Red
River over-shoots, an' Ormsby downs him with a bullet in his laig.
"'Thirteen for Old Monroe," says Ormsby.
"'But that's where the 'lection ends. Followin' the subsidence of
Red River Tom, the air is as full of lead as a bag of bullets.
Through the smoke, an' the flashes, an' the noise, you can hear
Ormsby whoopin'
"'Thirteen for Old Monroe."
"'You can gamble Ormsby's as squar' a 'lection jedge as any gent
could ask. You gets a play for your money with Ormsby; but he dies
the next day, so he never is 'lection jedge no more. Five gents gets
downed, an' a whole corralfull is hurt. I, myse'f, reaps some lead
in the shoulder; an' even at that I never goes nearer than the
suburbs of the fight.
"'No; Cimmaron Pete claws off all sound, an' no new holes in him.
But as the Dallas party, who comes caperin' over with the first
shot, is layin' at the windup outside the Lone Star door, plumb
defunct, thar's an end to the root of the disorder.
"'The 'lection itse'f is looked on as a draw. Old Monroe allows
that, all things considered, he don't regard himse'f as 'lected
none; and Randall, who a doctor is feelin' 'round in for a bullet at
the time, sends over word that he indorses Old Monroe's p'sition;
an' that as long as the Dallas sharp hits the trail after Glidden,
an' is tharby able to look after his debts himse'f, he, Randall,
holds it's no use disturbin' of a returned sereenity, an' to let
everythin' go as it lays.
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