"'He's too simooltaneous, is Toothpick,' says Jack Moore once, when him an' Boggs is discoursin' together, sizin' up Toothpick. 'He's that simooltaneous he comes mighty near bein' a whole lot too adjacent.'
"What does Toothpick do that time we-all disapproves an' stampedes him? It's a accidental killin'.
"It's second drink time in the evenin', an' the Tucson stage is in. Thar's a passel of us who has roped up our mail, an' now we're standin' 'round in front of the Red Light, breakin' into letters an' papers, an' a-makin' of comments, when along wanders a party who's been picnicin' with the camp. As the deal turns, he never does stay long nohow; never long enough to become a 'genial 'quaintance an' a fav'rite of all.'
"This party who comes sidlin' up is, as we hears, late from Red Dog; an' doorin' them four hours wherein he confers his society onto us, he stays drunk habityooal an' never does lapse into bein' sober for a second. It's shore remark'ble, now, how all them Red Dog people stays intox'cated while they sojourns in Wolfville. Never knows it to fail; an' I allows, as a s'lootion that a-way, it's owin' to the sooperior merits of our nose-paint. It's a compliment they pays us.
"However, this Red Dog gent's drinkin' is his own affairs. An' his earnestness about licker may have been his system; then ag'in it may not; I don't go pryin' none to determine. But bein' he's plumb drunk, as you readily discerns, it keeps up a barrier ag'in growin' intimate with this party; an' ontil Toothpick opens on him, his intercourse with Wolfville is nacherally only formal.
"This visitor from Red Dog—which Red Dog itse'f is about as low- flung a bunch of crim'nals as ever gets rounded up an' called a camp—but, as I'm sayin', this totterin' wreck I mentions comes stragglin' up, more or less permiscus an' vague, an', without sayin' a word or makin' a sign, or even shakin' a bush, stands about lariat distance away an' star's at Toothpick, blinkin' his eyes mighty malevolent.
"It ain't no time when this yere bluff on the part of the drinkin'
Red Dog gent attracts Toothpick, who's been skirmishin' 'round among
us where we're standin', an' is at that time mentionin' Freighter's
Stew, as a good thing to eat, to Dave Tutt.
"'Who be you-all admirin' now?' asks Toothpick of the Red Dog party, who's glarin' towards him. It's then I notes the lights begin to dance in Toothpick's eyes; with that impulsive sperit of his, he's doo to become abrupt with our visitor at the drop of the hat.
"That Red Dog gent don't make no retort, but stands thar with his eyes picketed on Toothpick like he's found a victim. Toothpick is fidgetin' on his feet, with his thumbs stuck in his belt; which this last is a bad symptom, as it leaves a gent's artillery easy to reach.
"It strikes me at the time that it's even money thar's goin' to be some shootin'. I don't then nor now know why none. But that ignorance is common about shootin's; two times in three nobody ever does know why.
"I reckons now it's Toothpick's fidgetin' makes me suspicious he's on the brink of rousin' the o'casion with his six-shooter. Which if he's cool an' ca'm, it would never come to me that a-way; a cool gent never pulls the first gun, leastways never when the pretext is friv'lous an' don't come onder the head of 'Must'.
"'Well.' savs Toothpick ag'in, 'whatever be you-all gloatin' over, I asks? Or, mebby you're thinkin' of 'doptin' me as a son or somethin'?' says Toothpick.
"Still the party from Red Dog don't say nothin'. As Toothpick ceases, however, this Red Dog person makes a move, which is reasonable quick, for his hip. He's got on a long coat, an' while no gent can see, thar's none of us has doubts but he is fully dressed, an' that he's searchin' out his Colt's.
"That's what Toothpick allows; an' the Red Dog party's hand ain't traveled two inches onder his surtoot, when Toothpick cuts free his '44, an' the Red Dog party hits the ground, face down, like a kyard jest dealt.
"Yes, he's dead enough; never does kick or flutter once. It's shorely a shot in the cross.
"`Do you-all note how he tries to fill his hand on me?' asks
Toothpick, mighty cheerful.
"Toothpick stoops down for the Red Dog man's gun, an' what do you- all think? He don't have no weapon, none whatever; nothin' more vig'rous than a peaceful flask of whiskey, which the same is still all safe in his r'ar pocket.
"'He warn't heeled!' says Toothpick, straightenin' up an' lookin' at us apol'getic an' disgusted.
