I
DEAD SHOT BAKER
"Which you never knows Dead Shot Baker?"
This, from the old cattleman, with a questioning glance my way.
"No? Well, you shore misses knowin' a man! Still, it ain't none sostrange neither; even Wolfville's acquaintance with Dead Shot's onlywhat you-all might call casyooal, him not personally lastin' more'nthree months.
"This yere Dead Shot has a wife. Thar's women you don't want to seeontil you're tired, an' women you don't want to see ontil you'rerested, an' women you don't want to see no how--don't want to see atall. This wife of Dead Shot's belongs with the latter bunch.
"Last evenin' I'm readin' whar one of them philosophic sports assertsthat women, that a-way, is shore the sublimation of the oncertain.That's how he lays it down; an' he never hedges the bluff for so muchas a single chip. He insists that you can't put a bet on women; thatyou can bet on hosses or kyards or 'lections, but not on women--womenbein' too plumb oncertain. As I reads along, I can't he'p feelin' thatsomehow this philosophic party must have knowed Dead Shot's wife.
"The first time we-all ever sees Dead Shot, he comes trackin' into theRed Light one evenin' jest after the stage rolls up. Bein' it'sencroachin' on second drink time, he sidles up to the bar; an' then,his manner some diffident an' apol'getic, he says:
"'Gents, do you-all feel like a little licker, that a-way?'
"It bein' imp'lite to reefuse, we assembles within strikin' distanceof the bottles Black Jack is slammin' the len'th of the counter, an'begins spillin' out our forty drops. At this he turns even moreapol'getic.
"'Which I trusts,' he says, 'that no one'll mind much if I takeswater?'
"Of course no one minds. Wolfville don't make no speshulty of forcin'whiskey onto no gent who's disinclined. If they prefers water, weencourages 'em.
"'An' for this yere reason,' expounds Boggs, once when he ondertakesto explain the public attitoode towards water to some inquirin'tenderfoot--'an' for this partic'lar reason: Arizona is a dry an' aridclime; an' water drinkers bein' a cur'ous rarity, we admires to keep aspec'men or two buck-jumpin' about, so's to study their habits.'
"As we picks up our glasses, Dead Shot sets to introdoocin' himse'f.
"'My name, gents,' he says, 'is Baker, Abner Baker. The Wells-Fargofolks sends me down yere from Santa Fe to ride shotgun for 'em.'
"The name's plenty s'fficient. It's him who goes to a showdown withthem three road agents who lays for the stage over in a spur of theBlack Range back of San Marcial, an' hives the three. That battlesaves the company $200,000; an', they're that pleased with Dead Shot'sindustry, they skins the company's bankroll for a bundle of money thesize of a roll of blankets, an' gives it to him by way of reward.It's the talk of the two territories.
"While we-all knows Dead Shot when he speaks his name, none of us letson. It's ag'inst ettiquette in the southwest to know more of a gentthan what he tells himse'f.
"'So water's all you samples?' puts in Texas Thompson, as we standsan' drinks.
"'It's like this,' explains Dead Shot, appealin' round with his eye.'You see I can't drink nosepaint none, an' drink successful.'
"'Shore,' observes Faro Nell, who's takin' her diminyootive toddyright at Dead Shot's elbow; 'thar's gents so organized that to gogivin' 'em licker is like tryin' to play a harp with a hammer.'
"That's me,' exclaims Dead Shot; 'that's me, Miss, every time. Give mea spoonful, an' I deemands a bar'l. After which, thar ain't no se'frespectin' camp that'll stand for my game.'
"'I savvys what you means,' says Tutt; 'I reecalls in my own case how,on the hocks of mebby it's the ninth drink--which this is years an'years ago, though--I mistakes a dem'crat primary for a Methodistpraise meetin', an' comes ramblin' in an' offers to lead in pra'r.Which I carries the scars to this day.'
"'Which is why, Dave,' interjecks Cherokee Hall, in hopes of settin'Tutt to pitchin' on his p'litical rope, him bein' by nacher aoncompromisin' reepublican that a-way--'which is why you always holdsdem'crats so low.'
"'But I don't hold 'em low,' protests Tutt. 'Thar's heaps to be saidfor dem'crats, leastwise for the sort that's pesterin' 'round in thecountry I hails from.'
