fts him over a
six-foot 'dobe fence, same as if he's a bag of bran; an' all apropos
of nothin'. Boggs says himse'f he don't know why none. He's thinkin'
of something else at the time, he declar's, an' the eepisode don't
leave no partic'lar traces on his mem'ry. The trooth is, it's that
veehement an' onmuzzled nosepaint, incitin' him to voylence.

"Is the Mexican hurt?

"Which, if I remembers rightly, Peets does mention about a busted
collarbone. But it don't create no interest--him bein' a Mexican. You
see, thar's a feelin', amountin' fa'rly to a onwritten law, that
Mexicans ain't got no rightful call to be seen in public no how; an'
when one does go pirootin' round permiscus, in voylation of this yere
tenet, nacherally he takes his chances. You-all can gamble, though,
that Boggs shore never would have reached for him, only he's
actchooated by that whiskey.

"As modest an' retirin' a sperit as Cherokee, to whom any form of
boastful bluff is plumb reepellant, subscribes to a mod'rate snifter
of that licker; an' in less time than it takes to rope a pony, he's
out in front of the Red Light, onbucklin' in a display of pistol
shootin'. Thar's a brace of towerists in camp, an' Cherokee let's on
he'll show 'em. Which he shore shows 'em! He tosses two tomatter cans
on high, an' with a gun in each hand keeps 'em dancin' an' jumpin'
about in the atmosphere ontil thar's six bullets through each. It's a
heap satisfyin' as a performance, as far as them pop-eyed towerists is
concerned, an' both leaves town that evenin' by speshul buckboard.

"Onaffected by that licker, Cherokee wouldn't have no more gone an'
made sech a spectacle of himse'f, though urged tharunto by the
yoonanimous voice of the outfit. When he so far recovers as to
'ppreeciate what Faro Nell has to say of them exploits--an', while
tender, she's plenty explicit--he comes mighty clost to blushin'
himse'f to death.

"It's after we notes what it does to Cherokee, an' hears of them
exhibitions of broote force by Boggs, that we gets timid about this
yere whisky, an' Enright orders the bar'l sent back. An' right he is!
S'ppose them Red Dogs was to have come prancin' over for a social
call, an' s'ppose in entertainin' 'em we all inadvertent has recourse
to that partic'lar licker, whatever do you-all reckon 'd have been the
finish? Son, thar'd have been one of them things they calls a
catyclism, an' nothin' short.

"It's shore a fightin' form of licker. Tutt reeserves