"'What sort of a game is this, anyhow?' says Dan Boggs, who, while
we stands thar, has been pawin' over the Red Dog man's rifle. 'Looks
like this vivacious party's plumb locoed. Yere's his hind-sights
wedged up for a thousand yards, an' he's been a-shootin' of
cartridges with a hundred an' twenty grains of powder into 'em.
Between the sights an' the jump of the powder, he's shootin' plumb
over Cherokee an' aimin' straight at him.'
"'Nellie,' says Enright, lookin' remorseful at the girl, who colors
up an' begins to cry ag'in, 'did you cold-deck this yere Red Dog
sport this a-way?'
"'I'm 'fraid,' sobs Nell, 'he gets Cherokee; so I slides over when
you-alls is waitin' an' fixes his gun some.'
"'Which I should shorely concede you did,' says Enright. 'The way
that Red Dog gent manip'lates his weepon shows he knows his game;
an' except for you a-settin' things up on him, I'm powerful afraid
he'd spoiled Cherokee a whole lot.'
"'Well, gents,' goes on Enright, after thinkin' a while, 'I reckons
we-alls might as well drink on it. Hist'ry never shows a game yet,
an' a woman in it, which is on the squar', an' we meekly b'ars our
burdens with the rest.'"
CHAPTER IX.
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