Lewis Alfred Henry
Faro Nell and Her Friends: Wolfville Stories

"'An' in case,' says Enright, 'the kyards do fall in favor of matrimony, it'll most likely be the end of that Votes For Women S'loon. I begins to see how this yere ongrateful outfit may yet get deep in debt to that egreegious Oscar.'

"None of us ever says so, but it's the common belief that Texas connives at this yere threatened Oscar's escape. In any case, the next mornin' Oscar goes catfoot out of the O. K. House before folks is up, an' takes to hidin' out. The fact is he's layin' for Monte an' the stage, about ten mile no'th of camp. Leastwise, he's thar a heap when Monte comes along, an' deemands that he be took up an' carried to Tucson.

"It ain't first drink time before this Oscar's missed, an' by second drink time the news has drifted over to Miss Bark. It's Peets who informs her, an' he tells us, when reelatin' the incident, that the way that deeserted lady knits her brow is a caution to philos'phers.

"'So,' she says at last, 'that onmitigated seedoocer thinks to leave me in this heartless way. He'll find before he's through that it's no light matter to charm into fervent life a love like mine.'

"'It's the theery, Miss,' says Peets, 'of the best minds in camp that this Oscar's hit the Tucson trail afoot, with a plan of headin' off the stage.'

"Ten minutes an' Miss Bark is in the saddle, a lead pony gallopin' by her side, in hot pursoote of the dir'lect.

"'That lead pony looks om'nous, Doc,' observes Enright, as the two stands watchin' Miss Bark's departure.

"'It's prov'dential,' remarks Peets, as he heads the procession to the Red Light, 'that that sky-pilot's aboard the stage. Which he ought to work in plumb handy.'

"Six hours later Miss Bark comes surgin' in with her Oscar foogitive, his heels tied onder the belly of the lead hoss. Any one can see by his benumbed expression that he's a married man. The two heads straight for the Votes For Women S'loon, an' after boltin' her new he'pmeet into the back room, Miss Bark takes a peek in the glass, pats down her ha'r, an' goes behind the bar as yoosual.

"'Yes,' she replies, an' all a heap modest an' artless, as Peets an' Enright–actin' on behalf of the camp–gyardedly inquires if they're to offer congratulations, 'I reckon you may. An' the best part is that my dear Oscar's so plumb ready an' willin'. Which I never knows a bridegroom, gents, who gets married with so little struggle.'

"'How soon, Missis Freelinghuysen,' says Peets, 'do you-all reckon on lettin' this Oscar husband out?'

"'Oh,' she returns, 'as soon as ever it's safe. Jest now he's some onstrung; but in a day or two I figger he'll begin to get reeconciled to his bliss. An' at that, my main idee in lockin' him up is one of reeform rather than restraint. Oscar's been over-drinkin' himse'f of late; an' I aims to get the whiskey out of him, so as I can form some reas'nable estimate of how much of a husband that a-way I've done roped up.'

"'Is thar any objections,' asks Enright, 'to our visitin' this modern pris'ner of Chillon? We binds ourselves to say nothin' that'll fret him, or set him to beatin' his life out ag'inst the bars.'

"'W'y, shore,' she replies, 'you-all is quite welcome. I only hopes you'll teach him to look at things in their proper light.'

"'It ain't so much,' says this Oscar husband, when Enright an' Peets calls upon him in his captivity, 'that I've been hurried, onregyardful of my feelin's, into the married state. But, gents, my parent is doo, accordin' to his last letter, to come curvin' in yere any minute; an' whatever do you-all reckon now he's goin' to say?'

"Enright an' Peets is so moved they promises the imprisoned Oscar their support, an' this leaves him, if not hopeful, at least some cheered.

"Monte gives his version of them nuptials when he returns from Tucson.

"'Which it's this a-way, pards,' says Monte. 'I'm twenty miles no'th of yere, when somethin' flashes by with a lead hoss, like arrows. Thinks I, "That's a hoss thief gettin' away with some stock"; an', allowin' Jack Moore'll be hard on his neefarious hocks, I'm lookin' back to see can I raise Jack's dust. The next I knows, an' all as sudden as a pan of milk from a top shelf, I hears a silv'ry voice remarkin': "Set your brake!" an' turnin' my head I finds a winchester p'intin' as squar' between my eyes as you-all could lay your finger. Gents, thar's something mighty cogent about a winchester that a-way, an' I shore shoves on the brake with sech abandon I snaps the shank short off.'

