Albert’s position was the more embarrassing that he was obliged to spend a part of his time on his claim to maintain a residence.  One night, after having suffered a disappointment for the fifth time in the matter of Plausaby and money, he was walking down the road to cool his anger in the night air, when he met the Inhabitant of the Lone Cabin, again.

“Well, Gray,” he said, “how are you?  Have you written any fresh verses lately?”

“Varses?  See here, Mr. Charlton, do you ’low this ’ere’s a time fer varses?”

“Why not?”

“To be shore!  Why not?  I should kinder think yer own heart should orter tell you.  You don’ know what I’m made of.  You think I a’n’t good fer nothin’ but varses.  Now, Mr. Charlton, I’m not one of them air fellers as lets theirselves all off in varses that don’ mean nothin’.  What my pomes says, that my heart feels.  And that my hands does.  No, sir, my po’try ’s like the corn crap in August.  It’s laid by.  I ha’n’t writ nary line sence I seed you afore.  The fingers that holds a pen kin pull a trigger.”

“What do you mean, Gray?”

“This ’ere,” and he took out a pistol.  “I wuz a poet; now I’m a gardeen angel.  I tole you I wouldn’ do nothin’ desperate tell I talked weth you.  That’s the reason I didn’ shoot him t’other night.  When you run him off, I draw’d on him, and he’d a been a gone sucker ef’t hadn’ been fer yore makin’ me promise t’other day to hold on tell I’d talked weth you.  Now, I’ve talked weth you, and I don’t make no furder promises.  Soon as he gits to makin’ headway agin, I’ll drap him.”

It was in vain that Charlton argued with him.  Gray said life wurn’t no ‘count no how; he had sot out to be a Gardeen Angel, and he wuz agoin’ through.  These ’ere Yankees tuck blam’d good keer of their hides, but down on the Wawbosh, where he come from, they didn’t valley life a copper in a thing of this ‘ere sort.  Ef Smith Westcott kep’ a shovin’ ahead on his present trail, he’d fetch up kinder suddent all to wunst, weth a jolt.

After this, the dread of a tragedy of some sort did not decrease Albert’s eagerness to be away.  He began to talk violently to Plausaby, and that poor gentleman, harassed now by a suit brought by the town of Perritaut to set aside the county-seat election, and by a prosecution instituted against him for conspiracy, and by a suit on the part of the fat gentleman for damages on account of fraud in the matter of the two watery lots in block twenty-six, and by much trouble arising from his illicit speculation in claims—­this poor Squire Plausaby, in the midst of this accumulation of vexations, kept his temper sweet, bore all of Albert’s severe remarks with serenity, and made fair promises with an unruffled countenance.  Smith Westcott had defeated Whisky Jim in his contest for the claim, because the removal of a dishonest receiver left the case to be decided according to the law and the regulations of the General Land Office, and the law gave the claim