"It's jestice to Toothpick to say, I never yet overtakes that gent who's more abashed an' discouraged than he is when he finds this person ain't packin' no gun. He surveys the remainder a second, an' says:
"'Gents, if ever the licker for the camp is on Toothpick Johnson, it's now. But thar's one last dooty to perform touchin' deceased. It's evident, departed is about to ask me to drink. It's this yere motion he makes for his whiskey which I mistakes for a gun play. Thar I errs, an' stacks up this Red Dog person wrong. Now that I onderstands, while acknowledgin' my fal'cies, the least I can do is to respect deceased's last wishes. I tharfore," says Toothpick, raisin' the Red Dog party's flask, "complies with what, if I hadn't interrupted him, would have been his last requests. An' regrettin' I don't savey sooner, I drinks to him."
"No," concluded the Old Cattleman, "as I intimates at the go-off, Toothpick don't stay long after that. No one talks of stringin' him for what's a plain case of bad jedgment, an' nothin' more. But still, Wolfville takes a notion ag'in him, an' don't want him 'round none. So he has to freight out.
"'You are all right, Toothpick, speakin' gen'ral,' says Old Man Enright, when him an' Doc Peets an' Jack Moore comes up on Toothpick to notify him it's the Stranglers' idee he'd better pack his wagons an' hit the trail, "but you don't hold your six-shooter enough in what Doc Peets yere calls 'abeyance.' Without puttin' no stain on your character, it's right to say you ain't sedentary enough, an' that you-all is a heap too soon besides. In view, tharfore, of what I states, an' of you droppin' this yere Red Dog gent—not an ounce of iron on him at the time!—while we exonerates, we decides without a dissentin' vote to sort o' look 'round the camp for you to-morry, say at sundown, an' hang you some, should you then be present yere. That's how the herd is grazin', Toothpick: an' if you're out to commit sooicide, you'll be partic'lar to be with us at the hour I names.'"
CHAPTER VI.
The Wolfville Daily Coyote.
You-all remembers back," said the Old Cattleman, "that yeretofore I su'gests how at some appropriate epock, I relates about the comin' of Colonel William Greene Sterett an' that advent of Wolfville's great daily paper, the Coyote."
It was evening and sharply in the wake of dinner. We were gathered unto ourselves in my friend's apartments. In excellent mood to hear of Colonel Sterett and his celebrated journal, I eagerly assured him that his promise in said behalf was fresh and fragrant in my memory, and that I trusted he would find present opportunity for its redemption. Thus encouraged, the old gentleman shoved the box of cigars towards me, poured a generous glass, and disposed himself to begin.
"Red Dog in a sperit of vain competition," observed my friend, "starts a paper about the same time Colonel Sterett founds the Coyote; an', son, for a while, them imprints has a lurid life! The Red Dog paper don't last long though; it lacks them elements of longevity which the Coyote possesses, an' it ain't runnin' many weeks before it sort o' rots down all at once, an' the editor jumps the game.
"It's ever been a subject of dissensions between Colonel Sterett an' myse'f as to where impartial jestice should lay the blame of that Red Dog paper's failure. Colonel Sterett charges it onto the editor; but it's my beliefs, an' I'm j'ined tharin by Boggs an' Texas Thompson, that no editor could flourish an' no paper survive in surroundin's so plumb venomous an' p'isen as Red Dog. Moreover, I holds that Colonel Sterett, onintentional no doubt, takes a ja'ndiced view of that brother publisher. But I rides ahead of my tale.
"Thar comes a day when Old Man Enright heads into the Red Light, where we-all is discussin' of eepisodes, an' he packs a letter in his hand.
"'Yere's a matter,' he says, 'of publi
c concern, an' I asks for a full expression of the camp for answer. Yere's a sharp by the name of Colonel William Greene Sterett, who writes me as how he's sufferin' to let go all holts in the States an' start a paper in Wolfville. It shall be, he says, a progressif an' enlightened journal, devoted to the moral, mental an' material upheaval of this yere commoonity, an' he aims to learn our views. Do I hear any remarks on this litteratoor's prop'sition?' "Tell him to come a- runnin', Enright," says Jack Moore; "an' draw it strong. If thar's one want which is slowly but shorely crowdin' Wolfville to the wall, it's a dearth of literatoor; yere's our chance, an' we plays it quick an high."
"I ain't so gala confident of all this," says Dan Boggs. "I'm sort o' allowin' this hamlet's too feeble yet for a paper. Startin' a paper in a small camp this a-way is like givin' a six-shooter to a boy; most likely he shoots himse'f, or mebby busts the neighbor, tharwith."
"Oh, I don't know,' says Doc Peets, who, I wants to say, is as sudden a white man, mental, as I ever sees; "my notion is to bring him along. The mere idee of a paper'll do a heap for the town."