"'Wharever is this Oscar party?' asks Enright.

"'He's with me on the box; an' when this yere intrepid Miss Bark takes to dom'neerin' at us with that rifle he collapses. "It's you, Oscar," observes this Miss Bark, shiftin' the muzzle to him. "Upon second thought I concloods to accept your offer of marriage."

"'Which at that crisis,' remarks Peets, 'this Oscar of course breaks into loud an' joyful cries.'

"'Not exactly. In fact, his tones if anything is some low-sperited. "I takes it," he says, when he's able to command his feelin's, "that you declines them proffers with your winchester at the time when made." But the lady dismisses this as a quibble, an' merely sayin' that she won't be paltered with no farther, orders Oscar an' the Bible sharp who's ridin' inside to assemble by the edge of the trail. The Bible sharp attempts to lay the foundations of fresh objections by askin' Oscar does he do this of his own free will; but the muzzle of the winchester–which the bride all along reetains in her hands–begins movin' 'round in his direction, observin' which man'festation he pronounces 'em husband an' wife. "What heaven has j'ined together," says he, "let no man put asunder." After which he blesses 'em, an' reeports the last cinch fastened. "Pay him, Oscar," whispers the bride. Wharupon Oscar, his fingers tremblin', squars the Bible sharp with the price of a brace of steers, an' the deed is done. Now he's hers for better or worse, she ropes his heels together onder the belly of her lead hoss, an' the happy pa'r goes romancin' back for Wolfville, while I kicks loose what's left of the brake an' p'ints out ag'in for Tucson.'

"On the third day, by givin' his parole an' promising to fondly reeport to his spouse once every hour, Oscar is permitted to go reecreatin' about the camp.

"'Only,' says the lady, by way of warnin' to Black Jack, 'thar's to be no drinks.'

"These yere strained conditions preevails for mebby it's five days, when, as the stage swings in to the post office one evenin', a stout florid old gent gets out. He comes puffin' up to Peets a heap soopercilious.

"'Do you-all know a addle-pated an' semi-eediotic young party,' says he, 'who's named Oscar Freelinghuysen?'

"'Why, yes,' returns Peets, 'I do. Onless my mem'ry's pulled its picket pin an' gone plumb astray he's the eboolient sharp who conclooded a somewhat toomultuous courtship last week by gettin' married. He's in the shank of his honeymoon as we stands chattin' yere.'

"The florid gent glares at Peets, his feachures the color of liver, his eyes stickin' out like the eyes of a snail.

"'Married!' he gasps, an' falls in a apoplectic fit.

"It takes a week an' all the drugs Peets has got before that apoplectic's able to sit up an' call for nosepaint. An' whatever do you think? His daughter-in-law, but onbeknownsts to him as sech, nurses him from soda to hock. Oscar Joonior? By advice of Enright that prodigal's took to cover over in Red Dog ontil we've made shore about the fatted calf.

"The former Miss Bark puts up that nursin' game with Peets, an' day an' night she hangs over her apoplectic father-in-law like a painter over a picture. She's certainly as cunnin' as a pet fox! She dresses as quiet as a quail an' makes her voice as softly sober as a suckin' dove's. In the end she's got that patient hypnotized.

"After Peets declar's him out of danger, an' all propped up in his blankets he's subscribed to mighty likely it's the fifth drink, the apoplectic begins to shed tears a heap profoose, an' relate to his nurse–the former Miss Bark–how his two wives has died, leavin' him a lonely man. She, the former Miss Bark, is his only friend–he says–an' he winds up his lamentations by recommendin' that she become his third.

"'You're the only hooman heart who ever onderstands me,' he wails, gropin' for her hand, 'an' now my ongrateful boy has contracted a messalliance I shore wants you for my wife.'

"She hangs her head like a flower at night, an' lets on she's a heap confoosed.

"'Speak,' he pleads; 'tell me that you'll be mine.'

