey that a-way, an' his tones shows he

admires 'Doby no limit, `which it's shorely like him. Take folks in

distress, an' you-alls can bet your last chip 'Doby can't do too

much for 'em.' "Billy's disgust sets in like the rainy season,

however, when about two months later 'Doby ups an' weds this Mexican

girl Manuela. When Billy learns of said ceremony, he declines a seat

in the game, an' won't go near them nuptials nohow.

"'An' I declar's myse'f right yere,' says Billy. 'From now for'ard

it's a case of lone hand with me. I don't want no more partners.

When a gent with whom for ten years I've camped, trailed, an'

prospected with, all the way from the Dalls to the Gila, quits me

cold an' clammy for a squaw he don't know ten weeks, you can gamble

that lets me plumb out. I've done got my med'cine. an' I'm ready to

quit.'

"But 'Doby an' Billy don't actooally make no assignment, nor go into

what you-all Eastern sharps calls liquidation. The two goes on an'

works their claims together, an' the firm name still waves as 'Doby

Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd,' only Billy won't go into

'Doby's new wickeyup where he's got Manuela,--not a foot.

"'Which I might have conquered my native reluctance,' says Billy,

'so to do, an' I even makes up my mind one night--it's after I've

got my grub, an' you-alls knows how plumb soft an' forgivin' that a-

way a gent is when his stomach's full of grub--to go up an' visit

'em a lot. But as I gets to the door I hears a noise I don't savey;

an' when I Injuns up to a crack an' surveys the scene, I'm a coyote

if thar ain't 'Doby, with his wife in his lap, singin' to her.

That's squar'; actooally singin'; which sech efforts reminds me of

ballards by cinnamon b'ars.

"'I ain't none shore,' goes on Billy, as he relates about it to me,

'but I'd stood sech egreegious plays, chargin' it general to 'Doby's

gettin' locoed an' mushy; but when this yere ingrate ends his war-

song, what do you-all reckon now he does? Turns in an' begins

'pologizin' for me downin' her dad. Which the old hold-up is on the

mule an' goin' hell-bent when I curls him up. Well, that ends things

with me. I turns on my heels an' goes down to the Red Light an' gets

drunk plumb through. You recalls it; the time I'm drunk a month, an'

Cherokee Hall bars me at faro-bank, allowin' I'm onconscious of my

surroundin's.'

"Billy goes on livin' at their old camp, an' 'Doby an' Manuela at

the new one 'Doby built. This last is mebby four hundred yards more

up the draw. Durin' the day 'Doby an' Billy turns in an' works an'

digs an' drills an' blasts together as of yore. The main change is

that at evenin' Billy gets drunk alone; an' as 'Doby ain't along to

he'p Billy home an' need Billy's he'p to get home, lots of times

Billy falls by the trail an' puts in the night among the mesquite-

bushes an' the coyotes impartial.

"This yere goes on for plumb a year, an' while things is cooler an'

more distant between 'em, same as it's bound to be when two gents

sleeps in different camps, still 'Doby an' Billy is trackin' along

all right. One mornin', however, Billy goes down to the holes they's

projectin' over, but no 'Doby shows up. It goes on ontil mighty

likely fifth-drink time that forenoon, an' as Billy don't see no

trace, sign, nor signal-smoke of his pard, he gets oneasy.

"'It's a fact,' says Billy afterward, 'thar's hours when I more'n

half allows this yere squaw of 'Doby's has done took a knife, or

some sech weepon, an' gets even with 'Doby, while he sleeps, for me

pluggin' her paw about the mule. It's this yere idee which takes me

outen the shaft I'm sinkin', an' sends me cavortin' up to 'Doby's

camp. I passes a resolution on my way that if she's cashed 'Doby's

chips for him that a-way, I'll shorely sa'nter over an' lay waste

all Chihuahua to play even for the blow.'

"But as all turns out, them surmises of Billy's is idle. He gets

mebby easy six-shooter distance from the door, when he discerns a

small cry like a fox-cub's whine. Billy listens, an' the yelp comes

as cl'ar on his years as the whistle of a curlew. Billy tumbles.

"'I'm a Chinaman,' says Billy, 'if it ain't a kid!'

"So he backs off quiet an' noiseless ontil he's dead safe, an' then

he lifts the long yell for 'Doby. When 'Doby emerges he confirms

them beliefs of Billy's; it's a kid shore-'nough.

"'Boy or girl?' says Billy.

"'Boy,' says 'Doby.'

"'Which I shorely quits you cold if it's a girl; says Billy. 'As it

is, I stands by you in your troubles. I ain't none s'prised at your

luck, 'Doby,' goes on Billy. ` I half foresees some sech racket as

this the minute you gets married. However, if it's a boy she goes. I

ain't the gent to lay down on an old-time runnin'-mate while luck's

ag'in him; an' I'll still be your partner an' play out my hand.'