"'What be your dem'crats like, Dave?' Texas urges. 'Which I wants tosee if they're same as the kind I cuts the trail of down aboutLaredo.'
"'Well,' returns Tutt, 'simply hittin' the high places, them dem'cratsby which I'm born surrounded chews tobacco, sw'ars profoosely, drinksmighty exhaustive, hates niggers, an' some of 'em can read.'
"'That deescription goes for Laredo, too,' Texas allows. 'This yerejedge, who gives my wife her divorce that time, an' sets the sheriffto sellin' up my steers for costs an' al'mony, is a dem'crat. What yousays, Dave, is the merest picture of that joorist.'
"'I expects my wife'll come rackin' along _poco tiempo,'_ Dead Shotremarks, after a pause. 'I'm yere as advance gyard to sling thingsinto shape.'
"It's as good as a toone of music to see how softly his face lightsup. He's as big an' wide an' thick an' strong as Boggs, an' yet it'splain as paint that this yere wife of his, whoever she is, can jestnacherally make curl-papers of him.
"That mention of a wife as usual sets Texas to growlin'.
"'Thar you be, Dan!' I overhears him whisper, same as if he's beenill-treated; 'the instant this Dead-Shot says "Water" I'm onto it thathe's a married man. Water an' matrimony goes hand in hand.'
"'Now I don't see why none?' retorts Boggs.
"'Because water's weakenin'. Feed a sport on water, an' it's a cinchhe falls a prey to the first female who ropes at him.'
"'Thar's Dave,' Boggs argyoos, noddin' towards Tutt. 'Ain't hedrinkin' that time he weds Tucson Jennie?'
"'Dave's the exception. Also, you-all remembers them circumstances,Dan. Dave don't marry Jennie; Jennie simply ups an' has him.'
"'All the same,' contends Boggs, 'I don't regyard Dead Shot's sobrietyas no drawback. Thar's lots of folks who's cap'ble of bein' sober an'sociable at one an' the same time.'
"These yere low-voiced wranglin's between Texas an' Boggs is off toone side. Meanwhile, the gen'ral confab proceeds.
"'You ain't been long hooked up?' says Doc Peets, addressin' DeadShot.
"'About a year. She's in the stage that time I has the trouble withthem hold-ups in the Black Range, an' she allows she likes my style.'
"'We-all hears about that Black Range battle,' remarks Enright.
"'It's a mighty lucky play for me,' says Dead Shot; 'I don't ree'lizeit while I'm workin' my winchester, but I'm winnin' a angel all thetime. That's on the level, gents! I never puts my arm 'round her yet,but what I go feelin' for wings.'
"'Don't this make you sick?' Texas growls to Boggs.
"'No, it don't,' Boggs replies. 'On the contrary, I'm teched.'
"'Gents,' goes on Dead Shot, an' I sees his mustache tremble thata-way; 'I don't mind confessin' she's that angelic I'm half afraid tomarry her. I ain't fine enough! It's like weddin' gunny-sack tosilk--me makin' her my wife. Which I shore has to think an' argyoowith myse'f a whole lot, before I gets the courage. Ain't you-all evernoticed'--yere he appeals 'round to Peets--'that every time you meetsup with a angel, thar's always some smoke-begrimed an' sin-encrustedson of Satan workin' double-turn to support her?'
"Peets nods.
"'Shore! Well, it's sech reflections which final gives me thereequired sand. An' so, one evenin' up in Albuquerque, we prances overbefore a padre an' we're married. You bet, it's like a vision.'
"'Any papooses?' asks Tutt, plumb pompous.
"'None as yet,' confesses Dead Shot, lookin' abashed.
"'Which I've nacherally got one,' an' yere Tutt swells. 'You can putyour case _peso_ on it he's the real thing, too.'
"'Little Enright Peets is certainly a fine child,' remarks Nell.'Dave, you're shore licensed to be proud of him.'
"'That's whatever,' adds Boggs. 'Little Enright Peets is nothin' shortof bein' the No'th Star of all hoomanity!'
"Mebby a week passes, an' one mornin' Dead Shot goes squand
erin' overto Tucson to bring his wife. An' nacherally we're on what they callsin St. Looey the 'quee vee' to see her. At that, we-all don't crowd'round permiscus when the stage arrives, an' we avoids everythingwhich borders on mob voylence.