"'Which I'd shore admire to, but I can't,' she murmurs; 'I'm wedded to your son.'

"The old apoplectic asks for more licker in a dazed way, an' sends for Peets. The Doc an' him goes into execyootive session for most an hour; meanwhile the camp's on edge.

"At the close the Doc eemerges plumb radiant.

"'Everything's on velvet,' he says; 'thar's never a more joodicious convalescent. He freely admits, considerin' the sort of daughter-in-law he's acquired, that Oscar has more sense than folks suspects.'

"Now that the skies is cl'ared, the bridegroom is fetched back from Red Dog, an' thar's a grand reeconciliation.

"'We'll all go back East together,' sobs father-in-law Freelinghuysen, holdin' both their hands.

"Two days later they starts, Missis Freelinghuysen Joonier lookin' after father-in-law Freelinghuysen same as if he's a charlotte roosse.

"The Votes For Women S'loon?

"It's kept a secret, at Peet's su'gestion, him bein' apoplectic that a-way. The stock is bought by public subscription of the camp, an' when the Freelinghuysen household is out of sight an' hearin' we invites Red Dog over in a body an' onbelts in a mod'rate orgy. The sign, 'Votes For Women S'loon,' is now preeserved in the custody of the Wolfville Historical Society, which body is called into active bein' upon motion of Peets, while Red Dog an' us is drinkin' up the stock."

IV
OLD MONTE, OFFICIAL DRUNKARD

"Shore; Monte's the offishul drunkard of Arizona." The old cattleman was answering my question. "Or, seein' that mebby Wolfville's joorisdiction won't be held none to reach beyond, let's say the offishul drunkard of Cochise County. That's Monte's civic designation; offishul drunkard, an' meant to fix his social place.

"Does he resent it?

"Which he proudly w'ars that title like it's a kingly crown! It's as good as even money that to ondertake to sep'rate him from it, or deny the same, is the one single thing he bristles up at an' give you a battle over.

"Which this yere last should mean a heap, since Monte's plumb pacific by nacher, an' abhors war to the mean confines of bein' timid. To be shore, he'll steam at the nose, an' paw the sod, an' act like he's out to spread rooin far an' wide–that he's doo to leave everything in front of him on both sides of the road. But in them perfervid man'festations he don't reely intend nothin' either high or heenious, or more'n jest to give his se'f-respect an outing that a-way. Let the opp'sition call him down, an' the crafty old cimmaron'll go to the diskyard instanter.

"Which at that, Monte ain't without his interestin' side. When onder the inflooence of nosepaint, which last is constant, he has three distinct moods. About the fo'th drink, let a stranger show up, an'–all aff'ble an' garyoolous–Monte's right thar to do the honors. When the stranger, gettin' weary, kicks Monte off him, the same bein' shore to happen final since no one formed in the image of his Maker can put up with them verbal imbecil'ties of his beyond a given len'th of time, he'll arch his back an'–apparently–wax that f'rocious a wronged grizzly to him is as meek as milk. An' yet, as I tells you, it's simply a blazer; an' the moment the exasperated stranger begins betrayin' symptoms of goin' to a showdown, Monte lapses into his third mood of haughty silence, an' struts off like it's beneath him to bandy words.

"That's the savin' clause in Monte's constitootion; he may get drunk, but he never gets injoodicious. Thar's a sport from some'ers over 'round Shakespear in the dance hall one evenin', whose patience has been plenty treespassed on by Monte. By way of bringin' matters to a deecisive head, this yere Shakespear party tells Monte he's a liar. Do you reckon Monte hooks up with him? Not a chance! He simply casts on that maligner from Shakespear a look of disparagement, an' with nose held high, as markin' his contempt, moves away with the remark.

"'That's something I refooses to discuss with you.'

"Which thar's no more real p'isin in Monte than in a hired girl.

"We has the chance once to try some experiments on Monte, an' it's the mistake of our lives we don't. Peets, whose regrets is scientific, feels speshully acoote. Thar's a partic'lar bar'l of nosepaint gets trundled into camp, which is nothin' short of bein' the condensed essence of hostility. Black Jack, after years as barkeep, says himse'f he never sees nothin' like it. On the hocks of two drinks, folks gets that ornery Enright has it freighted back to Tucson in alarm, fearin' for the peace of the camp. At the time, none of us thinks of it; but later it's a subject of gen'ral regret that some of it ain't saved to try on Monte. Mebby that speshul brand of licker turns out to be the missin' ingreedient, an' keys him up to deeds of heroism.

