in' the glass. 'I'm
for water, Doc, licker makin' me that ornery.'

"'Down with it,' urges Peets. 'Which, if I'm a jedge, you'll pack in
long before you're due to start anything extra serious, even if you
drinkt a gallon.'

"'Shore!' agrees Dead Shot, as though the idee brings him relief. 'For
a moment it slips my mind about me bein' plugged. But as I'm sayin',
gents, don't blame her. An' don't blame him. I has my chance, an' has
it all framed up, too, when I crosses up with 'em recent over in
Tucson, to kill 'em both. But I can't do it, gents. The six-shooter at
sech a time's played out. That's straight; it don't fill the bill; it
ain't adequate, that a-way. So all I can do is feel sorry for 'em, an'
never let 'em know I knows. For, after all, it ain't their fault, it's
mine. You sports see that, don't you? She's never meant for me, bein'
too fine; an', me a man, I ought to have knowed.'

"Dead Shot ceases talkin', an' Enright glances at Peets. Peets shakes
his head plenty sorrowful.

"'Go on,' he says to Dead Shot; 'you-all wants us to do--what?'

"'Thar you be!' an' at the sound of Peets' voice Dead Shot's mind
comes creepin' back to camp. 'She'll be happy with him--they havin' so
much in common--an' him an' her bein' eddicated that a-way--an' him
havin' traveled a whole lot! An' this yere's what I wants, gents. I
wants you-all, as a kindness to me an' in a friendly way--seein' I
can't stay none to look-out the play myse'f--to promise to sort o'
supervise round an' put them nuptials over right. I takes time by the
forelock an' sends to Tucson for a sky-pilot back two days ago. Bar
accidents, he'll be in camp by to-morry. He can work in at the
funeral, too, an' make it a whipsaw.'

"Dead Shot turns his eyes on Enright. It's always so about our old
chief; every party who's in trouble heads for him like a coyote for a
camp fire.

"'You'll shore see that he marries her?--Promise!'

"Thar's a quaver in Dead Shot's voice, Peets tells me, that's like a
pra'r.

"'Thar's my hand, Dead Shot,' says Enright, who's chokin' a little.
'So far as the letter man's concerned, it'll be the altar or the
windmill, Jack Moore an' a lariat or that preacher party you refers
to.'

"Dead Shot's gettin' mighty weak. After Enright promises he leans back
like he's takin' a rest. He's so still they're beginnin' to figger
he's done cashed in; but all at once he starts up like he's
overlooked some bet, an' has turned back from eternit