"Of course, 'Doby has to go back to lookout his game. An' as Billy's

that rent an' shaken by them news he can't work none, he takes two

or three drinks of nose-paint, an' then promulgates as how it's a

holiday. Billy feels, too, that while this yere's a blow, still it's

a great occasion; an' as he takes to feelin' his whiskey an'

roominatin' on the tangled state of affairs, it suddenly strikes him

he'll jest nacherally close up the trail by the house.

"'Women is frail people an' can't abide noises that a-way,' says

Billy, ` an' 'Doby's shore lookin' some faded himse'f. I reckons,

tharfore, I'll sorter stop commerce along this yere thoroughfar'

ontil further orders. What 'Doby an' his squaw needs now is quietood

an' peace, an' you can wager all you-alls is worth they ain't goin'

to suffer no disturbances.'

"It ain't half an hour after this before Billy's got two signs, both

down an' up the trail, warnin' of people to hunt another wagon-

track. The signs is made outen pine boards, an' Billy has marked

this yere motto onto 'em with a burnt stick

"'DOBY'S GOT A PAPOOSE,

SO

PULL YOUR FREIGHT."

"It ain't no time after Billy posts his warnin's, an' he's still

musin' over 'em mighty reflective, when along projects a Mexican

with a pair of burros he's packin' freight on. The Mexican's goin'

by the notices witbout payin' the least heed tharto. But this don't

do Billy, an' he stands him up.

"'Can you read?' says Billy to the Mexican, at the same time

p'intin' to the signs.

"The Mexican allows in Spanish--which the same Billy saveys an'

palavers liberal--that he can't read. Then he p'ints out to go by

ag'in.

"'No you don't none, onless in the smoke; says Billy, an' throws a

gun on him. 'Pause where you be, my proud Castilian, an' I'll flood

your darkened ignorance with light by nacherally readin' this yere

inscription to you a whole lot.'

"Tharupon Billy reads off the notice a heap impressive, an' winds up

by commandin' of the Mexican to line out on the trail back.

"'Vamos!' says Billy. 'Which if you insists on pushin' along through

yere I'll turn in an' crawl your hump some.'

"But the Mexican gets ugly as a t'ran'tler at this, an' with one

motion he lugs out a six-shooter an' onbosoms the same.

"Billy is a trifle previous with a gun himse'f, an' while the

Mexican is mighty abrupt, he gets none the best of Billy. Which the

outcome is the Mexican's shot plumb dead in his moccasins, while

Billy takes a small crease on his cheek, the same not bein' deadly.

Billy then confiscates the burros.

"'Which I plays 'em in for funeral expenses,' says Billy, an' is

turnin' of 'em into the corral by his camp jest as 'Doby comes

prancin' out with a six-shooter to take part in whatever game is

bein' rolled.

"When 'Doby sees Billy's signs that a-way, he's 'fected so he weeps

tears. He puts his hands on Billy's shoulder, an' lookin' at him,

while his eyes is swimmin', he says:

"'Billy, you-all is the thoughtfullest pard that ever lived.'

"'Doby throws so much soul into it, an' him givin' 'way to emotions,

it comes mighty near onhingin' Billy.

"'I knows I be,' he says, shakin' 'Doby by the hand for a minute,

'but, Old Man, you deserves it. It's comin' to you, an' you bet your

life you're goin' to get it. With some folks this yere would be

castin' pearls before swine, but not with you, 'Doby. You can

'preciate a play, an' I'm proud to be your partner.'

"The next few months goes on, an' 'Doby an' Billy keeps peggin' away

at their claims, an' gettin' drunk an' rich about equal. Billy is

still that reedic'lous he won't go up to 'Doby's camp; but 'Doby

comes over an' sees him frequent. The first throw out of the box

Billy takes a notion ag'in the kid an' allows he don't want no

traffic with him,--none whatever.

"But 'Doby won't have it that a-way, an' when it's about six months

old he packs said infant over one mornin' while Billy's at

breakfast.

"'Ain't he hell!' says 'Doby, a heap gleeful, at the same time

sawin' the infant onto Billy direct.

"Of course Billy has to hold him then. Which he acts like he's a hot

tamale, an' shifts him about in his arms. But it's plain he ain't so

displeased neither. At last the kid reaches out swift an' cinches

onto Billy's beard that a-way. This delights Billy, while 'Doby

keeps trackin' 'round the room too tickled to set down. All he can

remark--an' he does it frequent, like it tells the entire story--is:

"'Billy, ain't he hell?'

"An' Billy ain't none back'ard admittin' he is, an' allows on

hesitatin' it's the hunkiest baby in Arizona.