"Dead Shot hits the street, lookin' that happy it's like he's in adream, an' then goes feelin' about, soft an' solic'tous, inside. Atlast he lifts her out, an' stands thar holdin' her in his arms. She'sshore beautiful; only she ain't no bigger 'n a ten year old youngone.Yellow-ha'red an' bloo-eyed, she makes you think of these yere chinaornaments that's regyarded artistic by the Dutch.
"They're certainly a contrast--him big as a house, her as small an'pretty as a doll! An' you should see that enamored Dead Shot look ather!--long an' deep, like a man drinkin'! Son, sometimes I fearswomen, that a-way, misses all knowledge of how much they're loved.
"'She ain't sick,' says Dead Shot, speakin' gen'ral; 'only she twistsher off ankle gettin' out at the last station.'
"Dead Shot heads for the little 'dobe he's fitted up, packin' hisbloo-eyed doll in his arms. What's our impressions? No gent who signsthe books as sech'll say anything ag'in a lady; but between us, thar'sa sooperior wrinklin' of the little tipped-up nose, an' a cold feel tothem bloo eyes, which don't leave us plumb enthoosiastic.
"'It's like this,' volunteers Enright, who stacks in to explainthings. 'Every gent's got his ideal; an' this yere wife of his is DeadShot's ideal.'
"'Whatever's an ideal, Doc?' asks Boggs, who's always romancin' aboutfor information.
"'Which an ideal, Dan,' Peets replies, 'is the partic'lar gold brickyou're tryin' to buy.'
"At the time Dead Shot's standin' thar with his fam'ly in his arms,Nell comes out on the Red Light steps to take a peek. Also, MissisRucker an' Tucson Jennie is hoverin' about all sim'lar. After DeadShot an' his bride has faded into their 'dobe, them three expertsholds a energetic consultation in the street. Of course, none of ushas the hardihood to go j'inin' in their deelib'rations, but fromwhat's said later we gets a slant at their concloosions.
"'Dead Shot's a mighty sight too good for her,' is how Missis Ruckergives jedgment. 'It's peltin' pigs with pearls for him to go lovin'her like he does.'
"Shore; bein' ladies that-a-way, Missis Rucker, Tucson Jennie an' FaroNell all visits Dead Shot's wife. But the feelin' is that they findsher some stuck up an' haughty. This yere notion is upheld by Nellcallin' her a 'minx,' while Tucson Jennie alloodes to her as a 'cat'on two sep'rate occasions.
"Dead Shot an' his doll-bride, in the beginnin', seems to be gettin'along all right. It's only when thar's money goin' over, that DeadShot has to buckle on his guns an' ride out with the stage. This giveshim lots of time to hang 'round, an' worship her. Which I'm yere toreemark that if ever a white man sets up an idol, that a-way, an' sayshis pra'rs to it, that gent's Dead Shot. Thar's nothin' to it; prickher finger, an' you pierce his heart.
"'It'd be beautiful if it wasn't awful,' says Faro Nell.
"It ain't a month when events lifts up their p'isin heads, which goesto jestify them comments of Nell's. Thar's been a White House shiftback in Washington, an' a new postmaster's sent out. He's a dapperparty, with what Peets calls a 'Van Dyke' beard, an' smells like aha'r-dresser's shop.
"Now if affairs stops thar, we could have stood it; but they don't. Iabhors to say so, but it ain't two weeks before Dead Shot's wife'smakin' onmistak'ble eyes at that postmaster. Them times when DeadShot's dooties has took him to the other end of the trail, she's overto the post office constant. None of us says anything, not even toourselves; but when it gets to whar she shoves you away from theletter place, an' begins talkin' milk and honey to him right underyour nose, onless you're as blind as steeple bats, an' as deaf as theadder of scriptoore which stoppeth her y'ear, you're shore bound to dosome thinkin'.
WE'RE ALL DISCUSSIN' THE DOIN'S OF THIS YERE ROAD-AGENTWHEN DAN GETS BACK FROM RED-DOG, AN' THE RESULT IS HE UNLOADS HISFINDIN'S ON A DEAD KYARD. p. 18.]
