"'Well, don't do it no more, partner,' says Jack, mighty grave.'As a commoonity Wolfville's no doubt 'way wrong, but we-alls has our prides an' our own pecooliar little notions, that a-way, about what looks good; so, after now, don't alter the landscape none 'round yere till you c'lects our views.'
"'I'm offerin' even money, postin' notices don't hurt this yere camp a little bit,' says the stranger.
"'Comin' right to cases,' says Enright, 'it don't hurt none, but it grates a whole lot.The idee of a mere stranger a-strollin' in an'
a-pastin' up of notices, like he's standin' a pat hand on what he knows an' we not in it, is a heap onpleasant.So don't do it no more.'
"'Which I don't aim to do it no more,' says the squar'-built gent, 'but I still clings to my idee that notices ain't no set-back to this camp.'
"'The same bein' a mere theery,' says Doc Peets, 'personal to yourse'f, I holds it would be onp'lite to discuss it; so let's all wheel onder cover for a drink.'
"At this we-alls lines up on the Red Light bar an' nacherally drinks ends the talk, as they allers ought.
"Along towards sundown we-alls gets some cooler, an' by second-drink time in the evenin' every one is movin' about, an', as it happens, quite a band is in the Red Light; some drinkin' an' exchangin' of views, an' some buckin' the various games which is goin' wide open all 'round.Cherokee's settin' behind his box, an' Faro Nell is up at his shoulder on the lookout stool.The game's goin' plenty lively when along comes Old Gentry.Cherokee takes a glance at him an'
seems worried a little, reflectin', no doubt, of them 'hands the dead man held,' but he goes on dealin' without a word.
"'Where's you-all done been all day?' says Nell to the old man.'Iain't seen you none whatever since yesterday.'
"'Why, I gets tired an' done up a lot, settin ag'inst Cherokee last night,' says the old man, 'an' so I prowls down in my blankets an'
sleeps some till about an hour ago.'
"The old man buys a stack of blues an' sets 'em on the ten.It's jest then in comes the squar'-built gent, who's been postin' of the notice former, an' p'ints a six-shooter at Gentry an' says "'Put your hands up! put 'em up quick or I'll drill you! Old as you be, I don't take no chances.'
"'At the first word Nell comes off her stool like a small landslide, while Cherokee brings a gun into play on the instant.The old man's up even with the proceedin's, too; an' stands thar, his gun in his hand, his eyes a-glitterin' an' his white beard a-curlin' like a cat's.He's clean strain.
"'Let me get a word in, gents,' says Cherokee, plenty ca'm, 'an'
don't no one set in his stack on.less he's got a hand.I does business yere my way, an' I'm due to down the first hold-up who shoots across any layout of mine.Don't make no mistake, or the next census'll be shy, shore.'
"'What be you-alls aimin' to cel'brate anyhow?' says Jack Moore, gettin' the squar'-built gent's gun while Boggs corrals Gentry's.'
Who's Wolfville entertainin' yere, I'd like for to know?'
"'I'm a Wells-Fargo detective,' says the squar'-built gent, 'an'
this yere,' p'intin' to Old Gentry, 'is Jim Yates, the biggest hold-up an' stage-robber between hell an' 'Frisco.That old tarrapin'll stop a stage like a young-one would a clock, merely to see what's into it.He's the party I'm pastin' up the notice for this mornin.""'He's a liar!' says the old man, a-gettin' uglier every minute.