"Jest to show you some of the milder workin's of that licker. Boggs files away four inches of it onder his belt, an' next, when he's walkin' by the corral an' meets a Mexican, he reaches out in a casyooal an' abstracted way, collars that Greaser an' hefts him over a six-foot 'dobe fence, same as if he's a bag of bran; an' all apropos of nothin'. Boggs says himse'f he don't know why none. He's thinkin' of something else at the time, he declar's, an' the eepisode don't leave no partic'lar traces on his mem'ry. The trooth is, it's that veehement an' onmuzzled nosepaint, incitin' him to voylence.

"Is the Mexican hurt?

"Which, if I remembers rightly, Peets does mention about a busted collarbone. But it don't create no interest–him bein' a Mexican. You see, thar's a feelin', amountin' fa'rly to a onwritten law, that Mexicans ain't got no rightful call to be seen in public no how; an' when one does go pirootin' round permiscus, in voylation of this yere tenet, nacherally he takes his chances. You-all can gamble, though, that Boggs shore never would have reached for him, only he's actchooated by that whiskey.

"As modest an' retirin' a sperit as Cherokee, to whom any form of boastful bluff is plumb reepellant, subscribes to a mod'rate snifter of that licker; an' in less time than it takes to rope a pony, he's out in front of the Red Light, onbucklin' in a display of pistol shootin'. Thar's a brace of towerists in camp, an' Cherokee let's on he'll show 'em. Which he shore shows 'em! He tosses two tomatter cans on high, an' with a gun in each hand keeps 'em dancin' an' jumpin' about in the atmosphere ontil thar's six bullets through each. It's a heap satisfyin' as a performance, as far as them pop-eyed towerists is concerned, an' both leaves town that evenin' by speshul buckboard.

"Onaffected by that licker, Cherokee wouldn't have no more gone an' made sech a spectacle of himse'f, though urged tharunto by the yoonanimous voice of the outfit. When he so far recovers as to 'ppreeciate what Faro Nell has to say of them exploits–an', while tender, she's plenty explicit–he comes mighty clost to blushin' himse'f to death.

"It's after we notes what it does to Cherokee, an' hears of them exhibitions of broote force by Boggs, that we gets timid about this yere whisky, an' Enright orders the bar'l sent back. An' right he is! S'ppose them Red Dogs was to have come prancin' over for a social call, an' s'ppose in entertainin' 'em we all inadvertent has recourse to that partic'lar licker, whatever do you-all reckon 'd have been the finish? Son, thar'd have been one of them things they calls a catyclism, an' nothin' short.

"It's shore a fightin' form of licker. Tutt reeserves out a tin cup of it, an' sets it down by a prairie dog's hole. Accordin' to Tutt, the dog comes out, laps it once, an' starts back same as if he's been shot with a '45. Thar he squats, battin' his eyes, wrinklin' up his nose, an' cogitatin'. After thinkin' the thing over, the dog approaches, mighty gingerly, an' takes three or four more laps. Then he r'ars back, an' considers for quite a spell. It looks final like he gets his mind made up, an' with that he capers over, an' he'ps himse'f to what for a prairie dog is shore a big drink.

"Two minutes later, ha'r bristlin', whiskers standin' out like wire, eyes full of determination, that dog crosses over to another dog who's livin' neighbor to him, an' says–accordin' to Tutt:

"'Wharever can I locate that coyote who's been domineerin' round yere for mebby it's a month, harassin' folks into their holes? Whar's that coyote at?'

"Peets allers allows Tutt exaggerates, but havin' sampled that licker some myse'f, I'm a long ride from bein' so shore.