"'An' I've got dust into the thousands,' remarks Billy, 'which says

he's the prize papoose of the reservation, an' says it ten to one.

This yere offspring is a credit to you, 'Doby, an' I marvels you-all

is that modest over it.'

"'You can bet it ain't no Siwash,' says 'Doby. 'It's clean strain,

that infant is, if I does say it.'

"'That's whatever.' says Billy. looking the infant over an'

beginnin' to feel as proud of it as 'Doby himse'f, 'that's whatever.

An' I'm yere to remark, any gent who can up an' without no talk or

boastin' have such a papoose as that, is licensed to plume himse'f

tharon, an' put on dog over it, the same without restraint. If ever

you calls the turn for the limit, pard, it's when you has this yere

child.'

"At this 'Doby an' Billy shakes hands like it's a ceremony, an' both

is grave an' dignified about it. 'Doby puts it up that usual he's

beyond flattery, but when a gent of jedgement like Billy looks over

a play that a-way, an' indorses it, you can bet he's not insensible.

Then they shakes hands ag'in, an' 'Doby says:

"'Moreover, not meanin' no compliments, nor tossin' of no boquets,

old pard, me an' Manuela names this young person "Willyum"; same as

you-all.'

"Billy comes mighty near droppin' the infant on the floor at this,

an' the small victim of his onthoughtfulness that a-way yells like a

coyote.

"'That settles it,' says Billy. 'A gent who could come down to

blastin' an' drillin'--mere menial tasks, as they shorely be--on the

heels of honor like this, is a mighty sight more sordid than Copper

Queen Billy Rudd. 'Doby, this yere is a remarkable occasion, an' we

cel'brates.'

"By this time the infant is grown plumb hostile, an' is howlin' to

beat the band; so 'Doby puts it up he'll take him to his mother an'

afterwards he's ready to join Billy in an orgy.

"'I jest nacherally stampedes back to the agency with this yere

Willyum child,' says 'Doby, an' then we-alls repairs to the Red

Light an' relaxes.'

"They shorely does-I don't recall no sech debauch--that is, none so

extreme an' broadcast--since Wolfville and Red Dog engages in them

Thanksgiviin' exercises.

"Doby an' Billy, as time goes by, allers alloods to the infant as

'Willyum,' so's not to get him an' Billy mixed; an' durin' the next

two years, while Billy still goes shy so far as trackin' over to

'Doby's ranch is concerned, as soon as he walks, Willyum comes down

the canyon to see Billy every day.

"Oh, no, Billy ain't none onforgivin' to Manuela for ropin' up 'Doby

an' weddin' him that a-way; but you see downin' her paw for stealin'

the mule that time gets so it makes him bashful an' reluctant.

"'It ain't that I'm timorous neither, nor yet assoomin' airs,' this

yere Billy says to me when he brings it up himse'f how he don't go

over to 'Doby's, 'but I'm never no hand to set 'round an' visit free

an' easy that a-way with the posterity of a gent which I has had

cause to plant. This yere ain't roodness; it's scrooples,' says

Billy, 'an' so it's plumb useless for me to go gettin' sociable with

'Doby's wife.'

"It's crowdin' close on two years after the infant's born when 'Doby

an' Billy gets up their feud which I speaks of at the beginnin'.

Yere's how it gets fulminated. Billy's loafin' over by the post-

office door one evenin', talkin' to Tutt an' Boggs an' a passel of

us, when who comes projectin' along, p'intin' for the New York

Store, but 'Doby's wife an' Willyum. As they trails by, Willyum sees

Billy--Willyum can make a small bluff at talkin' by now--an',

p'intin' his finger at Billy, he sags back on his mother's dress

like he aims to halt her, an' says:

"'Pop-pa! Pop-pa!' meanin' Billy that a-way; although the same is

erroneous entire, as every gent in Wolfville knows.

"'Which if Willyum's forefinger he p'ints with

is a Colt's forty-four, an' instead of sayin' `Poppa!' he onhooks

the same at Billy direct, now I don't reckon Billy could have been

more put out. 'Doby's wife drags Willyum along at the time like he's

a calf goin' to be branded, an' she never halts or pauses. But Billy

turns all kinds of hues, an' is that prostrated he surges across to

the Red Light an' gets two drinks alone, never invitin' nobody,

before he realizes. When he does invite us he admits frank he's

plumb locoed for a moment by the shock.

"'You bet!' says Billy, as he gets his third drink, the same bein'

took in common with the pop'lace present, 'you bet! thar ain't a

gent in camp I'd insult by no neglect; but when Willyum makes them

charges an' does it publicly, it onhinges my reason, an' them two

times I don't invite you-alls, I'm not responsible.'

