to Washington takes hold of our imaginations. We throws dice, an' settles it that Red Dog'll be the English, with Bland as Cornwallis, while Wolfville acts as the Americans, Boggs to perform as Washington--Boggs bein' six foot an' some inches, besides as wide as a door. By the time we gets the stock of the Votes for Women S'loon fully drinked up everything's arranged.

"Onless you sees no objections, son, I'll gallop through the balance of this yere painful eepisode. The day comes round, bright an'

cl'ar, an' the Copper Queen people gen'rously starts the ball a-rollin' by explodin' thirteen cans of powder, one for each of the orig'nal states. Then the procession forms, Nell in front as the G.o.ddess. Thar's full two hundred of us, Wolfville an' Red Dog, on ponies. As to Missis Rucker, she's on top of the coach as Jestice, Tucson Jennie--with little Enright Peets lookin' like a young he cherub--inside, an' Monte pullin' the reins over the six hosses.

We makes four trips between Wolfville an' Red Dog, crackin' off our good old '45s at irreg'lar intervals, Nell on her calico pony as the G.o.ddess bustin' away with the rest.

"Little Enright Peets wants in on the pistol shootin', an' howls jes'

like a coyote--as children will--ontil Boggs, who foresees it an'

comes provided, gives him a baby pistol, a box of blank cartridges, an' exhorts him to cut loose. Which little Enright Peets sh.o.r.e cuts loose, all right; an', except that he sets fire to the coach a few times, an' makes Missis Rucker oneasy up on top--her fearin' that mebby some of them blanks has bullets in 'em by mistake--he has a perfectly splendid time.

"The procession over, we eats up the Red Dog chief's banquet, wharat every brand of airtights is introdooced. That done, we listens to Jedge Beebe, who soars an' sails an' sails an' soars, rhetorical, for mebby it's a hour, an' is that eloquent an' elevated he never hits nothin' but the highest places.

"The Red Dog chief makes a speech, an' proposes 'Wolfville'; to which Peets--by Enright's request--reesponds, an' offers 'Red Dog.' It's bottoms up to both sentiments; for thar's no negligence about the drinks, Black Jack havin' capered fraternally over to he'p out his overworked barkeep brother of the Red Dog Tub of Blood.

"When no one wants to further drink or eat or talk, we reepa'rs to a level place between the two camps to go through the Cornwallis'

surrender. The rival forces is arrayed opp'site, Cornwallis Bland in a red coat, an' Washington Boggs in bloo an' buff, accordin' to the teachin's of hist'ry. Both of 'em has sabers donated from the Fort.

"When all's ready Washington Boggs an' Cornwallis Bland rides out in front ontil they're in easy speakin' distance. Cornwallis Bland's been over-drinkin' some, an' is w'arin' a mighty deefiant look.

"After a spell, nothin' bein' spoke on either side, Washington Boggs calls out:

"'Is this yere Gen'ral Cornwallis?'

"'Who you talkin' to?' demands Cornwallis Bland, a heap contemptuous an' insolent.

"Peets has done writ out words for 'em to say, but neither uses 'em.

Observin' how Cornwallis Bland conducts himse'f, Washington Boggs waves his sword plenty vehement, which makes his pony cavort an'

buckjump, an' roars:

"'Don't you try to play nothin' on me, Gen'ral Cornwallis. Do you or do you not surrender your mis'rable blade?'

"'Surrender nothin'!' Cornwallis Bland sneers back, meanwhile reelin'

in his saddle. 'Thar's never the horned-toad clanks a spur in Cochise County can make me surrender. Likewise, don't you-all go wavin' that fool weepon at me none. I don't valyoo it more'n if it's a puddin'

stick. Which I've got one of 'em myse'f'--yere he'd have lopped off one of his pony's y'ears, only it's so dull--'an' I wouldn't give it to a yellow pup to play with.'

"'For the last time, Cornwallis,' says Washington Boggs, face aflame with rage, 'I commands you to surrender.'

"'Don't let him bluff you, Pete,' yells a b.u.mptious young cow-puncher who belongs on the Red Dog-English side. 'Which we can wipe up the plains with that Wolfville outfit.'

"The Red Dog chief bats the young trouble-makin' cow-puncher over the head with his gun, an' quietly motions to the Lightnin' Bug an' a fellow Red Dog to pack what reemains of him to the r'ar. This done, he turns to reemonstrate with Cornwallis Bland for his obstinancy. He's too late. Washington Boggs, who's stood all he will, drives the spurs into his pony, an' next with a bound an' a rush, he hits Cornwallis Bland an' his charger full chisle.

"The pony of Cornwallis Bland fa'rly swaps ends with itse'f, an'

Cornwallis would have swapped ends with it, too, only Washington Boggs collars an' hefts him out of his saddle.

