"'Don't, don't!' shouts Texas, like he's agitatcd no limit; 'don't take him outen my sight no more. I only fetches the cup to drink his blood; but it's a small detail, which I sh.o.r.e relinquishes before ever I allows my heaven-sent prey the least loophole to escape.'

"When Peets goes up an' takes Texas's cup, the two debates together in a whisper, Texas lettin' on he's mighty hot an' furious. At last Peets says to him:

"'Which I tells you sech a proposal is irreg'lar; but since you insists, of course I names it. My gent yere,' goes on Peets to Boggs an' Tutt, 'wants to agree that the survivor's to be allowed to skelp his departed foe. Does the bluff go?'

"'It's what our gent's been urgin' from the jump,' says Boggs; 'an'

tharfore we consents with glee. Round up that outlaw of yours now, an' let's get to shootin'.'

"I don't reckon I ever sees anybody who seems as fatigued as that Signal person when Boggs an' Tutt starts to lead him up to the blanket. His face looks like a cancelled postage-stamp. While they're standin' up their folks, Texas goes ragin' loose ag'in because it's a fight over a blanket an' not a handkerchief, as he demands.

"'What's the meanin' of a cold an' formal racket sech as this?' he howls, turnin' to Peets. 'I wants to go clost to my work; I wants to crowd in where it's warm.'

"'I proposes a handkerchief,' says Peets; 'but Tutt objects on the grounds that his man's got heart palp'tations or somethin'.'

"'You're a liar,' yells Tutt; 'our gent's heart's as solid as a sod house.'

"'What do I hear?' shouts Peets. 'You calls me a liar?'

"At this Tutt an' Peets lugs out their guns an' blazes away at each other six times like the roll of a drum--Texas all the time yellin'

for a weepon, an' cavortin' about in the smoke that demoniac he'd scare me, only I knows it's yoomerous. Of course Peets an' Tutt misses every shot, and at the windup, after glarin' at each other through the clouds, Peets says to Tutt:

"'This yere is mere petulance. Let's proceed with our dooties. As soon as Texas has killed an' skelped the hold-up you represents, I'll shoot it out with you, if it takes the autumn.'

"'That's good enough for a dog,' says Tutt, stickin' his gun back in the scabbard; 'an' now we proceeds with the orig'nal baite.'

"But they don't proceed none. As Tutt turns to his Signal sharp, who's all but locoed by the shootin', an' has to be detained by Boggs from runnin' away, Jack Moore comes chargin' up on his pony an' throws a gun on the whole outfit.

"'Hands up yere!' he says, sharp an' brief; 'or I provides the coyotes with meat for a month to come.'

"Everybody's hands goes up; an' it's plain Moore's comin' ain't no disapp'intment to the Signal person. He's that relieved he shows it.

"'Don't look so tickled,' growls Boggs to him, as Moore heads the round-up for the New York Store; 'don't look so light about it; you mortifies me.'

"Moore takes the band over to the New York Store, where Enright's settin' as a jedge. He allows he's goin' to put 'em all on trial for disturbin' of Wolfville's peace. The Signal sharp starts to say somethin', when Peets interrupts, an' that brings Boggs to the front, an' after that a gen'ral uproar breaks loose like a stampede.

"'Gimme a knife, somebody,' howls Texas, 'an' let me get in on this as I should. Am I to be robbed of my revenge like this?'

"But Enright jumps for a old Spencer seven-shooter, an' announces it cold, he's out to down the first gent that talks back to him a second time. This ca'ms 'em, an' the riot sort o' simmers.

"'Not that I objects to a street fight,' says Enright, discussin' of the case; 'but you-all talks too much. From the jabber as was goin'

for'ard over that blanket out thar, it sh.o.r.ely reminds me more of a pa.s.sel of old ladies at a quiltin' bee, than a convocation of discreet an' se'f-respectin' gents who's pullin' off a dooel. To cut her short, the public don't tolerate no sech rackets, an' yere-upon I puts Texas Thompson an' this Signal party onder fifty-thousand- dollar bonds to keep the peace.'

"Texas is set loose, with Peets an' Cherokee Hall on his papers; but the Signal sharp, bein' strange in camp, can't put up no bonds.

"'Whlch as thar's no calaboose to put you into,' says Enright, when he's told by the Signal party that he can't make no bonds; 'an' as it's plumb ag'in the const.i.tootion of Arizona to let you go, I sh.o.r.e sees no trail out but hangin'. I regrets them stern necessities which feeds a pore young man to the halter, but you sees yourse'f the Union must an' shall be preserved. Jack, go over to my pony an'

fetch the rope. It's a new half-inch manilla, but I cheerfully parts with it in the cause of jestice.'