"'Which if ever a gov'ment offishul,' exclaims Texas, as he comest'arin' into the Red Light one evenin', deemandin' drinks--'which ifever a gov'ment offishul goes organizin' his own fooneral that a-way,it's this yere deeboshed postmaster next door!'
"Thar's nothin' said, but we-all knows what's on Texas's mind. Thatwife of Dead Shot's, for the fo'th time that day, has gone askin' forletters.
"'She writes 'em to herse'f,' is the way Missis Rucker lays it down.'Also, it's doo to the crim'nal besottedness of that egreegious DeadShot. The man's shorely love-blind!'
"'You ain't goin' to t'ar into him for that, be you?' Nell asks, hertones reproachful. 'Him lovin' her like he does shore makes a hit withme. A limit goes in farobank; but my notion is to take the bridle offwhen the game's love.'
"'But all the same he needn't get that lovin' it addles him,' saysMissis Rucker. 'In a way, it's Dead Shot's sole fault, her actin'like she does. Instead of keepin' them Mexicans to do her work, DeadShot ought to make her go surgin' round, an' care for her househerse'f. Thar ain't nobody needs steady employment more'n a woman.You-all savvys where it says that Satan finds some mischief still foridle hands to do? Which you bet that bluff means women--an'postmasters--every time.'
"Missis Rucker continues along sim'lar lines, mighty inflexible, forquite a spell. She concloodes by sayin':
"'You keep a woman walsin' round a cook-stove, or wrastlin' a washtub,or jugglin' pots an' skillets, same as them sleight-of-hand folks atthe Bird Cage Op'ry House, an' she won't be so free to primp an' preenan' look at herse'f in the glass, an' go gaddin' after letters whichshe herse'f's done writ.'
"We-all can't he'p hearin' this yere, seen' we're settin' round the O.K. dinin' table feedin' at the time; but we stubbornly refooses to bedrawed into any views, Enright settin' us the example. That sagaciousold warchief merely reaches for the salt-hoss, an' never yeeps;wharupon we maintains ourselves stoodiously yeepless likewise.
"Things goes on swingin' an' rattlin', an' the open-air flirtationswhich Dead Shot's wife keeps up with that outcast of a postmaster'senough to give you a chill. We sets thar, powerless, expectin' akillin' every minute. An' all the time, like his eyes has took alayoff, Dead Shot wanders to an' fro, boastin' an' braggin' in themushiest way about his wife. Moreover--an' this trenches oneediotcy--he goes out of his path to make a pard of the postmaster,an' has that deebauchee over to his shack evenin's.
"Dead Shot even begins publicly singin' the praises of this officeholder.
"'Which it's this a-way,' he says; 'what with him bein' book-read an'a sport who's seen foreign lands, he's company for my wife. Sheherse'f's eddicated to a feather-edge; an', nacherally, that's whatgives 'em so much in common.'
"Thar's all the same a note in Dead Shot's voice that's like the echoof a groan. It looks, too, as though it sets fire to Texas, who jumpsup as if he's stung by a trant'ler.
"'Come,' he says, grabbin' Boggs by the shoulder.
"Texas has Boggs drug half-way to the door, before Enright can head'em off.
"'Whar to?' demands Enright; an' then adds, 'don't you-all boys gonigh that post office.'
"'All right,' says Texas final, but gulpin' a little; 'since it's youwho says so, Sam, we won't. Me an' Dan yere'll merely take a little_passear_ as far as the graveyard, by way of reecoverin' our speritsan' to get the air. I'll shore blow up if obleeged to listen to thatDead Shot any longer.'
"'I sees it in his eye,' Enright explains in a low tone to Peets, ashe resoomes his cha'r; 'Texas is simply goin' to bend his gun overthat letter man's head.'
"'How often has I told you, Dan,' asks Texas, after they gets headedfor Boot Hill, an' Texas has regained his aplomb, 'that women is abrace game?'
"'Not all women,' Boggs objects; 'thar's Nell.'
"'Shore; Nell!' Texas consents. 'Sech as her has all of the honor an'honesty of a Colt's-45. A gent can rely on the Nellie brand, same ashe can on his guns. But Nellie's one in one thousand. Them other ninehundred an' ninety-nine'll deal you the odd-kyard, Dan, every time.'