"We-alls sees Billy's wounded, an' tharfore it's a ha'r-line deal to

say anythin'; but as well as we can we tells him that what Willyum

says, that a-way, bein' less'n two year old, is the mere prattle of

a child, an' he's not to be depressed by it.

"'Sech breaks,' says Dan Boggs, 'is took jocose back in the States.'

"'Shore!' says Texas Thompson, backin' Boggs's play; 'them little

bluffs of infancy, gettin' tangled that a-way about their

progenitors, is regarded joyous in Laredo. Which thar's not the

slightest need of Billy bein' cast down tharat.'

"'I ain't sayin' a word, gents,' remarks Billy, an' his tones is

sad. You-alls means proper an friendly. But I warns the world at

this time that I now embarks on the spree of my life. I'm goin to

get drunk an' never hedge a bet; an my last requests, the same bein'

addressed to the barkeep, personal, is to set every bottle of bug-

juice in the shebang on the bar, thar to repose within the reach of

all ontil further orders.'

"It's about an hour later, an' Billy, who's filed away a quart of

fire-water in his interior by now, is vibratin' between the Red

Light an' the dance-hall, growin' drunk an' dejected even up. It's

then he sees 'Doby headin' up the street. 'Doby hears of his son

Willyum's wild play from his wife, an' it makes him hot that a-way.

But he ain't no notion of blamin' Billy; none whatever.

"However, 'Doby don't have entire charge of the round-up, an' he has

to figger with Billy right along.

"'Doby,' shouts Billy, as he notes his pard approachin', while he

balances himse'f in his moccasins a heap difficult, ''Doby, your

infant Willyum is a eediot. Which if I was the parent of a fool

papoose like Willyum, I'd shorely drop him down a shaft a whole lot

an' fill up the shaft. He won't assay two ounces of sense to the

ton, Willyum won't; an' he ain't worth powder an' fuse to work him.

Actooally, that pore imbecile baby Willyum, don't know his own

father.'

"Which the rage of 'Doby is beyond bounds complete. For about half a

minute him an' Billy froths an' cusses each other out scand'lous,

an' then comes the guns. The artillery is a case of s'prise, the

most experienced gent in Wolfville not loekin' for no gun-play

between folks who's been pards an' blanket-mates for years.

"However, it don't last long; it looks like both gets sorter

conscience-stricken that a-way, an' lets up. Still, while it's

short, it's long enough for Billy to get his laig ousted with one of

'Doby's bullets, an' it all lays Billy up for Doc Peets to fuss with

for over three months.

"While Billy's stretched out, an' Doe Peets is ridin' herd on his

laig, 'Doby keeps as savage as an Apache an' don't come near Billy.

The same, however, ain't full proof of coldness, neither; for

Billy's done give it out he'll down 'Doby if he pokes his head in

the door, an' arranges his guns where he can work 'em in on the

enterprise easy.

"But Willyum don't take no stand-off. The last thing Willyum's

afraid of is Billy; so he comes waltzin' over each day, clumsy as a

cub cinnamon on his short laigs, an' makes himse'f plumb abundant.

He plays with Billy, an' he sleeps with Billy, Willyum does; an' he

eats every time the nigger, who's come over from the corral to

lookout Billy's domestic game while he's down, rustles some grub.

"'Doby's disgusted with Willyum's herdin' 'round with Billy that a-

way, bein' sociable an' visitin' of him, an' he lays for Willyum an'

wallops him. When Billy learns of it--which he does from Willyum

himse'f when that infant p'ints in for a visit the day after--he's

as wild as a mountain lion. Billy can't get out none, for his laig

is a heap fragmentary as yet,--'Doby's bullet gettin' all the

results which is comin' that time,--but he sends 'Doby word by

Peets, if he hears of any more punishments bein' meted to Willyum,

he regards it as a speshul affront to him, an' holds 'Doby

responsible personal as soon as he can hobble.

"'Tell him,' says Billy, 'that if he commits any further atrocities

ag'in this innocent Willyum child, I'll shore leave him too dead to

skin.'

"'This yere Billy's gettin' locoed entire,' says Enright, when he's

told of Billy's bluff. 'The right to maul your immediate descendants

that a-way is guaranteed by the constitootion, an' is one of them

things we-alls fights for at Bunker Hill. However, I reckons Billy's

merely blowin' his horn; bein' sick an' cantankerous with his game

knee.'

"Billy gets well after a while, an' him an' 'Doby sorter plans to

avoid each other. Whatever work they puts in on the claim they holds

in partnership, they hires other gents to do. Personal, each works

the claim he holds himse'f, which keeps 'em asunder a whole lot, an'

is frootful of peace.' "Deep inside their shirts I allers allows

these yere persons deems high an' 'fectionate of one another right

at the time they's hangin' up their hardest bluffs an' carryin' on

most hostile. Which trivial incidents discloses this.