The moment he slams Julius
on the bar, more'n ten of our leadin' citizens falls to the floor in
fits, an' emerges outen one par'xysm only to slump into another.
Which we shorely has a general round-up of all sorts of spells.
"'Whatever's the matter of you-all people?' says Crawfish, lookin'
mighty aghast. 'Thar's no more harm in Julius Caesar than if he's a
fullblown rose.'
"Jack Moore, bein' marshal, of course stands his hand. It's his
offishul dooty to play a pat hand on bull-snakes an' danger in all
an' any forms. An' Jack does it.
"While Crawfish is busy recountin' the attainments of Julius Caesar,
a-holdin' of his pet with one hand, Jack Moore takes a snap shot at
him along the bar with his six-shooter, an' away goes Julius
Caesar's head like a puff of smoke. Then Moore rounds up Crawfish,
an', perceivin' of the other bull-snakes, he searches 'em out one by
one an' massacres 'em.
"'Call over Doc Peets,' says Jack Moore final, 'an' bring Boggs an'
Tutt an' the rest of these yere invalids to.'
"Doc Peets an' Enright both trails in on the lope from the New York
Store. They hears Moore's gun-play an' is cur'ous, nacheral 'nough,
to know who calls it.
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