"I'm entertainin' sentiments sim'lar,' says Enright; "an' I guess I'll write this Colonel Sterett that we'll go him once if we lose. I'm assisted to this concloosion by hearin', the last time I'm in Tucson, that Red Dog, which is our rival, is out to start a paper, in which event it behooves Wolfville to split even with 'em at the least."
"That's whatever!" says Moore. "If we allows Red Dog to put it onto us that a-way we might jest as well dissolve Wolfville as a camp, an' reepair to the woods in a body."
"Enright sends Colonel Sterett word, an' in four weeks he comes packin in his layout an' opens up his game. Colonel Sterett, personal, is a broad, thick, fine-seemin' gent, with a smooth, high for'ead, grey eyes, an' a long, honest face like a hoss. The Colonel has a far-off look in his eyes, like he's dreamin' of things sublime, which Doc Peets says is the common look of lit'rary gents that a-way. Texas Thompson, however, allows he witnesses the same distant expression in the eyes of a foogitive from jestice.
"Colonel Sterett makes a good impression. He evolves his journal an' names it the Coyote, a name applauded by us all. I'll read you a few of them earliest items; which I'm able to give these yere notices exact, as I preserves a file of the Coyote complete. I shorely wouldn't be without it; none whatever!
"Miss Faro Nell, Wolfville's beautiful and accomplished society belle, condescended to grace the post of lookout last night for the game presided over by our eminent townsman, Mr. Cherokee Hall.
"Ain't it sweet?" says Faro Nell, when she reads it. "I thinks it's jest lovely. The drinks is on me, barkeep." Then we goes on:
"Mr. Samuel Johnson Enright, a namesake of the great lexicographer, and the Lycurgus of Wolfville, paid a visit to Tucson last week.
"Any person possessing leisure and a stack of chips can adventure the latter under conditions absolutely equitable with that distinguished courtier of fortune, Mr. Cherokee Hall.
"If Mr. John Moore, our efficient Marshal, will refrain from pinning his targets for pistol practice to the exterior of our building, we will bow our gratitude when next we meet. The bullets go right through.
"We were distressed last week to note that Mr. James Hamilton, the gentlemanly and urbane proprietor of Wolfville's temple of terpsichoir (see ad, in another column) had changed whiskeys on us, and was dispensing what seemed to our throat a tincture of the common carpet tack of commerce. It is our hope that Mr. H., on seeing this, will at once restore the statu quo at his justly popular resort.
"A reckless Mexican was parading the street the other night carrying in his hand a monkey wrench. It was dark, and Mr. Daniel Boggs, a leading citizen of Wolfville, who met him, mistaking the wrench for a pistol which the Mexican was carrying for some vile purpose, very properly shot him. Mexicans are far too careless this way.
"The O. K. Restauraw is one of the few superior hostelries of the Territory. Mrs. Rucker, its charming proprietress, is a cook who might outrival even that celebrated chef, now dead, M. Soyer. Her pies are poems, her bread an epic, and her beans a dream, Mrs. Rucker has cooked her way to every heart, and her famed establishment is justly regarded as the bright particular gem in Wolfville's municipal crown.
"It is not needed for us to remind our readers that Wolfville possesses in the person of that celebrated practitioner of medicine, Mr. Cadwallader Peets, M. D., a scientist whose fame is world-wide and whose renown has reached to furthest lands. Doctor Ports has beautifully mounted the skull of that horse-stealing ignobility, Bear Creel. Stanton, who recently suffered the punishment due his many crimes at the hands of our local vigilance committee, a tribunal which under the discerning leadership of President Enright, never fails in the administration of justice. Doctor Peets will be glad to exhibit this memento mori to all who care to call. Doctor Peets, who is eminent as a phrenologist, avers that said skull is remarkable for its thickness, and that its conformation points to the possession by Bear Creek, while he wore it, of the most powerful natural inclinations to crime. From these discoveries of Doctor Peets, the committee which suspended this felon to the windmill is to be congratulated on acting just in time. It seems plain from the contour of this skull that it would not have been long, had not the committee intervened, before Bear Creek would have added murder to horse larceny, and to-day the town might be mourning the death of a valued citizen instead of felicitating itself over the taking-off of a villain whose very bumps indict and convict him with every fair and enlightened intelligence that is brought to their contemplation.
