"'Thar's a fringe for your leggin's, Nell,' remarks Cherokee, a-turnin' of the crop over to Faro Nell.'Now, Doc,' Cherokee goes on to Doc Peets, 'take this yere Red Dog stranger over to the Red Light, fix his eyes all right, an' then tell him, if he thinks he needs blood in this, to take his Winchester an' go north in the middle of the street.In twenty minutes by the watch I steps outen the dance-hall door a-lookin' for him.P'int him to the door all fair an' squar'.I don't aim to play nothin' low on this yere gent.
He gets a chance for his ante.'
"Doc Peets sorter accoomilates the Red Dog man, who is cussin' an'
carryin' on scand'lous, an' leads him over to the Red Light.In a minute word comes to Cherokee as his eyes is roundin' up all proper, an' that he's makin' war-medicine an' is growin' more hostile constant, an' to heel himse'f.At that Cherokee, mighty ca'm, sends out for Jack Moore's Winchester, which is an 'eight-squar',' latest model.
"'Oh, Cherokee!' says Faro Nell, beginnin' to cry, an' curlin' her arms 'round his neck.'I'm 'fraid he's goin' to down you.Ain't thar no way to fix it? Can't Dan yere settle with this Red Dog man?'
"'Cert,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' I makes the trip too gleeful.Jest to spar' Nell's feelin's, Cherokee, an' not to interfere with no gent's little game, I takes your hand an' plays it.'
"'Not none,' says Cherokee; 'this is my deal.Don't cry, Nellie,' he adds, smoothin' down her yaller ha'r.'Folks in my business has to hold themse'fs ready to face any game on the word, an' they never weakens or lays down.An' another thing, little girl; I gets this Red Dog sharp, shore.I'm in the middle of a run of luck; I holds fours twice last night, with a flush an' a full hand out ag'in 'em.'
"Nell at last lets go of Cherokee's neck, an', bein' a female an'
timid that a-way, allows she'll go, an' won't stop to see the shootin' none.We applauds the idee, thinkin' she might shake Cherokee some if she stays; an' of course a gent out shootin' for his life needs his nerve.
"Well, the twenty minutes is up; the Red Dog man gets his rifle offen his saddle an' goes down the middle of the street.Turnin' up his big sombrero, he squar's 'round, cocks his gun, an' waits.Then Enright goes out with Cherokee an' stands him in the street about a hundred yards from the Red Dog man.After Cherokee's placed he holds up his hand for attention an' says:
"'When all is ready I stands to one side an' drops my hat.You-alls fires at will.'
"Enright goes over to the side of the street, counts 'one,' 'two,'
'three,' an' drops his hat.Bangety! Bang! Bang! goes the rifles like the roll of a drum.Cherokee can work a Winchester like one of these yere Yankee 'larm-clocks, an' that Red Dog hold-up don't seem none behind.
"About the fifth fire the Red Dog man sorter steps for'ard an' drops his gun; an' after standin' onsteady for a second, he starts to cripplin' down at his knees.At last he comes ahead on his face like a landslide.Thar's two bullets plumb through his lungs, an' when we gets to him the red froth is comin' outen his mouth some plenteous.
"We packs him back into the Red Light an' lays him onto a monte-table.Bimeby he comes to a little an' Peets asks him whatever he thinks he wants.
"'I wants you-alls to take off my moccasins an' pack me into the street,' says the Red Dog man.'I ain't allowin' for my old mother in Missoury to be told as how I dies in no gin-mill, which she shorely 'bominates of 'em.An' I don't die with no boots on, neither.'
"We-alls packs him back into the street ag'in, an' pulls away at his boots.About the time we gets 'em off he sags back convulsive, an'
thar he is as dead as Santa Anna.
"'What sort of a game is this, anyhow?' says Dan Boggs, who, while we stands thar, has been pawin' over the Red Dog man's rifle.'Looks like this vivacious party's plumb locoed.Yere's his hind-sights wedged up for a thousand yards, an' he's been a-shootin' of cartridges with a hundred an' twenty grains of powder into 'em.
Between the sights an' the jump of the powder, he's shootin' plumb over Cherokee an' aimin' straight at him.'
"'Nellie,' says Enright, lookin' remorseful at the girl, who colors up an' begins to cry ag'in, 'did you cold-deck this yere Red Dog sport this a-way?'
"'I'm 'fraid,' sobs Nell, 'he gets Cherokee; so I slides over when you-alls is waitin' an' fixes his gun some.'
"'Which I should shorely concede you did,' says Enright.'The way that Red Dog gent manip'lates his weepon shows he knows his game;an' except for you a-settin' things up on him, I'm powerful afraid he'd spoiled Cherokee a whole lot.'
"'Well, gents,' goes on Enright, after thinkin' a while, 'I reckons we-alls might as well drink on it.Hist'ry never shows a game yet, an' a woman in it, which is on the squar', an' we meekly b'ars our burdens with the rest.'"
