im'lar.'

"Cherokee turns out a big drink an' stands a-holdin' of it in his hand.
I wants to say right yere, this Cherokee's plenty guileful.

"'You was namin',' says Cherokee, 'some public improvements you aims to
make; sech as movin' this yere camp 'round some, I believes?'

"'That's whatever,' says the Red Dog man, 'an' the holycaust I
'nitiates is due to start in fifteen minutes.'

"'I've been figgerin' on you,' says Cherokee, 'an' I gives you the
result in strict confidence without holdin' out a kyard. When you-all
talks of tearin' up Wolfville, you're a liar an' a hoss-thief, an' you
ain't goin' to tear up nothin'.'

"'What's this I hears!' yells the frenzied Red Dog man, reachin' for
his gun.

"But he never gets it, for the same second Cherokee spills the glass of
whiskey straight in his eyes, an' the next he's anguished an' blind as
a mole.

"'I'll fool this yere human simoon up a lot,' says Cherokee, a-hurlin'
of the Red Dog man to the floor, face down, while his nine-inch bowie
shines in his hand like the sting of a wasp. 'I shore fixes him so he
can't get a job clerkin' in a store,' an' grabbin' the Red Dog man's
ha'r, which is long as the mane of a pony, he slashes it off close in
one motion.

"'Thar's a fringe for your leggin's, Nell,' remarks Cherokee, a-turnin'
of the crop over to Faro Nell. 'Now, Doc,' Cherokee goes on to Doc
Peets, 'take this yere Red Dog stranger over to the Red Light, fix his
eyes all right, an' then tell him, if he thinks he needs blood in this,
to take his Winchester an' go north in the middle of the street. In
twenty minutes by the watch I steps outen the dance-hall door a-lookin'
for him. P'int him to the door all fair an' squar'. I don't aim to
play nothin' low on this yere gent. He gets a chance for his ante.'

"Doc Peets sorter accoomilates the Red Dog man, who is cussin' an'
carryin' on scandalous, an' leads him over to the Red Light. In a
minute word comes to Cherokee as his eyes is roundin' up all proper,
an' that he's makin' war-medicine an' is growin' more hostile constant,
an' to heel himse'f. At that Cherokee, mighty ca'm, sends out for Jack
Moore's Winchester, which is an 'eight-squar',' latest model.

"'Oh, Cherokee!' says Faro Nell, beginnin' to cry, an' curlin' her arms
'round his neck. 'I'm 'fraid he's goin' to down you. Ain't thar no
way to fix it? Can't Dan yere settle with this Red Dog man?'

"'Cert,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' I makes the trip