"When Texas an' Boggs arri
ves at Boot Hill, Texas goes seelectin'about, same as if he's searchin' out a site for a grave. At last hefinds a place whar thar's nothin' but mesquite, soapweed an' rocks,it's that ornery:
"'Yere's whar we plants him,' says Texas; 'off yere, by himse'f, likeas if he's so much carrion.'
"'Who you talkin' about?' asks Boggs, some amazed.
"'Who?' repeats Texas; 'whoever but that postmaster? Dead Shot's gotto get him soon or late. An' followin' the obsequies, thar ain't goin'to be no night gyards neither. Which if them coyotes wants to dig himup, they're welcome. It's their lookout, not mine; an' I ain't got nolove for coyotes no how.'
"'Thar ain't no coyote in Cochise County who's sunk that low he'll eathim,' says Boggs.
"Like every other outfit, Wolfville sees its hours of sunshine an' itshours of gloom, its lights an' its shadders. But I'm yere to statethat it never suffers through no more nerve-rackin' eepock than thatwhich it puts in about Dead Shot an' his wife. She don't bother us somuch as him. It's Dead Shot himse'f, praisin' up the postmaster an'paintin' the sun-kissed virchoose of his wife, which keeps the sweata-pourin' down the commoonal face. An' all that's left us is to standpat, an' wait for the finish!
"One day the Wells-Fargo people sends Dead Shot to Santa Fe to take amoney box over to Taos. Two days later, Dead Shot's wife finds she'sgot to go visit Tucson. Likewise, the postmaster allows he's beenordered to Wilcox, to straighten out some deepartmental kinks. Whichwe certainly sets thar an' looks at each other!--the play's thatrank.
"The postmaster an' Dead Shot's wife goes rumblin' out on the samestage. Monte starts to tell us what happens when he returns, but theold profligate don't get far.
"'Gents,' he says, 'that last trip, when Dead Shot's----'
"'Shet up,' roars Enright, an' Monte shore shets up.
"It comes plenty close to killin' the mis'rable old dipsomaniac atthat. He swells an' he swells, with that pent-up information insideof him, ontil he looks like a dissipated toad. But sech is his awe ofEnright, he never dar's opens his clamshell.
"It's a week before Dead Shot's wife gets back, an' the postmasterdon't show up till four days more. Then Dead Shot himse'f comestrackin' in.
"Faro Nell, who's eyes is plumb keen that a-way, lets on to Cherokeeprivate that Dead Shot looks sorrow-ridden. But I don't know! DeadShot's nacherally grave, havin' no humor. A gent who constant goesmessin' round with road agents, shootin' an' bein' shot at, ain't aptto effervesce. Nell sticks to it, jest the same, that he's onder acloud.
"Dead Shot continyoos to play his old system, an' cavorts 'round plumbfriendly with the postmaster, an' goes teeterin' yere an' thar tellin'what a boon from heaven on high his wife is, same as former.
"Faro Nell shakes her head when Cherokee mentions this last:
"'That's his throw-off,' she says.
"One evenin' Dead Shot comes trailin' into the Red Light, an' strollsover to whar Cherokee's dealin' bank.
"'What's the limit?' he asks.
"At this, we-all looks up a whole lot. It's the first time ever DeadShot talks of puttin' down a bet.
"Cherokee's face is like a mask, the face of the thorough-paced kyardsharp. He shows no more astonishment than if Dead Shot's been settin'in ag'inst his game every evenin' for a month.
"'One hundred an' two hundred,' says Cherokee.
"_'Bueno!'_ an' Dead Shot lays down two one-hundred dollar billsbetween the king and queen.
"Thar's two turns. The third the kyards falls 'ten-king,' an' Nell,from her place on the lookout's stool, shoves over two hundred dollarsin bloo checks. Thar they are, with the two one-hundred dollar bills,between the king an' queen.
"'Does it go as it lays?' asks Dead Shot, it bein' double the limit.
"'It goes,' says Cherokee, never movin' a muscle.
"One turn, an' the kyards falls 'trey-queen.' Nell shoves four hundredacross to match up with Dead Shot's four hundred.
"'An' now?' Dead Shot asks.
"'I'll turn for it,' Cherokee responds.
