We-alls gets our forty
drops, an' sorter stands pat tharon in silence, waitin' for Enright
to onfold his game. We shore knows if thar's a trail he'll find it.
"'I Gents,' he says at last,--an' it seems like he's sorry an' hurt
that a-way,--'I'll not drift into them harrowin' differences which
has rent asunder what was aforetimes the peacefullest camp in
Arizona. I wants you-alls, however, to take note of my remarks, for
what I says is shorely goin' to go.'
"Yere Enright pauses to take a small drink by himse'f, while we-alls
tarries about, some oneasy an' anxious as to what kyards falls next.
At last Enright p'ints out on the trail of his remarks ag'in.
"'It is with pain an' mortification,' he says--an' yere he fixes his
eye some hard an' delib'rate on a young tenderfoot named French,
who's been lost from the States somethin' like six months--'it is
with pain an' mortification, I says, that I notes for a week past
our young friend an' townsman, Willyum French, payin' marked an'
ondiscreet attentions to Benson Annie, a female person whom we all
respects. At all times, day an' night, when he could escape his
dooties as book-keep for the stage company, he has pitched camp in
her s'ciety.
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