THE MAN FROM RED DOG.
"Let me try one of them thar seegyars."
It was the pleasant after-dinner hour, and I was on the veranda for a quiet smoke.The Old Cattleman had just thrown down his paper; the half-light of the waning sun was a bit too dim for his eyes of seventy years.
"Whenever I beholds a seegyar," said the old fellow, as he puffed voluminously at the principe I passed over, "I thinks of what that witness says in the murder trial at Socorro.
"'What was you-all doin' in camp yourse'f,' asks the jedge of this yere witness, 'the day of the killin'?'
"'Which,' says the witness, oncrossin' his laigs an' lettin' on he ain't made bashful an' oneasy by so much attentions bein' shown hire, 'which I was a-eatin' of a few sardines, a-drinkin' of a few drinks of whiskey, a-smokin' of a few seegyars, an' a-romancin'
'round.'"
After this abrupt, not to say ambiguous reminiscence, the Old Cattleman puffed contentedly a moment.
"What murder trial was this you speak of?" I asked."Who had been killed?""Now I don't reckon I ever does know who it is gets downed," he replied."This yere murder trial itse'f is news to me complete.They was waggin' along with it when I trails into Socorro that time, an'
I merely sa'nters over to the co't that a-way to hear what's goin'
on.The jedge is sorter gettin' in on the play while I'm listenin'.
"'What was the last words of this yere gent who's killed?' asks the jedge of this witness.
"'As nearly as I keeps tabs, jedge,' says the witness, `the dyin'
statement of this person is: "Four aces to beat."'
"'Which if deceased had knowed Socorro like I does,' says the jedge, like he's commentin' to himse'f, 'he'd shorely realized that sech remarks is simply sooicidal.'"Again the Old Cattleman relapsed into silence and the smoke of the principe.
"How did the trial come out?" I queried."Was the accused found guilty?""Which the trial itse'f," he replied, "don't come out.Thar's a passel of the boys who's come into town to see that jestice is done, an' bein' the round-up is goin' for'ard at the time, they nacherally feels hurried an' pressed for leesure.Theyalls oughter be back on the range with their cattle.So the fifth day, when things is loiterin' along at the trial till it looks like the law has hobbles on, an' the word goes round it's goin' to be a week yet before the jury gets action on this miscreant who's bein' tried, the boys becomes plumb aggravated an' wearied out that a-way; an', kickin' in the door of the calaboose, they searches out the felon, swings him to a cottonwood not otherwise engaged, an' the right prevails.
Nacherally the trial bogs down right thar."After another season of silence and smoke, the Old Cattleman struck in again.
"Speakn' of killin's, while I'm the last gent to go fosterin' idees of bloodshed, I'm some discouraged jest now by what I've been readin' in that paper about a dooel between some Eytalians, an' it shorely tries me the way them aliens plays hoss.It's obvious as stars on a cl'ar night, they never means fight a little bit.Iabhors dooels, an' cowers from the mere idee.But, after all, business is business, an' when folks fights 'em the objects of the meetin' oughter be blood.But the way these yere European shorthorns fixes it, a gent shorely runs a heap more resk of becomin' a angel abrupt, attendin' of a Texas cake-walk in a purely social way.
"Do they ever fight dooels in the West? Why, yes--some.My mem'ry comes a-canterin' up right now with the details of an encounter Ionce beholds in Wolfville.Thar ain't no time much throwed away with a dooel in the Southwest.The people's mighty extemporaneous, an'
don't go browsin' 'round none sendin' challenges in writin', an'
that sort of flapdoodle.When a gent notices the signs a-gettin'
about right for him to go on the war-path, he picks out his meat, surges up, an' declar's himse'f.The victim, who is most likely a mighty serious an' experienced person, don't copper the play by makin' vain remarks, but brings his gatlin' into play surprisin'.
Next it's bang! bang! bang! mixed up with flashes an' white smoke, an' the dooel is over complete.The gent who still adorns our midst takes a drink on the house, while St.Peter onbars things a lot an'
arranges gate an' seat checks with the other in the realms of light.
That's all thar is to it.The tide of life ag'in flows onward to the eternal sea, an' nary ripple.
"Oh, this yere Wolfville dooel! `Well, it's this a-way.The day is blazin' hot, an' business layin' prone an' dead--jest blistered to death.A passel of us is sorter pervadin' 'round the dance-hall, it bein' the biggest an' coolest store in camp.A monte game is strugglin' for breath in a feeble, fitful way in the corner, an'
some of us is a-watchin'; an' some a-settin' 'round loose a-thinkin'; but all keepin' mum an' still, 'cause it's so hot.
"Jest then some gent on a hoss goes whoopin' up the street a-yellin'
an' a-whirlin' the loop of his rope, an' allowin' generally he's havin' a mighty good time.
"'Who's this yere toomultuous man on the hoss?' says Enright, a-regardin' of him in a displeased way from the door.
"'I meets him up the street a minute back,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' he allows he's called "The Man from Red Dog." He says he's took a day off to visit us, an' aims to lay waste the camp some before he goes back.'
"About then the Red Dog man notes old Santa Rosa, who keeps the Mexican baile hall, an' his old woman, Marie, a-fussin' with each other in front of the New York Store.They's locked horns over a drink or somethin', an' is pow-wowin' mighty onamiable.
"'Whatever does this yere Mexican fam'ly mean,' says the Red Dog man, a-surveyin' of 'em plenty scornful, 'a-draggin' of their domestic brawls out yere to offend a sufferin' public for? Whyever don't they stay in their wickeyup an' fight, an' not take to puttin'
it all over the American race which ain't in the play none an' don't thirst tharfor? However, I unites an' reeconciles this divided household easy.'
