"There's your peaceful prairie hanging, in
its early stage."

"What!" says he, sick and hot at the same time. "How can you speak of
the death of a human being so heartlessly? Let me go!"

"Hold!" says I. "You haven't heard me through. Perhaps you can be
more use than to run away and hide your eyes. I ain't got a' word to
say against quick law. I've seen her work, and she works to a point.
She beats having the lawyers sieving all the justice out of it. All
the same, they've been too careless around here--that, and a small bad
boy's desire to get their names up. I know one case where they hung a
perfectly innocent man, for fun, and to brag about it."

He looked at me steady. I had suspected him of being no coward, when
it comes to cases.

"Now," I says, "I don't know what that is down there. Perhaps it's all
right; then you and me has got to stand by. If not--well, by the
sacred photograph of Mary Ann, here's one roping that won't be an
undiluted pleasure. Now listen. I'm something of a high private, when
it comes to war, but no man is much more than one man, if the other
side's blood is bad. Give 'em to me cold, and I can throw a crimp into
'em, for I don't care a hoot at any stage of the game, and they do.
But when they're warm--why, a hole between the eyes will stop me just
as quick as though I wasn't Chantay Seeche Red. Are you with me? You
never took longer chances in your life."

He wet his lips, and didn't speak very loud nor steady, but he says:
"You lead."

"Well, hooray, Boston!" says I. "Beans is good food. Now don't take
it too serious till you have to. Perhaps there ain't more'n a laugh in
it. But--it's like smooth ice. How deep she is, you know when she
cracks, or don't. Be as easy as you can when we get up to 'em.
Nothing gained by bulling the ring. We must be prepared to look
pleasant and act very different. Turn your back and see that your toy
pistol is working."

Well, poor Burton! Wisht you seen him fumble his gun.

"I can't _see_ the thing," says he, kind of sniffling. "I'd give
something to be a man."

"You'll do for an imitation," I says. "Remember, I was born with red
hair; comes trouble, this hair of mine sheds a red light over the
landscape; I get happy-crazy; it's summer, and I can smell the flowers;
there's music a long ways off--why, I could sing this minute, but
there's no use in making matters worse. Honest, trouble makes me just
drunk enough to be li