"That lack of war instinct in Monte ain't no speecific drawback. Him drivin' stage that a-way, he ain't expected none to fight. The hold-ups onderstands it, the company onderstands it, everybody onderstands it. It's the law of the trail. That's why, when the stage is stopped, the driver's never downed. Which if thar's money aboard, an' the express outfit wants it defended, they slams on some sport to ride shotgun that trip. It's for this shotgun speshulist to give the route agents an argyooment. Which they're licensed to go bombardin' each other ontil the goin' down of the sun. As for the driver, however, the etikette simply calls for him to set his brake, an' all peaceful hold his hands above his head. It's inside his rights, too, accordin' to the rooles, for him to cuss out the hold-ups, an' call 'em all the hard names of which he's cap'ble; an' stage drivers, who loves their art, spends their time between drinks practisin' new cuss words, an' inventin' onheard of epithets, so as to be ready when dooty an' o'casion calls. Havin' downed or driven off the shotgun sport, an' seen the bottom of the express box, the hold-ups tells the stage driver to pull his freight. Wharupon he picks up the reins, kicks free the brake, lets fly a loorid an' final broadside of vitooperation–he havin' carefully reeserved the same, by way of peroration–an' goes his windin' way.

"Wolfville's been on the map for most a year, when Monte first shows up. In the beginnin', an' ontil we-all gets adjusted to him, he's something of a bore. Leastwise, he ain't what you'd go so far as to call a boon companion. When it dawns on us that he's plottin' to make himse'f a permanency, it certainly does look for a spell that, what with his consumption of nosepaint an' what with his turrific genius for snorin', he's goin' to be a trifle more'n we can stand.

"Does Monte snore?

"Not to create ondoo excitement, the bar'foot onclothed trooth is that his snorin' falls nothin' short of bein' sinful. Boggs has plenty of countenance when he brings them snores to the attention of Enright.

"'Thar's shore a limit somewhar, Sam,' Boggs says, 'to this yere drunkard's right to snore. Which he's simply keepin' everybody over to the O. K. House settin' up. Onless something's done to check him, thar'll be a epidemic of St. Vitus dance. You ask Doc Peets; he'll tell you that this yere Monte with his snorin' is a scourge.'

"It's not alone their volume, but their quality, which makes them snores of Monte so ondesir'ble. Some folks snores a heap deprecatory, an' like they're apol'gizin' for it as they goes along. Others snores in a manner ca'mly confident, an' all as though the idee that any gent objects would astonish 'em to death. Still others snores plumb deefiant, an' like they ain't snorin' so much for comfort, that a-way, as to show their contempt for mankind. It's to this yere latter hostile school that drunkard, Monte, belongs.

"After Boggs lodges complaint, Enright takes a corrective peek into the sityooation. Thar's two rooms over the O. K. kitchen, sort o' off by themselves. Upon Enright's hint, Missis Rucker beds down Monte in one, an' Deef Andy, who mends harness for the stage company an' can't hear nothin', in the other.

"'It's for the safety of your excellent car'vansary, Ma'am,' Enright explains. 'Which Dan's mighty easy moved; an' some mornin', onless you adopts them improvements, that somnolent sot you're harborin' 'll go too far with Dan. I takes it you-all don't want the shack all smoked up with Dan's six-shooter? In which event you'll put that reverberant drunkard in the far-corner room, with Andy next.'

"Peets once mentions a long-ago poet party, named Johnson, who, speakin' of a fellow poet after he's dead an' down onder the grass-roots, lets on that he teches nothin' he don't adorn. You can go your ultimate simoleon that ain't Monte's style. The only things he don't upset is bottles; the only flooid he never spills is licker. This yere last would be ag'inst his religion. Wharever he goes, he's otherwise draggin' his rope, an' half the time he's steppin' on it.

"It's him that coaxes that onhappy Polish picture painter our way. This yere is long after he's drivin' stage, an' as Wolfville's offishul drunkard becomes a tol'rated feachure of the camp. This Polish artist person is as much out o' place in Arizona as a faro lay-out at a Sunday school picnic. Monte crosses up with him over at Tucson in the Oriental S'loon, an' while thar's no ties between 'em, more'n what nacherally forms between two gents who sets drinkin' together all night long, before ever they're through with each other that inspired inebriate lands the locoed artist party on our hands. Enright shore does go the limit in rebookin' Monte.

"'Why, Sam,' says Monte, an' he's that depreecatory he whines, 'I allows you'll look on him as a acquisition.'

