“‘Jest the same,’ says Dave, mighty dogmatic, ’I still asserts that in a concealed, inborn fashion, I’m timid absoloote.  If you has ever beheld me stand up ag’in the iron it’s because I’m ’shamed to quit.  I’d wilt out like a jack-rabbit if I ain’t held by pride.

“‘"You’re plenty ready with that Colt’s,” I says to Yuba, an’ my tones is severe.  “That’s because you sees me weeponless.  If I has a gun now, I’d make you yell like a coyote.”

“’"S’pose you ain’t heeled,” reemonstrates Yuba, “that don’t give you no license to stand thar aboosin’ me.  Be I to blame because your toilet ain’t complete?  You go frame yourse’f up, an’ I’ll wait;” an’ with that, this Yuba takes his hand from his artillery.

“‘Thar’s a footile party who keeps the dancehall an’ who signs the books as Colonel Boone.  He’s called the “King of the Cowboys”; most likely in a sperit of facetiousness since he’s more like a deuce than a king.  This Boone’s packin’ a most excellent six-shooter loose in the waistband of his laiggin’s.  Boone’s passin’ by as Yuba lets fly his taunts an’ this piece of ordnance is in easy reach.  With one motion I secures it an’ the moment followin’ the muzzle is pressin’ ag’inst a white pearl button on Yuba’s bloo shirt.

“‘"Bein’ now equipped,” I says, “this war-dance may proceed.”

“‘I’m that scared I fairly hankers for the privilege of howlin’, but I realises acootely that havin’ come this far towards homicide I must needs go through if Yuba crowds my hand.  But he don’t; he’s forbearin’ an’ stands silent an’ still.  Likewise, I sees his nose, yeretofore the colour of a over-ripe violin, begin to turn sear an’ gray.  I recovers sperit at this as I saveys I’m saved.  Still I keeps the artillery on him.  It’s the innocence of the gun that holds Yuba spellbound an’ affects his nose, an’ I feels shore if I relaxes he’ll be all over me like a baggage waggon.’

“‘Which I should say so!’ says Jack Moore, drawin’ a deep breath.  ’You takes every chance, Dave, when you don’t cut loose that time!’

“‘When Boone beholds me,’ says Dave, ’annex his gun he almost c’lapses into a fit.  He makes a backward leap that shows he ain’t lived among rattlesnakes in vain.  Then he stretches his hand towards me an’ Yuba, an’ says, “Don’t shoot!  Let’s take a drink; it’s on the house!”

“‘Yuba, with his nose still a peaceful gray, turns from the gun an’ sidles for the bar; I follows along, thirsty, but alert.  When we-all is assembled, Boone makes a wailin’ request for his six-shooter.

“‘"Get his,” I says, at the same time, animadvertin’ at Yuba with the muzzle.

“‘Yuba passes his weepons over the bar an’ I follows suit with Boone’s.  Then we drinks with our eyes on each other in silent scorn.

“‘"Which we-all will see about this later,’ growls Yuba, as he leaves the bar.

“’"Go as far as you like, old sport,” I retorts, for this last edition, as Colonel Sterett would term it, of Valley Tan makes me that brave I’m miseratin’ for a riot.