"It's yere that Dead Shot's luck goes back on him. The turn comes'queen-jack,' an' Nell rakes down the eight hundred.
"Dead Shot's hand goes to the butt of his gun.
"'I've been robbed,' he growls; 'thar's fifty-three kyards in thatdeck.'
"Cherokee's on his feet, his eyes like two steel p'ints, gun halfdrawed. But Nell's as quick. Her hand's on Cherokee's, an' she keepshis gun whar it belongs.
"'Steady!' she says; 'can't you see he's only coaxin' you to bump himoff?' Then, with her face full on Dead Shot, she continyoos: 'It won'tdo, Dead Shot; it won't do none! You-all can't get it handed to youyere! You're in the wrong shop; you-all ought to try next door!' An'Nell p'ints with her little thumb through the wall to the postoffice.
"Dead Shot stands thar the color of seegyar ashes, while Cherokeesettles ca'mly back in his cha'r. Cherokee's face is as bar' ofexpression as a blank piece of paper, as he runs his eye along thelay-out, makin' ready for the next turn. Thar's mebby a dozen of usplayin', but not a word is spoke. Everyone is onto Dead Shot's littlegame, the moment Nell begins to talk.
"Matters seems to hang on centers, ontil Nell stretches across an'lays her baby hand on Dead Shot's:
"'Thar ain't a soul in sight,' she says, mighty soft an' good, 'butwhat's your friend, Dead Shot.'
"Dead Shot, pale as a candle, wheels toward the door.
"'Pore Dead Shot!' murmurs Nell, the tears in her eyes, to that extentshe has to ask Boggs to take her place as lookout.
"Four hours goes by, an' thar's the poundin' of a pony's hoofs, an'the creak of saddle-leathers, out in front. It's the Red Dog chief,who's come lookin' for Enright.
"They confabs a minute or two at a table to the r'ar, an' then Enrightcalls Peets over.
"'Dead Shot's gone an' got himse'f downed,' he says.
DEAD SHOT STOPS SHORT AT THIS HITCH IN THE DISCUSSION, BYREASON OF A BULLET FROM THE LIGHTIN' BUG'S PISTOL WHICH LODGES IN HISLUNG. p. 29.]
"'It's on the squar' gents,' explains the Red Dog chief; 'Dead Shot'llsay so himself. He jest nacherally comes huntin' it.'
"It looks like Dead Shot, after that failure with Cherokee in the RedLight, p'ints across for Red Dog. He searches out a party who's calledthe Lightnin' Bug, on account of the spontaneous character of hissix-shooter. Dead Shot finds the Lightnin' Bug talkin' with two fellowgents. He listens awhile, an' then takes charge of the conversation.
"'Bug,' he says, raisin' his voice like it's a challenge--'Bug, onlyI'm afraid folks'll string you up a whole lot, I'd say it's you whostood up the stage last week in Apache Canyon. Also'--an' yere DeadShot takes to gropin' about in his jeans, same as if he's feelin' fora knife--'it's mighty customary with me, on occasions sech as this, tocut off the y'ears of----'
"Dead Shot stops short, by reason of a bullet from the Bug's pistolwhich lodges in his lungs.
"When Peets an' Enright finds him, he's spread out on the Red Dogchief's blankets, coughin' blood, with the sorrow-stricken Bugproppin' him up one moment to drink water, an' sheddin' tears over himthe next, alternate.
"The Red Dog chief leads out the weepin' Bug, who's lamentin' mightygrievous, an' leaves Enright an' Peets with Dead Shot.
"'It's all right, gents,' whispers Dead Shot; 'I comes lookin' for it,an' I gets it. Likewise, she ain't to blame; it's me. I oughtn't tohave married her that time--she only a girl, an' me a full-growed manwho should 'av had sense for both.'
"'That's no lie,' says Peets, an' Dead Shot gives him a gratefullook.
"'No,' he goes on, 'she's too fine, too high--I wasn't her breed. An'I ought to have seen it.' Yere he has a tussle to hang on.
"Peets pours him out some whiskey.
"'It's licker, ain't it?' Dead Shot gasps, sniffin' the glass. 'I'mfor water, Doc, licker makin' me that ornery.'
"'Down with it,' urges Peets. 'Which, if I'm a jedge, you'll pack inlong before you're due to start anything extra serious, even if youdrinkt a gallon.'