"Our respected friend and subscriber, Mr. David Tutt, and his beautiful and accomplished lady, Mrs. David Tutt, nee Tucson Jennie, have returned from their stay in Silver City. Last night in honor of their coming, and to see their friends, this amiable and popular pair gave an At Home. There was every form of refreshment, and joy and merriment was unconfined. Miss Faro Dell was admittedly the belle of this festive occasion, and Diana would have envied her as, radiant and happy, she led the grand march leaning on the arm of Mr. Cherokee Hall. By request of Mr. Daniel Boggs, the 'Lariat Polka' was added to the programme of dances, as was also the 'Pocatello Reel' at the instance of Mr. Texas Thompson. As the ball progressed, and at the particular desire of those present, Mr. Boggs and Mr. Thompson entertained the company with that difficult and intricate dance known as the 'Mountain Lion Mazourka,' accompanying their efforts with spirited vocalisms meant to imitate the defiant screams of a panther on its native hills. These cries, as well as the dance itself, were highly realistic, and Messrs. B. and T. were made the recipients of many compliments. Mr. and Mrs. Tutt are to be congratulated on the success of the function; to fully describe its many excellent features would exhaust encomium.
"Which we reads the foregoin' with onmixed pleasure, an' thar ain't a gent but who's plumb convinced that a newspaper, that a-way, is the bulwark of civilizations an' corner-stone of American institootions, which it's allowed to be by the voices of them ages.
"'This yere imprint, the Coyote,' says Jack Moore, 'is a howlin' triumph, an' any gent disposed can go an' make a swell bet on it with every certainty of a-killin'. Also, I remembers yereafter about them bullets.'
"Meanwhile, like I states prior, Red Dog has its editor, who whirls loose a paper which he calls the Stingin' Lizard. The Red Dog sheet ain't a marker to Colonel Sterett's Coyote, an' it's the yooniversal idee in Wolfville, after ca'mly comparin' the two papers, that Colonel Sterett as a editor can simply back that Red Dog person plumb off the ground.
"It ain't no time before Colonel Sterett an' the Red Dog editor takes to cirklin' for trouble, an' the frightful names they applies to each other in their respectif journals, an' the accoosations an' them epithets they hurls, would shore curdle the blood of a grizzly b'ar.
"An' as if to complicate the sityooation for that onhappy sport who's gettin' out the Red Dog Stingin' Lizard, he begins to have trouble local. Thar's a chuck-shop at Red Dog—it's a plumb low j'int; I never knows it to have any grub better tha
n beans, salt pig an' airtights,—which is called the Abe Lincoln House, an' is kept by a party named Pete Bland. Which this yere Bland also owns a goat, the same bein' a gift of a Mexican who's got in the hole to Bland an' squar's accounts that a-way.
"This goat is jest a simple-minded, every-day, common kind of a goat; but he's mighty thorough in his way, allers on the hustle, an' if he ever overlooks a play, no one don't know it. One day, when the Red Dog editor is printin' off his papers, up comes the goat, an' diskyardin' of the tin-can which he's chewin', he begins debauchin' of himse'f with this yere edition of the Stingin' Lizard. It's mighty soon when the editor discovers it an' lays for the goat permiscus; he goes to chunkin' of him up a whole lot. The goat's game an' declar's himse'f, an' thar starts a altercation with the editor an' the goat, of which thar's no tellin' the wind-up, an' which ends only when this yere Bland cuts in, an' the goat's drug Borne. The paper is stopped an' the editor puts in this:
"Our presses are stopped to-day to say that if the weak-minded person who maintains the large, black goat which infests our streets, does not kill the beast, we will. To-day, while engaged in working off our mammoth edition out back of our building, the thievish creature approached unnoticed and consumed seventeen copies of the Stingin' Lizard.
"Which this yere Bland gets incensed at this, an' puts it up the editor can't eat with him no more. But better counsel smooths it over, an' at last this Bland forgives the editor, an' all is forgot. The goat, however, never does; an' he stamps his foot an' prowls 'round for a fracas every tine him an' that editor meets.
"All this yere time Colonel Sterett an' this same Red Dog editor maintains them hostilities. The way they lams loose at each other in their papers is a terror. I allers reckons Colonel Sterett gets a heap the best of this yere mane-chewin'; we-all so regards it, an' so does he, an' he keeps his end up with great sperit an' voylence.
"These yore ink-riots don't go on more'n two months, however, when Colonel Sterett decides that the o'casion calls for somethin' more explicit. As he says, 'Patience ceases to be trumps,' an' so he saddles up a whole lot an' rides over to Red Dog, personal. Colonel Sterett don't impart them plans of his to no one; he simply descends on his foe, sole an' alone, like that game an' chivalrous gent of bell letters which he shorely is; an', son, Colonel Sterett makes a example of that slander-mongerin' Red Dog editor.
Wolfville Days Page 6