Magdalena hustles us some grub; after which we-all smokes a bit.
Then the padre gets up an' leads the way.
"'"Come, my children," says the padre, "I will show you the graves.
Then you shall hear what there is of the Senor Juan an' the Donna Anna.""'It's a set-back,' continyoos Enright, as he signals Black Jack the barkeep to show us he's awake; 'it's shorely a disaster that some book-instructed gent like Peets or Colonel Sterett don't hear this padre when he makes them revelations that day.Not that I overlooks a bet, or don't recall 'em none; but I ain't upholstered with them elegancies of diction needed to do 'em justice now.My language is roode an' corrupted with years of sech surroundin's as cattle an'
kyards.It's too deeply freighted with the slang of the plains an'
the faro-banks to lay forth a tale of love an' tenderness, as the o'casion demands.Of course, I can read an' write common week-day print; but when thar's a call for more, I'm mighty near as illit'rate that a-way as Boggs.'
"'Which, as you su'gests, I'm plumb ignorant,' admits Boggs, 'but it ain't the fault none of my bringin' up neither.It jest looks like Inever can learn print nohow when I'm young.I'm simply born book-shy, an' is terrified at schools from my cradle.An', say! I'm yere to express my regrets at them weaknesses.If I was a eddicated gent like Doc Peets is, you can put down all you has, I'd be the cunnin'est wolf that ever yelps in Cochise County.'
"'An' thar ain't no doubt of that, Boggs,' observes Enright, as he reorganizes to go ahead with them Donna Anna mem'ries of his.'Which if you only has a half of Peets' game now, you'd be the hardest thing--mental--to ride that ever invades the Southwest.Nacherally, an' in a wild an' ontrained way, you're wise.But to rcsoome: As much as I can, I'll give the padre in his own words.He takes us out onder a huddle of pine trees, where thar's two graves side by side, an' with a big cross of wood standin' gyard at the head.Thar's quite a heap o' rocks, about as big as your shet hand, heaped up on 'em.It's the Mexicans does that.Every Greaser who goes by, says a pray'r, an' tosses a rock on the grave.When we-all is camped comfortable, the padre begins.
