Part 11 (1/2)

”'That's my theology,' remarks Boggs, who has just come ramblin' in from the Noo York store, whar he's been changin' in a bundle of money for s.h.i.+rts; 'I recalls how, when I'm a prattlin' yearlin', hearin'

Parson Ed'ards of the Cambellite Church quotin' whar Cain gives it out cold that he's not his brother's keeper; an' even at that onthinkin'

age I fully endorses Cain's p'sition.'

”The talk takes in Black Jack, who, by virchoo of him bein' a barkeep, nacherally savvys a heap about the licker question. Jack reelates how a sot he knows back in Arkansaw is shocked into never takin' a drink, by simply blowin' his hand off accidental while tanked up.

”'Whang! goes the old Betsy,' says Jack, 'an' that slave to licker's shy his left hand. ”Which it lets me out!” he exclaims; an' datin'

from said catastrophy he'd no more tech nosepaint, that a-way, than he'd join the church.'

”'But it's doubtful,' observes Tutt, 'if Enright stands to let us shoot this yere Monte drunkard's hand off.'

”'It's ten to one he won't,' says Texas; 'still thar ought to be other schemes for shockin' a party into moral'ty, which stops short o'

cripplin' him for life.'

”'But is this yere inebriate worth the worry?' asks Boggs. 'Also, it sh.o.r.e strikes me as mighty gratooitous for us to go reorganizin' the morals of a plumb stranger, an' him not even asked.'

”'Which he's worth the worry all right,' Texas replies. 'Thar's no efforts too great, when thar's a chance to save a party who has the same thorough onderstandin' of ladies which this gent has.'

”Up over the Red Light bar is a stuffed bobcat, the same bein' held as decorative. Only the day before Texas and Tutt stands talkin', a couple of Enright's riders comes packin' a live bobcat into town, which between 'em they ropes up over in the foothills of the Tres Hermanas, an' jams labor'ously into a pa'r of laiggin's. The same idee seizes on Texas an' Tutt yoonanimous. They sees that it only calls for the intelligent use of that Bar-8 bobcat, which them cow-punchers of Enright's ties down, to reegen'rate Monte, an' make him white as snow.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A COUPLE OF ENRIGHT'S RIDERS COMES A PACKIN' A LIVE BOBCAT INTO TOWN. p. 118.]

”Monte's ain't present none, bein' over to the O. K. House. By bein'

plumb painstakin', Tutt an' Texas gets a collar onto the captive Bar-8 bobcat, an' chains him up over the Red Light bar, in place of the stuffed bobcat, deeposed. The Bar-8 bobcat jumps off once or twict before he learns, an' comes mighty clost to lynchin' himse'f. But Black Jack is patient, an' each time pokes him back with a cha'r.

After mebby the third jump, it gets p.r.o.ned into the bobcat that thar's nothin' in it for him to go hurlin' himse'f into s.p.a.ce that a-way, an'

bein' saved from death by hangin' only through the cha'r-laig meditations of Black Jack. Acceptin' this yere view, he stands pat on his shelf. Likewise, he sh.o.r.e looks mighty vivid up thar, an' has got that former stuffed predecessor of his beat four ways from the jack.

”We're hankerin' around, now the Bar-8 bobcat's organized, waitin' for Monte to come amblin' up, an' be reformed.

”'An' you can gamble,' Tutt says, 'that the shock it'll throw into him'll have a ben'ficial effect. Shootin' off a hand or so ain't in it with the way that drunkard's goin' to feel.'

”'That's the way I figgers,' Texas remarks. 'One glance at that bobcat, him on the verge of the treemors, an' thar'll a thrill go through his rum-soaked frame like the grace of heaven through a camp meetin'. For one, I antic'pate most excellent effects. Whatever do you think, Doc?'

”'Whatever do I think?' Peets repeats. 'Which I thinks that, as the orig'nators of this yere cure for the licker habit, it'll be up to you an' Dave to convey the patient to his room at the O. K. House, as soon as ever you can control his struggles.'

”Monte at last heaves in sight, an' comes s.h.i.+verin' up to the bar, every nerve as tight as a fiddle string. Black Jack shoves him the bottle.

”'What stuffed anamile sharp,' says Tutt, craftily directin' himself at Black Jack, 'mounts that bobcat up thar?'

”Monte nacherally raises his eyes. Thar's that Bar-8 feline, half-crouched, glarin' down on him with green eyes, big as moons.

”That settles it.

”Monte gives a yell which they hears in Red Dog. Wharupon the bobcat, takin' it for a threatenin' deemonstration, onfolds in an answerin'

yell, an' makes a scramblin' jump at Monte's head. Sh.o.r.e, he don't land none, bein' brought up short, like a roped pony. Thar he swings, cussin' an' spittin' an' clawin', as mad as a drunken squaw, an'

begins all over to hang himse'f afresh.

”Monte?

”That victim of appet.i.te falls to the floor as dead an' flat as a wet December leaf.