purchases 'em for four bits a gross.They buys that vagrant out that a-way.They even buys new kinds on us, an' it's a party tryin' to bet a stack of pants buttons on the high kyard that calls Peg-laig's attention to them frauds.
"'Thar's no he'p for it, however; them villagers is stony an'
adamantine, an' so far as we has money they shorely makes us pay.We walks out of Rock Island.About a mile free of the camp, Peg-laig stops an' surveys me a heap mournful.
"'" Son," he says, "we was winnin', wasn't we?
"'"Which we shore was," I replies.
"'"Exactly," says Peg-laig, shakin' his head, "we was shorely winners.An' I want to add, son, that if we-all could have kept on winnin' for two hours more, we'd a-lost eight thousand dollars.""'It's like this yere stage hold-up on Enright,' concloodes Cherokee; 'it's a harassin' instance of where the more you wins, the more you lose.'
"About this time, Enright an' Jack Moore comes in.Colonel Sterett an' Dan Boggs j'ines us accidental, an' we-all six holds a pow wow in low tones.
"'Which Jack,' observes Enright, like he's experimentin' an' ropin'
for our views, 'allows it's his beliefs that this yere guileless tenderfoot, Davis, who says he's from Buffalo, an' who's been prancin' about town for the last two days, is involved in them felonies.'
"'It ain't none onlikely,' says Boggs; 'speshully since he's from Buffalo.I never does know but one squar' gent who comes from Buffalo; he's old Jenks.An' at that, old Jenks gets downed, final, by the sheriff over on Sand Creek for stealin' a hoss.'
"'You-all wants to onderstand,' says Jack Moore, cuttin' in after Boggs, 'I don't pretend none to no proofs.I jest reckons it's so.
It's a common scandal how dead innocent this yere shorthorn Davis assoomes to be; how he wants Cherokee to explain faro-bank to him;an' how he can't onderstand none why Black Jack an' the dance-hall won't mix no drinks.Which I might, in the hurry of my dooties, have passed by them childish bluffs onchallenged an' with nothin' more than pityin' thoughts of the ignorance of this yere maverick, but gents, this party overplays his hand.Last evenin' he asks me to let him take my gun, says he's cur'ous to see one.That settles it with me; this Davis has been a object of suspicion ever since.No, it ain't that I allows he's out to queer my weepon none, but think of sech a pretence of innocence! I leaves it to you-all, collectif an'
individooal, do you reckon now thar's anybody, however tender, who's that guileless as to go askin' a perfect stranger that a-way to pass him out his gun? I says no, this gent is overdoin' them roles.He ain't so tender as he assoomes.An' from the moment I hears of this last stand-up of the stage back in the canyon, I feels that this yere party is somehow in the play.Thar's four in this band who's been spreadin' woe among the stage companies lately, an' thar's only two of 'em shows in this latest racket which they gives Old Monte, an' that express gyard they shot up.Them other two sports who ain't present is shore some'ers, an' I gives it as my opinions one of 'em's right yere in our onthinkin' center, actin' silly, askin'
egreegious questions, an' allowin' his name is Davis an' that he hails from Buffalo.'
"While Jack is evolvin' this long talk, we-all is thinkin'; an', son, somehow it strikes us that thar's mighty likely somethin' in this notion of Jack's.We-all agrees, however, thar bein' nothin'
def'nite to go on, we can't do nothin' but wait.Still, pro an' con like, we pushes forth in discussion of this person.
"'It does look like this Davis,' says Colonel Sterett, 'now Jack brings it up, is shorely playin' a part; which he's over easy an'
ontaught, even for the East.This mornin', jest to give you-all a sample, he comes sidlin' up to me."Is thar any good fishin' about yere?" he asks."Which I shore yearns to fish some.""'"Does this yere landscape," I says, wavin' my arm about the hor'zon, "remind you much of fish? Stranger," I says, "fish an'
christians is partic'lar sparse in Arizona.""'Then this person Davis la'nches out into tales deescriptif of how he goes anglin' back in the States."Which the eel is the gamest fish," says this Davis."When I'm visitin' in Virginny, I used to go fishin'.I don't fish with a reel, an' one of them limber poles, an'
let a fish go swarmin' up an' down a stream, a-breedin' false hopes in his bosom an' lettin' him think he's loose.Not me; I wouldn't so deloode--wouldn't play it that low on a fish.I goes anglin' in a formal, se'f-respectin' way.I uses a short line an' a pole which is stiff an' strong.When I gets a bite, I yanks him out an' lets him know his fate right thar.""'"But eels ain't no game fish," I says."Bass is game, but not eels.""'"Eels ain't game none, ain't they?" says this yere Davis, lettin'