"When Moore gets back with the rope, an' everybody's lookin'

serious, that a-way, it shakes the Signal party to sech a degree that he camps down on a shoe-box an' allows he needs a drink. Boggs says he'll go after it, when Tutt breaks in an' announces that he's got a bluff to hand up.

"'If I'm dead certain,' says Tutt, surveyin' of the Signal party a heap doubtful; 'if I was sh.o.r.e now that this gent wouldn't leave the reservation none, I'd go that bond myse'f. But I'm in no sech fix financial as makes it right for me to get put in the hole for fifty thousand dollars by no stranger, however intimate we be. But yere's what I'm willin' to do: If this sharp wears hobbles so he can't up an' canter off, why, rather than see a young gent's neck a foot longer, I goes this bail myse'f.'

"The Signal party is eager for hobbles, an' he gives Tutt his word to sign up the doc.u.ments an' he wont run a little bit.

"'Which the same bein' now settled, congenial an' legal,' says Enright, when Tutt signs up; 'Jack Moore he'ps the gent on with them hobbles, an' the court stands adjourned till further orders.'

"After he's all hobbled an' safe, Tutt an' the Signal party starts over for the post-office, both progressin' some slow an' reluctant because of the Signal party's hobbles holdin' him down to a shuffle.

As they toils along, Tutt says:

"'An' now that this yere affair ends so successful, I'd sh.o.r.e admire to know whatever you an' that cut-throat takes to chewin' of each other's manes for, anyway? Why did you refoose to bow?'

"'Which I never refooses once,' says the Signal party; 'I salootes this Texas gent with pleasure, if that's what he needs.'

"'In that case,' says Tutt, 'you make yourse'f comfortable leanin'

ag'in this buildin', an' I'll project over an' see if this embroglio can't be reeconciled a lot. Mootual apol'gies an' whiskey, looks like, ought to reepair them dissensions easy.'

"So the Signal party leans up ag'in the front of the post-office an'

surveys his hobbles mighty melancholy, while Tutt goes over to the Red Light to look up Texas Thompson. It ain't no time when he's headed back with Texas an' the balance of the band.

"'Give us your hand, pard,' says Texas, a heap effoosive, as he comes up to the Signal party; 'I learns from our common friend, Dave Tutt, that this yere's a mistake, an' I tharfore forgives you freely all the trouble you causes. It's over now an' plumb forgot. You're a dead game sport, an' I shakes your hand with pride.'

"'Same yere,' says Doc Peets, also shakin' of the Signal party's hand, which is sort o' limp an' cheerless.

"However, we rips off his hobbles, an' then the outfit steers over to the Red Light to be regaled after all our hard work.

"'Yere's hopin' luck an' long acquaintance, stranger,' says Texas, holdin' up his gla.s.s to the Signal party, who is likewise p'lite, but feeble.

"'Which the joyous outcome of this tangle shows,' says Dan Boggs, as he hammers his gla.s.s on the bar an' shouts for another all 'round, 'that you-all can't have too much talk swappin', when the objects of the meetin' is to avert blood. How much better we feels, standin'

yere drinkin' our nose-paint all cool an' comfortable, an'

congrat'latin' the two brave sports who's with us, than if we has a corpse sawed onto us onexpected, an' is driven to go grave-diggin'

in sech sun-blistered, sizzlin' weather as this.'

"'That's whatever,' says Dave Tutt; 'an' I fills my cup in approval, you can gamble, of them observations.'"

CHAPTER XIII

Death; and the Donna Anna.

"Locoweed? Do I savey loco?" The Old Cattleman's face offered full hint of his amazement as he repeated in the idiom of his day and kind the substance of my interrogatory.

"Why, son," he continued, "every longhorn who's ever cinched a Colorado saddle, or roped a steer, is plumb aware of locoweed. Loco is Mexicano for mad--crazy. An' cattle or mules or ponies or anythin' else, that makes a repast of locoweed--which as a roole they don't, bein' posted instinctif that loco that a-way is no bueno--goes crazy; what we-all in the Southwest calls 'locoed.'

"Whatever does this yere plant resemble? I ain't no sharp on loco, but the brand I encounters is green, bunchy, stiff, an' stands taller than the gra.s.s about it. An' it ain't allers thar when looked for, loco ain't. It's one of these yere migratory weeds; you'll see it growin' about the range mebby one or two seasons, an' then it sort o' pulls its freight. Thar wont come no more loco for years.