`Give us our six-shooters an throw us loose, an' if I don't lance the roof of his lyin' mouth with the front sight of my gun, I'll cash in for a hold-up or whatever else you-alls says.'
"'What do you say, Enright?' says Jack.'Let's give 'em their jewelry an' let 'em lope.I've got money as says the Wells-Fargo bill-paster can't take this old' Cimmaron a little bit.'
"'Which I trails in,' says Boggs, 'with a few chips on the same kyard.'
"'No,' says Enright, 'if this yere party's rustlin' the mails, we-alls can't call his hand too quick.Wolfville's a straight camp an'
don't back no crim'nal plays; none whatever.'
"Enright tharupon calls a meetin' of the Stranglers, an' we-alls lines out for the New York Store to talk it over.Before we done pow-wows two minutes up comes Old Monte, with the stage, all dust an' cuss-words, an' allows he's been stood up out by the cow springs six hours before, an' is behind the mail-bag an' the Adams Company's box on the deal.We-alls looks at Old Man Gentry, an' he shorely seems to cripple down."'Gentry,' says Peets, after Old Monte tells his adventures, 'I hears you tell Nell you was sleepin' all day.
S'pose you takes this yere committee to your budwer an' exhibits to us how it looks some.'
"'The turn's ag'in me,' says the old man, 'an' I lose.I'll cut it short for you-alls.I holds up that stage this afternoon myse'f.'
"'This yere's straight goods, I takes it,' says Enright, 'an' our dooty is plain.Go over to the corral an' get a lariat, Jack.'
"'Don't let Enright hang the old man, Cherokee,' says Nell, beginnin' to weep a whole lot.'Please don't let 'em hang him.'
"'This holdin' a gun on your friends ain't no picnic,' whispers Cherokee to Nell, an' flushin' up an' then turnin' pale, 'but your word goes with me, Nell.' Then Cherokee thinks a minute.'Now, this yere is the way we does,' he says at last.'I'll make 'em a long talk.You-all run over to the corral an' bring the best hoss you sees saddled.I'll be talkin' when you comes back, an' you creep up an' whisper to the old man to make a jump for the pony while Icovers the deal with my six-shooter.It's playin' it low on Enright an' Doc Peets an' the rest, but I'll do it for you, Nell.It all comes from them jacks up on eights.'
"With this, Cherokee tells Nell 'good-by,' an' squar's himse'f.He begins to talk, an' Nell makes a quiet little break for the corral.
"But no hoss is ever needed.Cherokee don't talk a minute when Old Gentry comes buckin' offen his chair in a 'pleptic fit.A 'pleptic fit is permiscus an' tryin', an' when Old Gentry gets through an'
comes to himse'f, he's camped jest this side of the dead line.He can only whisper.
"'Come yere,' says he, motionin' to Cherokee.'Thar's a stack of blues where I sets 'em on the ten open, which you ain't turned for none yet: Take all I has besides an' put with it.If it lose, it's yours; if it win, give it to the little girl.'
"This is all Old Gentry says, an' he cashes in the very next second on the list.
"Enright goes through'em, an' thar's over two thousand dollars in his war-bags; an', obeyin' them last behests, we-alls goes over to the Red Light an' puts it on the ten along of the stack of blues.
It's over the limit, but Cherokee proceeds with the deal, an' when it comes I'm blessed if the ten ain't loser an' Cherokee gets it all.
"'But I won't win none ag'in a dead man; says Cherokee.An' he gives it to Nell, who ain't sooperstitious.
"'Do you-alls b'ar in mind,' says Boggs, as we takes a drink later, 'how I foresees this yere racket the minute I hears Cherokee a-tellin' about his "Jacks up on eights"--the "hand the dead man holds?"'"
