ld brick
you're tryin' to buy.'

"At the time Dead Shot's standin' thar with his fam'ly in his arms,
Nell comes out on the Red Light steps to take a peek. Also, Missis
Rucker an' Tucson Jennie is hoverin' about all sim'lar. After Dead
Shot an' his bride has faded into their 'dobe, them three experts
holds a energetic consultation in the street. Of course, none of us
has the hardihood to go j'inin' in their deelib'rations, but from
what's said later we gets a slant at their concloosions.

"'Dead Shot's a mighty sight too good for her,' is how Missis Rucker
gives jedgment. 'It's peltin' pigs with pearls for him to go lovin'
her like he does.'

"Shore; bein' ladies that-a-way, Missis Rucker, Tucson Jennie an' Faro
Nell all visits Dead Shot's wife. But the feelin' is that they finds
her some stuck up an' haughty. This yere notion is upheld by Nell
callin' her a 'minx,' while Tucson Jennie alloodes to her as a 'cat'
on two sep'rate occasions.

"Dead Shot an' his doll-bride, in the beginnin', seems to be gettin'
along all right. It's only when thar's money goin' over, that Dead
Shot has to buckle on his guns an' ride out with the stage. This gives
him lots of time to hang 'round, an' worship her. Which I'm yere to
reemark that if ever a white man sets up an idol, that a-way, an' says
his pra'rs to it, that gent's Dead Shot. Thar's nothin' to it; prick
her finger, an' you pierce his heart.

"'It'd be beautiful if it wasn't awful,' says Faro Nell.

"It ain't a month when events lifts up their p'isin heads, which goes
to jestify them comments of Nell's. Thar's been a White House shift
back in Washington, an' a new postmaster's sent out. He's a dapper
party, with what Peets calls a 'Van Dyke' beard, an' smells like a
ha'r-dresser's shop.

"Now if affairs stops thar, we could have stood it; but they don't. I
abhors to say so, but it ain't two weeks before Dead Shot's wife's
makin' onmistak'ble eyes at that postmaster. Them times when Dead
Shot's dooties has took him to the other end of the trail, she's over
to the post office constant. None of us says anything, not even to
ourselves; but when it gets to whar she shoves you away from the
letter place, an' begins talkin' milk and honey to him right under
your nose, onless you're as blind as steeple bats, an' as deaf as the
adder of scriptoore which stoppeth her y'ear, you're shore bound to do
some thinkin'.

[Illustration: WE'RE ALL DISCUSSIN' THE DOIN'S OF THIS YERE ROAD