"'Shore!' agrees Dead Shot, as though the idee
brings him relief. 'Fora moment it slips my mind about me bein' plugged. But as I'm sayin',gents, don't blame her. An' don't blame him. I has my chance, an' hasit all framed up, too, when I crosses up with 'em recent over inTucson, to kill 'em both. But I can't do it, gents. The six-shooter atsech a time's played out. That's straight; it don't fill the bill; itain't adequate, that a-way. So all I can do is feel sorry for 'em, an'never let 'em know I knows. For, after all, it ain't their fault, it'smine. You sports see that, don't you? She's never meant for me, bein'too fine; an', me a man, I ought to have knowed.'
"Dead Shot ceases talkin', an' Enright glances at Peets. Peets shakeshis head plenty sorrowful.
"'Go on,' he says to Dead Shot; 'you-all wants us to do--what?'
"'Thar you be!' an' at the sound of Peets' voice Dead Shot's mindcomes creepin' back to camp. 'She'll be happy with him--they havin' somuch in common--an' him an' her bein' eddicated that a-way--an' himhavin' traveled a whole lot! An' this yere's what I wants, gents. Iwants you-all, as a kindness to me an' in a friendly way--seein' Ican't stay none to look-out the play myse'f--to promise to sort o'supervise round an' put them nuptials over right. I takes time by theforelock an' sends to Tucson for a sky-pilot back two days ago. Baraccidents, he'll be in camp by to-morry. He can work in at thefuneral, too, an' make it a whipsaw.'
"Dead Shot turns his eyes on Enright. It's always so about our oldchief; every party who's in trouble heads for him like a coyote for acamp fire.
"'You'll shore see that he marries her?--Promise!'
"Thar's a quaver in Dead Shot's voice, Peets tells me, that's like apra'r.
"'Thar's my hand, Dead Shot,' says Enright, who's chokin' a little.'So far as the letter man's concerned, it'll be the altar or thewindmill, Jack Moore an' a lariat or that preacher party you refersto.'
"Dead Shot's gettin' mighty weak. After Enright promises he leans backlike he's takin' a rest. He's so still they're beginnin' to figgerhe's done cashed in; but all at once he starts up like he'soverlooked some bet, an' has turned back from eternity to tend to it.
"'About Cherokee an' his box,' he whispers; 'that's a lyin' bluff Imakes. Tell him I don't mean nothin'; I'm only out to draw his fire.'
"After this Dead Shot only rouses once. His voice ain't more'n asigh.
"'I forgets to tell you,' he says, 'to give her my love. An' you say,too, that I'm bumped off like snuffin' out a candle--too plumb quickfor her to get yere. An' don't blame her, gents; it's not her fault,it's mine.'
"It's the week after the fooneral. The postmaster's still in town,partly by nacheral preference, partly because Enright notifies JackMoore to ride herd on him, an' fill him as full of lead as a bag ofbullets in event he ondertakes to go stampedin' off.
"In the Red Light the seventh evenin' Enright rounds up Peets.
"'Doc,' he says, 'a month would be more respect'ble, but this yere'sbeginnin' to tell on me.'
"'Besides,' Peets chips in, by way of he'pin' Enright out, 'thatpreacher sharp corraled over to Missis Rucker's is gettin' restless.Onless we side-lines or puts hobbles on that divine we-all can'texpect to go holdin' him much longer.'
"Enright leads the way to the r'ar wareroom of the Noo York store,which bein' whar the stranglers holds their meetin's is Wolfville'shall of jestice. After licker is brought Enright sends Jack Moore forthe postmaster, who comes in lookin' plenty white. Missis Ruckerbrings over the divine; an' next Dead Shot's widow--she's plumb lovelyin black--appears on the arm of Peets, who goes in person.
"Thar's a question in the widow's eye, like she don't onderstand.
"'Roll your game,' says Enright to the preacher sharp.
"It's yere an' now Dead Shot's widow fully b'ars out that philos'pherwho announces so plumb cold, that a-way, that women's the sublimationof the onexpected. Jack Moore's jest beginnin' to manoover thatrecreant public servant into p'sition on the widow's left hand, so'she can be married to the best advantage, an' the preacher sharp'sgettin' out an' openin' his book of rooles, when the widow drawsback.