"'Now, you onwashed drunkard, will you surrender?' roars Washington Boggs, shakin' Cornwallis Bland like a dog does a rat, ontil that British leader drops all of his hardware, incloosive of his pistol--'now will you surrender, or must I break your back across your own pony, as showin' you the error of your ways?'

"It looks like thar's goin' to be a hostile comminglin' of all hands, when--her ha'r streamin' behind her same as if she's a comet--Missis Bland comes chargin' up.

"'Yere, you drunken villyun!' she screams to Boggs, 'give me my husband this instant, onless you wants me to t'ar your eyes out!'

"'It's him who's to blame, ma'am,' says Enright mildly, comin' to Boggs' rescoo; 'which he won't surrender.'

"'Oh, he won't, won't he?' says Missis Bland, as she hooks onto Cornwallis Bland. 'You bet he'll surrender to me all right, or I'll know why.'

"As the Red Dog chief is apol'gizin' to Enright, who's tellin' him not to mind, Cornwallis Bland is bein' half shoved an' half drug, not to mention wholly yanked, towards the Abe Lincoln House by Missis Bland.

"That's the end. This yere ontoward finale to our cel'bration gets wide-flung notice in print, an' instead of bein' a boost, as we-all hopes, Wolfville an' Red Dog becomes a jest an' jeer. Also, while it don't sour the friendly relations of the two camps, the simple mention of Fo'th of Jooly leaves a bitter taste in the Wolfville-Red Dog mouth ever since."

VII

PROPRIETY PRATT, HYPNOTIST

"Do I ever see any folks get hypnotized? Which I witnesses a few sech instances. But it's usually done with a gun. If you're yearnin' to behold a party go into a trance plumb successful an' abrupt, get the drop on him. Thar ain't one sport in a hundred who can look into the muzzle of a Colt's .45, held by a competent hand, without lapsin' into what Peets calls a 'cataleptic state.'

"Sh.o.r.e, son, I savvys what you means."

The last was because I had begun to exhibit signs of impatience at what I regarded as a too flippant spirit on the part of my old cattleman. In the polite kindliness of his nature he made haste to smooth down my fur.

"To be sh.o.r.e I onderstands you. As to the real thing in hypnotism, however, thar arises as I recalls eevents but few examples in Arizona.

The Southwest that a-way ain't the troo field for them hypnotists, the weak-minded among the pop'lation bein' redooced to minimum. Now an'

then of course some hypnotic maverick, who's strayed from the eastern range, takes to trackin' 'round among us sort o' blind an' permiscus.

But he never stays long, an' is generally tickled to death when some vig'lance committee so far reelents as to let him escape back.

"Over in Bernilillo once, I'm present when a mob gets its rope onto one of these yere wizards, an' it's nothin' but the mercy of h.e.l.l an'

the mean pars'mony of what outcasts has him in charge, which saves him from bein' swung up. Mind you, it ain't no vig'lance committee, but a mob, that's got him.

"Whatever is the difference?

"Said difference, son, is as a spanless gulf. A vig'lance committee is the coolest kind of comin' together of the integrity an' the brains of a commoonity. A mob, on the other hand, is a chance-blown convention of deestructionists, as savagely brainless as a pack of timber wolves.

A vig'lance committee seeks jestice; a mob is merely out for blood."

"About this Bernilillo business?"

The old gentleman, as though the recital might take some time, signalled the black attendant to bring refreshments. The bottle comfortably at his elbow, he proceeded.

"I was thar, as I says, but I takes no part for either 'yes' or 'no,'

bein' no more'n simply a 'looker on in Vienna,' as the actor party observes over in the Bird Cage Op'ry House. Thar's one of them hypnotizin' sharps who's come bulgin' into Bernilillo to give a show.

Nacherally the local folks raps for a showdown; they insists he entrance some one they knows, an' refooses to be put off by him hypnotizin' what herd of hirelin's he's brought with him, on the argyooment that them humbugs is in all likelihood but cappers for his game.

"Thus stood up, the professor, as he calls himself, begins rummagin'

'round for a subject. Thar's a little Frenchman who's been pervadin'

about Bernilillo, claimin' to be a artist. Which he's sh.o.r.e a painter all right. I sees him myse'f take a bresh an' a batch of colors, an'

paint a runnin' iron so it looks so much like wood it floats. Sh.o.r.e; Emil--which this yere genius' name is Emil--as a artist that a-way is as good as jacks-up before the draw.

"The hypnotic professor runs his eye over the audjence. In a moment he's onto Emil, an' begins to w'irl his hypnotic rope. It's Emil bein'

thin an' weakly an' bloodless, I reckon, that attracts him. This yere Emil ain't got bodily stren'th to hold his own ag'in a high wind, an'