"Which I shorely oughter be," retorted the old gentleman."The West has been some loyal to me.Troo! it stands to reason that a party fresh from the East, where the horns has been knocked offen everythin' for two or three hundred years, an' conditions genial is as soft as a goose-ha'r pillow, is goin' to notice some turgid changes when he lands in Arizona.But a shorthorn, that a-way, should reserve his jedgment till he gets acquainted, or gets lynched, or otherwise experiences the West in its troo colors.While Arizona, for speciment, don't go up an' put her arms about the neck of every towerist that comes chargin' into camp, her failure to perform said rites arises rather from dignity than hauteur.Arizona don't put on dog; but she has her se'f-respectin' ways, an' stands a pat hand on towerists.
"If I was called on to lay out a system to guide a tenderfoot who is considerin' on makin' Arizona his home-camp, I'd advise him to make his deboo in that territory in a sperit of ca'm an' silent se'f-reliance.Sech a gent might reside in Wolfville, say three months.
He might meet her citizens, buck her faro-banks, drink her nose-paint, shake a hilarious hoof in her hurdy gurdies, ask for his letters, or change in whatever sums seems meet to him at the New York Store for shirts.Also, he might come buttin' along into the O.
K.Restauraw three times a day with the balance of the band, an'
Missis Rucker would shorely turn her grub-game for him, for the limit if he so pleased.But still, most likely every gent in camp would maintain doorin' his novitiate a decent distance with this yere stranger; they wouldn't onbuckle an' be drunk with him free an'
social like, an' with the bridle off, like pards who has crossed the plains together an' seen extremes.All this, with a chill onto it, a tenderfoot would find himse'f ag'inst for the first few months in Wolfville.
"An' yet, my steer to him would be not to get discouraged.The camp's sizin' him up; that's all.If he perseveres, ca'm an'
c'llected like I states, along the trail of his destiny, he'll shore come winner on the deal.At the end of three months, or mebby in onusual cases four months, jest as this yere maverick is goin' into the dance hall, or mebby the Red Light, some gent will chunk him one in the back with his shet fist an' say, 'How be you? You double-dealin', cattle-stealin', foogitive son of a murdererin' hoss-thief, how be you?'
"Now, right thar is whar this yere shorthorn wants to maintain his presence of mind.He don't want to go makin' no vain plays for his six-shooter, or indulge in no sour ranikaboo retorts.That gent likes him.With Wolfville social conditions, this yere greetin' is what you sports who comes from the far No'th calls 'the beginnin' of the thaw.The ice is breakin' up; an' if our candidate sets in his saddle steady an' with wisdom at this back-thumpin', name-callin'
epock, an' don't take to millin' 'round for trouble, in two minutes him an' that gregar'ous gent who's accosted him is drinkin' an'
fraternizin' together like two stage hold-ups in a strange camp.The West ain't ornery; she's simply reserved a whole lot.
"Mighty likely now," continued my friend, following a profound pause which was comfortably filled with peach and honey; "it's mighty likely now, comin' down to folks, that the most ornery party I ever knows is Curly Ben.This yere Ben is killed, final; clowned by old Captain Moon.Thar's a strange circumstance attendin', as the papers say, the obliteration of this Curly Ben, an' it makes a heap of an impression on me at the time.It shows how the instinct to do things, that a bent is allers carryin' 'round in his mind, gets sort o' located in his nerves mebby, an' he'll do 'em without his intellects ridin' herd on the play--do 'em like Curly Ben does, after his light is out complete.
"This yere is what I'm trailin' up to: When Captain Moon fetches Curly Ben that time, Curly is playin' kyards.He's jest dealin', when, onbeknown to him, Moon comes Injunin' up from the r'ar surreptitious, an' drills Curly Ben through the head; an' the bullet bein' a '45 Colt's--for Moon ain't toyin' with Curly an' means business--goes plumb through an' emerges from onder Curly Ben's off eye.For that matter, it breaks the arm of a party who's playin'
opp'site to Curly, an' who is skinnin' his pasteboards at the time, thinkin' nothin' of war.Which the queer part is this: Curly, as Istates--an' he never knows what hits him, an' is as dead as Santa Anna in a moment--is dealin' the kyards.He's got the deck in his hands.An' yet, when the public picks Curly off the floor, he's pulled his two guns, an' has got one cocked.Now what do you--all deem of that for the workin' of a left-over impulse when a gent is dead?
"But, as I remarks yeretofore, Curly Ben is the most ornery person Iever overtakes, an' the feelin's of the camp is in nowise laid waste when Moon adds him to the list that time in the Red Light bar.It's this a-way:
"It's about a month before, when Captain Moon an' his nephy, with two 8-mule teams and four big three-an'-a-half Bain wagons, two lead an' two trail they be, comes freightin' out of Silver City with their eyes on Wolfville.It's the fourth night out, an' they're camped near a Injun agency.About midnight a half dozen of the bucks comes scoutin' 'round their camp, allowin' to a moral certainty they'll see what's loose an' little enough for 'em to pull.The aborigines makes the error of goin' up the wind from Moon's mules, which is grazin' about with hobbles on, an' them sagacious anamiles actooally has fits.It's a fact, if you want to see a mule go plumb into the air an' remain, jest let him get a good, ample, onmistakable smell of a Injun! It simply onhinges his reason; he ain't no more responsible than a cimmaron sheep.No, it ain't that the savage is out to do anything oncommon to the mule; it's merely one of the mule's illoosions, as I've told you once before.Jest the same, if them Injuns is comin' to braid his tail an' braid it tight, that mule couldn't feel more frantic.