"P'intin' at the bridegroom postmaster, same as if he's a stingin'lizard, she addresses Enright.
"'Whatever's the meanin' of this?'
"'Merely the croode preelim'naries, Ma'am,' Enright explains, 'to whatwe-all trusts will prove a fa'rly deesir'ble weddin'.'
"'Me marry him?' an' the onmitigated scorn that relict exhibits, tosay nothin' of her tone of voice, shore makes the postmasterbridegroom feel chagrined.
"'You'll pardon us, Ma'am,' returns Enright, soft an' depreecatory,tryin' to get her feelin's bedded down, 'which you'll shore pardon usif in our dullness we misreads your sentiments. You see, the notiongets somehow proned into us that you wants this party. Which if wemakes a mistake, by way of repa'rin' that error, let me say that ifthar's any one else in sight whom you preefers, an' who's s'fficientlysingle an' yoothful to render him el'gible for wedlock,'--yere Enrighttakes in Boggs an' Texas with his gaze, wharat Texas grows asgreen-eyed as a cornered bobcat--'he's yours, Ma'am, on your p'intin'him out.'
"'Which I don't want to marry no one,' cries the widow, commencin' tosob. 'An' as for marryin' him speshul'--yere she glances at thebridegroom postmaster in sech a hot an' drastic way he's leftshrivellin' in his own shame--'I'd sooner live an' die the widow ofDead Shot Abner Baker than be the wife of a cornfield full of sech.'
"Everybody stares, an' Enright takes a modicum of Old Jordan.
"'You don't deeserve this none,' he says at last, turnin' to thepostmaster bridegroom. 'Onder the circumstances, however, thar'snothin' left for me to do as cha'rman but deeclar' this yere weddin' amisdeal.'
"Texas is plumb disgusted.
"'Don't some folks have nigger luck, Dan?' he says.
"Later, after thinkin' things up an' down in his mind, Texas takesombrage at Enright's invitin' Dead Shot's widow to look him an' Boggsover that a-way, an' take her pick.
"'Which sech plays don't stand ace-high with me, Sam,' Texassays--'you tryin' to auction me off like you does. Even a stranger,with a half-way hooman heart, after hearin' my story would say that Ialready suffers enough. An' yet you, who calls yourse'f my friend,does all that lays in your callous power to thrust me back intotorment.'
"'Texas,' replies Enright, like he's bore about all he can, 'youshorely worries me with your conceit. If you-all won't take my word,then go take a good hard look at yourse'f in the glass. Thar's neverthe slightest risk, as everybody but you yourse'f sees plainly, ofthat lady or any other lady takin' you.'
"'You thinks not?' asks Texas, plenty incensed.
"'Which I _knows_ not. No lady's lot ain't quite that desp'rate.'
"'Well,' returns Texas, after a pause, his face expressin' hissoreness, 'I'm yere to say, Sam, I don't agree with you, nonewhatever. You forgets that I've already been took in wedlock bonds byone lady. An' while that Laredo wife of mine is hard an' crooel, allTexas knows she's plumb partic'lar. Also, no one ever yet comespirootin' up the trail who doubts her taste.'
"It's the evenin' before the preacher sharp goes back to Tucson, whenEnright edges him off into a corner of the O. K. dinin' room.
"'Parson,' says Enright, lookin' like he's a heap bothered aboutsomethin'--'parson, in addition to your little game as a preacher thata-way, you don't happen to be up none on table-tippin' or speritrappin', same as them mediums, do you?'
"'Which I shore don't,' replies the preacher sharp, archin' his neck,indignant. 'Likewise, I regyards them cer'monials you alloodes to assatantic in their or'gin.'
"'Doubtless, parson,' returns Enright, some disapp'inted, 'doubtless.Still, if you-all but counts the rings on my horns, as givin' someimpression of the years I've lived an' what troubles I've probablygone through, you'll onderstand that I ain't takin' Satan no moreserious than a empty six-shooter. But the mere trooth is, parson, I'mpestered by them promises I makes deeceased. Which I'd give a yellowstack to get put next to Dead Shot's sperit long enough to explainconcernin' them nuptials, an' make cl'ar jest how me an' the Doc fallsdown.'"