"'Which thar's no doubts floatin' in anybody's mind on that subject,' says Dan Boggs, 'but I'd shore admire to know who this party is, an' where he's headin' to.I dislikes to stretch the neck of strangers that a-way; an' if thar's any gent, now, who can ask this yere person who he is, an' what he's got to say, I'd take it as a favor, personal, if he'd begin makin' of the needed motions.' "But thar ain't none of us can institoote them gestures; an' when the dumb man, on his side, puts up a few bluffs with his fingers, it's a heap too complicated for us as a means of makin' statements."'Ishore couldn't tell,' says Dave Tutt, as he sets watchin' the dumb man's play, 'whether he's callin' us names or askin' for whiskey.'
"'Which if we'd thought to bring some stationery,' says Texas, after we-all goes through our war-bags in vain, 'we might open some successful negotiations with this person.As it is, however, we're plumb up ag'inst it, an' I reckon, Boggs, he'll have to hang without you an' him bein' formally introdooced.' "'Jest the same, I wishes,'
says Dave Tutt, 'that Doc Peets or Enright was along.They'd shore dig somethin' outen this citizen.' "'Mebby he's got papers in his wamus,' says Boggs, 'which onfolds concernin' him.Go through him, Texas, anyhow: "All Texas can find on the dumb man is one letter;the postmark: when we comes to decipher the same, shows he only gets it that mornin'.Besides this yere single missif that a-way, thar ain't a scrap of nothin' else to him; nor yet no wealth.
"'Tell us what's in the letter,' says Texas, turnin' the document over to Boggs.'Read her out, Dan; I'd play the hand, but I has to ride herd on the culprit.'
"'I can't read it,' says Boggs, handin' the note to Tutt; 'I can't read readin', let alone writin'.But I'm free to say, even without hearin' that document none, that I shorely hesitates to string this party up.Bein' tongueless, an' not hearin' a lick more'n adders, somehow he keeps appealin' to me like he's locoed.'
"'Which if you ever has the pleasure to play some poker with him,'
says Tutt, as he onfolds the paper, 'like I do three nights ago, you wouldn't be annoyin' yourse'f about his bein' locoed.I finds him plenty deep an' wary, not to say plumb crafty.Another thing, it's plain he not only gets letters, but we-all sees him write about his drinks to Black Jack, the Red Light barkeep, an' sim'lar plays.'
"By this time, Tutt's got the letter open, an' is gettin' ready to read.The dumb man's been standin' thar all the time, with his arms roped behind him, an' lookin' like hope has died; an' also like he ain't carin' much about it neither.When Tutt turns open the letter, I notices the tears kind o' start in his eyes, same as if he's some affected sentimental.
"'Which this yere commoonication is plenty brief,' says Tutt, as he rums his eye over it.'She's dated "Casa Grande," an' reads as follows, to wit:
"'Dear Ben: Myra is dyin'; come at once.A." "'Now, whoever do you reckon this yere Myra is?' asks Tutt, lookin' 'round.'she's cashin'
in, that's obvious; an' I'm puttin' it up she's mighty likely a wife or somethin' of this yere dumb party.' "'That's it,' says Boggs.'He gets this word that Myra's goin' over the big divide, an' bein' he's gone broke entire on faro-bank, he plunges over to the corral an'
rustles Thompson's hoss.Onder sech circumstances, I ain't none shore he's respons'ble.I take-it thar ain't much doubt but Myra's his wife that a-way, in which event my idee is he only borrys Thompson's pinto.Which nacherally, as I freely concedes, this last depends on Myra's bein' his wife.' "'Oh, not necessarily,' says Texas Thompson; 'thar's a heap of wives who don't jestify hosstealiil' a little bit.Now I plays it open, Myra's this dumb gent's mother, an' on sech a theery an' that alone, I removes the lariat from his arms an' throws him loose.But don't try to run no wife bluff on me; I've been through the wife question with a blazin'
pine-knot in my hand, an' thar's nothin' worth while concealed tharin.' "'Which I adopts the ainendiricnt,' says Boggs, 'an' on second thought, I strings my chips with Texas, that this yere Myra's his mother.I've got the money that says so.' "'At any rate,' says Tutt, 'from all I sees, I reckons it's the general notion that we calls this thing a draw.We can't afford to go makin' a preecedent of hangin' a gent for hoss-stealin' who's only doin' his best to be present at this Myra's fooneral, whoever she may be.It's a heap disgustin', however, that we can't open up a talk with this party.
Which I now notes by the address his name is McIntyre.' "An' so it turns out that in no time, from four gents who's dead set to hang this dumb man as a boss-thief, we turns into a sympathetic outfit which is diggin' holes for his escape.It all dovetails in with what my scientist says this mornin' about them moral epidemics,' an'
things goin' that a-way in waves.For, after all, Myra or no Myra, this yere dumb man steals that pinto hoss."However, whether it's right or wrong, we turns the dumb man free.Not only that, but Boggs gets out of the saddle an' gives him his pony to pursoo them rambles with."'I gives it to him because it's the best pony in the outfit,'
says Boggs, lookin' savage at us, as he puts the bridle in the dumb gent's hands.'It can run like a antelope, that pony can; an' that's why I donates it to this dumb party.Once he's started, even if we-all changes our moods, he's shore an' safe away for good.Moreover, a gent whose mother's dyin', can't have too good a hoss.If he don't step on no more cactus, an' half rides, he's doo to go chargin' into Casa Grande before they loses Myra, easy.'"
