a-way, to deloode you into
deemin' 'em as fresh from the States as one of them tomatter airtights.

"Thar's old gent Jeffords; he's that sort. Old Jeffords lives for long
with the Apaches; he's found among 'em when Gen'ral Crook--the old 'Grey
Fox'--an' civilisation and gatlin' guns comes into Arizona arm in arm. I
used to note old Jeffords hibernatin' about the Oriental over in Tucson.
I shore reckons he's procrastinatin' about thar yet, if the Great Sperit
ain't done called him in. As I says, old Jeffords is that long among the
Apaches back in Cochise's time that the mem'ry of man don't run none to
the contrary. An' yet no gent ever sees old Jeffords wearin' anything
more savage than a long-tail black surtoot an' one of them stove pipe
hats. Is Jeffords dangerous? No, you-all couldn't call him a distinct
peril; still, folks who goes devotin' themse'fs to stirrin' Jeffords up
jest to see if he's alive gets disasterous action. He has long grey ha'r
an' a tangled white beard half-way down his front; an' with that old plug
hat an' black coat he's a sight to frighten children or sour milk!
Still, Jeffords is all right. As long as towerists an' other inquisitive
people don't go pesterin' Jeffords, he shore lets 'em alone. Otherwise,
you might as well be up the same saplin' with a cinnamon b'ar; which
you'd most likely hear something drop a lot!

"For myse'f, I likes old Jeffords, an' considers him a pleasin'
conundrum. About tenth drink time he'd take a cha'r an' go camp by
himse'f in a far corner, an' thar he'd warble hymns. Many a time as I
files away my nosepaint in the Oriental have I been regaled with,

Jesus, Lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high,

as emanatin' from Jeffords where he's r'ared back conductin' some
personal services. Folks never goes buttin' in interferin' with these
concerts; which it's cheaper to let him sing.

"Speakin' of Injuns, as I su'gests, I never does see over-much of 'em in
Wolfville. An' my earlier experiences ain't thronged with 'em neither,
though while I'm workin' cattle along the Red River I does carom on
Injuns more or less. Thar's one old hostile I recalls speshul; he's a
fool Injun called Black Feather;--Choctaw, he is. This Black Feather's
weakness is fire-water; he thinks more of it than some folks does of
children.

"Black Feather used to cross over to where Dick Stocton maintains