fe'll come rackin' along _poco tiempo,'_ Dead Shot
remarks, after a pause. 'I'm yere as advance gyard to sling things
into shape.'

"It's as good as a toone of music to see how softly his face lights
up. He's as big an' wide an' thick an' strong as Boggs, an' yet it's
plain as paint that this yere wife of his, whoever she is, can jest
nacherally make curl-papers of him.

"That mention of a wife as usual sets Texas to growlin'.

"'Thar you be, Dan!' I overhears him whisper, same as if he's been
ill-treated; 'the instant this Dead-Shot says "Water" I'm onto it that
he's a married man. Water an' matrimony goes hand in hand.'

"'Now I don't see why none?' retorts Boggs.

"'Because water's weakenin'. Feed a sport on water, an' it's a cinch
he falls a prey to the first female who ropes at him.'

"'Thar's Dave,' Boggs argyoos, noddin' towards Tutt. 'Ain't he
drinkin' that time he weds Tucson Jennie?'

"'Dave's the exception. Also, you-all remembers them circumstances,
Dan. Dave don't marry Jennie; Jennie simply ups an' has him.'

"'All the same,' contends Boggs, 'I don't regyard Dead Shot's sobriety
as no drawback. Thar's lots of folks who's cap'ble of bein' sober an'
sociable at one an' the same time.'

"These yere low-voiced wranglin's between Texas an' Boggs is off to
one side. Meanwhile, the gen'ral confab proceeds.

"'You ain't been long hooked up?' says Doc Peets, addressin' Dead
Shot.

"'About a year. She's in the stage that time I has the trouble with
them hold-ups in the Black Range, an' she allows she likes my style.'

"'We-all hears about that Black Range battle,' remarks Enright.

"'It's a mighty lucky play for me,' says Dead Shot; 'I don't ree'lize
it while I'm workin' my winchester, but I'm winnin' a angel all the
time. That's on the level, gents! I never puts my arm 'round her yet,
but what I go feelin' for wings.'

"'Don't this make you sick?' Texas growls to Boggs.

"'No, it don't,' Boggs replies. 'On the contrary, I'm teched.'

"'Gents,' goes on Dead Shot, an' I sees his mustache tremble that
a-way; 'I don't mind confessin' she's that angelic I'm half afraid to
marry her. I ain't fine enough! It's like weddin' gunny-sack to
silk--me makin' her my wife. Which I shore has to think an' argyoo
with myse'f a whole lot, before I gets the courage. Ain't you-all ever
noticed'--yere he appeals 'round to Peets--'that every time you meets
up with a angel, thar's always some smoke-begrimed an' sin-encr