pin-feather party to Enright, 'an' I aims to cinch the play.  I'm a
mighty cautious sport, an' before ever I hooks up for actooal
freightin' over any trail, I rides her once or twice to locate wood and
water, an' pick out my camps.  Said system may seem timorous, but it's
shore safer a heap.  So I asks ag'in whether you-all folks has any
objections to me elopin' into Wolfville with my beloved, like I
suggests.  I ain't out to spring no bridals on a onprotected outfit,
wherefore I precedes the play with these queries.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But to go back to Dave."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Not that I'm no beacon, neither,' says Cherokee, 'on the rocky
wreck-sown shores of sport; an' not that I ever resorts to onderhand
an' doobious deals myse'f; still, I'm cap'ble of p'intin' out the
dangers.  Scientists of my sort, no matter how troo an' faithful to the
p'int of honour, is bound to savey all kyard dooplicities in their
uttermost depths, or get left dead on the field of finance.  Every gent
should be honest.  But more than honest--speshully if he's out to buck
faro-bank or set in on casyooal games of short-kyards--every gent
should be wise.  In the amoosements I mentions to be merely honest
can't be considered a complete equipment.  Wherefore, while I never
makes a crooked play an' don't pack the par'fernalia so to do, I'm
plenty astoote as to how said tricks is turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Gents, first callin' your attention to the fact that Dave ain't
over-drinkt an' that no nosepaint theery is possible in accountin' for
his acts, I asks you for your opinions.  As you knows, this thing's
been goin' for'ard for some time, an' I desires to hear if from any
standp'int of public interest do you-all figger that steps should be
took?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'This terrifies him; he begins to believe in the evil innocences of
opals.  He presents the jewelry to a bar-keep, who puts it up, since
his game limits itse'f to sellin' licker an', him bein' plenty careful
not to drink none himse'f, his contracted destinies don't offer no
field for opals an' their malign effects.  In less time than a week,
however, his wife leaves him; an' also that drink-shop wherein he
officiates is blown down by a high wind.

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

"'Which by this time, excitement is runnin' high, an' you-all couldn't
have found that citizen in Socorro with a search warrant who declines
to believe in opals bein' bad luck.  On the hocks of these catastrophes
it's the common notion that nobody better own that opal; an' said
malev'lent stone in the dooal capac'ty of a cur'osity an' a warnin' is
put in the seegyar case at the Early Rose s'loon.  The first day it's
thar, a jeweller sharp come in for his daily drinks--he runs the
jewelry store of that meetropolis an' knows about diamonds an' sim'lar
jimcracks same as Peets does about drugs--an' he considers this
talisman, scrootinisin' it a heap clost.  "Do you-all believe in the
bad luck of opals?" asks a pard who's with him.  "This thing ain't no
opal," says the jeweller sharp, lookin' up; "it's glass."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'I could ask her more questions,' says Enright, 'but, gents, I didn't
deem it wise.  Missis Rucker is a most admirable character; but I'm
sooperstitious about crowdin' her too clost.  Like Boggs says about
opals, thar's plenty of bad luck lurkin' about Missis Rucker's environs
if you only goes about its deevelopment the right way.'

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER VI.

With the Apache's Compliments.

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

"It's a heap likely that with Injuns, the white man in his turn is jest
as difficult to solve.  An' without the Injun findin' onusual fault
with 'em, thar's a triangle of things whereof the savage accooses the
paleface.  The Western Injuns at least--for I ain't posted none on
Eastern savages, the same bein' happily killed off prior to my
time--the Western Injuns lays the bee, the wild turkey, an' that weed
folks calls the 'plantain,' at the white man's door.  They-all descends
upon the Injun hand in hand.  No, the Injun don't call the last-named
veg'table a 'plantain;' he alloodes to it as 'the White Man's Foot.'

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

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

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

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

"'Why not?' I demands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'But the killin' overturns the peaceful programmes built up between
the Grey Fox an' Cochise.  When the old chief hears of his brother
bein' downed, he paints himse'f black an' red an' sends a bundle of
arrows tied with a rattlesnake skin to the Grey Fox with a message to
count his people an' look out for himse'f.  The Grey Fox, who realises
that the day of peace has ended an' the sun gone down to rise on a
mornin' of trouble, fills the rattlesnake skin with cartridges an'
sends 'em back with a word to Cochise to turn himse'f loose.  From that
moment the war-jig which is to last for years is on.  After Cochise
comes Geronimo, an' after Geronimo comes Nana; an' one an' all, they
adds a heap of spice to life in Arizona.  It's no exaggeration to put
the number of palefaces who lose their ha'r as the direct result of
that fool marshal layin' for Cochise's brother an' that Injun's
consequent cuttin' off, at a round ten thousand.  Shore! thar's scores
an' scores who's been stood up an' killed in the hills whereof we never
gets a whisper.  I, myse'f, in goin' through the teepees of a Apache
outfit, after we done wipes 'em off the footstool, sees the long ha'r
of seven white women who couldn't have been no time dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'You onderstands that what now requires minutes in the recital don't
cover seconds as a play.  The lance Injun runs up to within a rod of me
an' halts.  His arm goes back for a mighty cast of the lance; the
weepon is vibrant with the very sperit of hate an' malice.  His eyes,
through a fringe of ha'r that has fallen over 'em, glows out like a
cat's eyes in the dark.

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

"'As I looks him over a change takes place.  The fire in his eyes dies
out, his face relaxes its f'rocity, an' after standin' for a moment an'
as the balance of the band arrives, he turns the lance over his arm an'
with the butt presented, surrenders it into my hand.  You can gamble I