'
"''Doby,' replies Billy, takin' him by the hand, 'this yere day
'lustrates the prophet when he says: "In the midst of life we're in
luck." If you-all notes tears in my eyes I'm responsible for 'em.
Willyum's mine. As I r'ars him it will be with you as a model. Now
you go back where dooty calls you. When you ceases to need my wife,
Marie, send her back to camp, an' notify me tharof. Pendin' of which
said notice, however,' concloods Billy, turnin' to us after 'Doby
starts back, 'Willyum an' me entertains.'"
CHAPTER XIX.
MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF.
"And so you think the trouble lies with the man and not with the
whiskey?" I said.
The Old Cattleman and I were discussing "temperance."
"Right you be. This yere whiskey-drinkin'," continued the old
gentleman as he toyed with his empty glass, "is a mighty cur'ous
play. I knows gents as can tamper with their little old forty drops
frequent an' reg'lar. As far as hurtin' of 'em is concerned, it
don't come to throwin' water on a drowned rat. Then, ag'in, I've cut
gents's trails as drinkin' whiskey is like playin' a harp with a
hammer. Which we-alls ain't all upholstered alike; that's whatever.
We don't all show the same brands an' y'earmarks nohow: What's
med'cine for one is p'isen for t'other; an' thar you be.
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