"'All the same,' returns Enright, an' I never knows him more forbiddin', 'yereafter please confine your annoyin' assidooities to drivin' stage, an' don't go tryin' to improve the outlook of this camp.'

"Monte, with this, gets that dismal he sheds tears. 'Which it shore looks like I can't do nothin' right,' he sobs.

"'Then don't,' says Enright.

"From the start, Monte graves himse'f upon the mem'ry of folk as the first sport, to onroll his blankets in Cochise County, who consoomes normal over twenty drinks a day. Upon festal occasions like Noo Year's, an' Christmas, an' Fo'th of Jooly, an' Thanksgivin', no gent who calls himse'f a gent thinks of keepin' tabs on a fellow gent, no matter how freequent he signs up to Black Jack. On gala o'casions, sech as them noted, the bridle is plumb off the hoss, an' even though you drinks to your capac'ty an' some beyond, no one's that vulgar as to go makin' remarks. But that ain't Monte; he's different a heap. It looks like every day is Fo'th of Jooly with him, he's that inveterate in his reemorseless hankerin' for nosepaint.

"Also, regyarded as to his social side, Monte, as I states former, is a nooisance. Knowin' folks, too, is his fad. Only so you give him licker enough, he'll go surgin' round accostin' every gent he sees. No matter how austere a stranger is, Monte'll tackle him. An' at that he never says nothin' worth hearin', an' in its total absence of direction his conversation resembles nothin' so much as a dog chasin' its tail.

"An' then thar's them footile bluffs he's allers tryin' to run. He's been pesterin' in an' out of the Red Light one evenin' ontil he's got Black Jack incensed. As he comes squanderin' along, for say the twentieth time, Black Jack groans, an' murmurs,

"'Yere's that booze-soaked old hoss-thief ag'in!'

"Monte gets the echo of it, same as folks allers does when it ain't wanted, but he's onable to say who. So he stands thar by the bar, glarin' 'round an' snortin'. Final, he roars:

"'Who cuts loose that personal'ty?'

"Thar ain't no answer, an' Monte ag'in takes to pitchin' on his rope.

"'Show me the galoot who insults me,' he roars; 'let him no longer dog it, but p'int himse'f out as the gent.'

"'All right,' says Black Jack, whose indignation gets the best of his reespons'bilities as barkeep, 'which I'm the party who alloodes to you as a booze-soaked old hoss-thief.'

"'An' so you're the gent,' says Monte, castin' a witherin' glance at Black Jack; 'so you're the would-be sooicide who calls me a booze-soaked old hoss-thief?'

"'Which I'm the identical stingin' lizard. Now what is it you're so plumb eager to say?'

"'What am I eager to say? I merely wants to remark that you ain't done nothin' to swell up over. You-all needn't go thinkin' you're the first barkeep who calls me a booze-soaked old hoss-thief.'

"Havin' la'nched this yere, Monte turns off as stiffly pompous as though he ain't left a grease-spot of Black Jack.

"When folks won't listen to him no longer, Monte goes bulgin' forth into the highways an' the byways, an' holds long an' important discussions with signs, an' dry-goods boxes, an' sim'lar inan'mate elements of the landscape. Also, to mules an' burros. I remarks him myse'f, whisperin' in the onregyardful y'ear of a burro, an' said anamile as sound asleep as a tree. When that drunkard's through his confidences, he backs off, an' wavin' his paw plumb myster'ous at the burro says:

"'Remember, now; I'm givin' you this yere p'inter as a friend.'

"That time Black Jack offends Monte, after the latter hits the sidewalk followin' what he clar'ly considers is his crushin' come-back on Black Jack, he gets the feelin' that Jack's ha'ntin' along on his trail. Before he's gone fifty foot, he w'irls about, an' shouts:

"'Don't you-all follow me! Which, if you crowds me, them places that has knowed you won't know you no more forever.'

"When Monte gets off this menace, it seems like the Black Jack specter becomes intim'dated, an' tries to squar' itse'f.

"'What's that?' Monte asks, after listenin' mighty dignified to the spook's excuses; 'you begs my pardon? Not another word. If you-all keeps on talkin' now you'll sp'ile it. Thar's my hand,' givin' the fingers of the phantom a mighty earnest squeeze. 'I'm your friend, an' that goes.'

