," he went on, and the
rolling intonation fell from his tongue like a faint breath from the
green isle itself, "I reckon I did it just to show my friends what a
measly, coyote, white-livered, tackey, ornery, spavined, colicky,
mangy, blitherin' sort of a beast I am. Sure, now, Judge, I just
wanted everybody to know what a gee-whillikined damn fool I can be if
I try. And they know, now. Oh, yes, they know. There's nothin' more I
can tell. Hold on, Judge! Sure, and I'm thinkin' it all came along of
the way I mixed my drinks yesterday when I first struck the Palmleaf.
I had beer, and whisky, and some mint juleps, yes, and maybe a
cocktail, and I think there was some more beer--yes, there was more
beer, and I think likely that I had some brandy up there in that sick
man's room. For I seem to remember that I took a drink of brandy
because it was goin' to kill him if he drank it, and so I took it in
his place. Yes, I must have had some brandy, sure, because nothin' but
brandy will set me up that way. Now, just look at that, Judge! Ain't
that a fine lay-out for a man to swallow that knows better? If I'd
never been inside a saloon before there'd be some excuse. But me
a-mixin' my drinks like that! It's plumb ridiculous!"

"Jim Halliday isn't sorry you did it. He's as proud as a boy with his
first pants over the haul he made yesterday. I hear he's going to be
measured for a brand-new, tailor-made cartridge belt and six-shooter
as a memento of the occasion."

"He'd better hurry up, then, before the occasion turns a back
somersault on him. I reckon what he needs most is a new hat that will
be about six sizes too big for him a week from now. Jim Halliday's all
right as long as he keeps to his own side of the street, but he'd
better not come over here or he'll be filled so full of bullets that
he won't know himself from a dice box. Say, Judge, what's become of
that John Chiny's pigtail they say I cut off?"

"I suppose it's in the hands of the district attorney and will be
brought in as part of the evidence when your case is tried."

"Harry Gillam's got it, has he? Well, I want it myself. It's mine, and
I want it as a reminder not to mix my drinks. What had I better do
about this business, Judge?"

"There's only one thing you can do, Nick--plead guilty and throw
yourself on the mercy of the court, and trust to your confounded Irish
luck to get you off easy."

Nick Ellhorn sent a telegram to Thomson Tuttle to return as quickly