"Havin' established a peace, Monte insists that the Black Jack phantom b'ar him company to the O. K. Restauraw. In spite of all Missis Rucker can say or do, he plants the spook at the table, feeds it on the best that's in the kitchen, an' all as confident as if it's shorely troo. Also, he insists on payin' for two.

"When Missis Rucker tries to show him he's down wrong, he refooses to have it that way.

"'Do you-all reckon, Ma'am, that I can't trust my eyes none?' he demands. 'Which you'll tell me next that them airtights I tops of with is figments.'

"'But thar's only one of you-all,' Missis Rucker persists.

"'Ma'am,' returns Monte, his manner plumb s'picious, 'I don't jest quite sense your little game. Whatever it is, however, you-all can't play it on old Monte. You write back to my fam'ly an' the neighbors, an' the least flatterin' among 'em'll tell you that I'm as cunnin' as a squinch owl. Thar's two of us who feeds, an' for two of us I settles. Bein' a woman, you're too feeble-witted for reason, too mendacious for trooth.'

"'Don't you go callin' me no woman,' says Missis Rucker, her eyes snappin', 'onless you're ready to cash in.'

"'Women!' repeats Monte, sort o' addressin' the scenery, but still plenty cynical, 'what be they except a fleetin' show to man's deloosion given. Also, thar's nothin' to 'em. You opens their front door, an' you're in their back yard.'

"Texas has been givin' y'ear to the talk. It's before his Laredo wife starts ropin' for that divorce; but she's already makin' war medicine, an' the signs an' signal smokes which p'int to an uprisin' is vis'ble on every hill. Texas is careful not to let Missis Rucker hear him none, but as he walks away, he mutters:

"'That ghost-seein' sport's got the treemors, but all the same I strings with him on them estimates of ladies.'

"Texas is that fav'rably affected about Monte, he talks things over with Tutt, who himse'f ain't married to Tucson Jennie none as yet. Them nuptials, an' that onbiased blessin', little Enright Peets Tutt, who results tharfrom, comes along later.

"'Which thar's good in that Monte maverick,' says Texas; 'only so we could get the nosepaint out of him.'

"'Now, I wouldn't wonder none, neither,' says Tutt.

"'He drinkt up two quarts an' a half yesterday,' says Texas.

"'Ain't thar no steps which can be took?' Tutt asks. 'Two quarts an' a half, though, shore sounds like he's somethin' of a prop'sition.'

"These yere remarks is made in the Red Light, an' Tutt an' Texas appeals to Cherokee, whar that courtier of fortune is settin' in behind his lay-out. Cherokee waves 'em off, p'lite but firm.

"'Don't ask me none,' he says. 'You-all knows my doctrines. Let every gent kill his own snakes.'

"'That's my theology,' remarks Boggs, who has just come ramblin' in from the Noo York store, whar he's been changin' in a bundle of money for shirts; 'I recalls how, when I'm a prattlin' yearlin', hearin' Parson Ed'ards of the Cambellite Church quotin' whar Cain gives it out cold that he's not his brother's keeper; an' even at that onthinkin' age I fully endorses Cain's p'sition.'

"The talk takes in Black Jack, who, by virchoo of him bein' a barkeep, nacherally savvys a heap about the licker question. Jack reelates how a sot he knows back in Arkansaw is shocked into never takin' a drink, by simply blowin' his hand off accidental while tanked up.

"'Whang! goes the old Betsy,' says Jack, 'an' that slave to licker's shy his left hand. "Which it lets me out!" he exclaims; an' datin' from said catastrophy he'd no more tech nosepaint, that a-way, than he'd join the church.'

"'But it's doubtful,' observes Tutt, 'if Enright stands to let us shoot this yere Monte drunkard's hand off.'

"'It's ten to one he won't,' says Texas; 'still thar ought to be other schemes for shockin' a party into moral'ty, which stops short o' cripplin' him for life.'

"'But is this yere inebriate worth the worry?' asks Boggs. 'Also, it shore strikes me as mighty gratooitous for us to go reorganizin' the morals of a plumb stranger, an' him not even asked.'