“‘Cherokee, I delights to hear you talk,’ says Old Man Enright, as he signs up Black Jack for the Valley Tan.  ’Them eloocidations is meant to stiffen a gent’s nerve an’ do him good.  Shore; no one needs encouragement nor has to train for a conflict with good luck; but it’s when he’s out ag’inst the iron an’ the bad luck’s swoopin’ an’ stoopin’ at him, beak an’ claw like forty hawks, that your remarks is doo to come to his aid an’ uplift his sperits some.  An’ as you says a moment back, thar’s bound in the long run to be a equilibr’um.  The lower your bad luck, the taller your good luck when it strikes camp.  It’s the same with the old Rockies, an’ wherever you goes it’s ever a never-failin’ case of the deeper the valley, the higher the hill!

“‘As is frequent with me,’ says Dan Boggs, after we sets quiet a moment, meanwhiles tastin’ our nosepaint thoughtful—­for these outbursts of Cherokee’s an’ Enright’s calls for consid’rations,—­’as is frequent with me,’ says Dan, ’I reckons I’ll string my chips with Cherokee.  The more ready since throughout my own checkered c’reer—­an’ I’ve done most everything ’cept sing in the choir,—­luck has ever happened bunched like he asserts.  Which I gets notice of these pecooliarities of fortune early.  While I’m simply doin’ nothin’ to provoke it, a gust of bad luck prounces on me an’ thwarts me in a noble ambition, rooins my social standin’ an busts two of my nigh ribs all in one week.

“‘I’m a colt at the time, an’ jest about big enough to break.  My folks is livin’ in Missouri over back of the Sni-a-bar Hills.  By nacher I’m a heap moosical; so I ups—­givin’ that genius for harmony expression—­an’ yoonites myse’f with the “Sni-a-bar Silver Cornet Band.”  Old Hickey is leader, an’ he puts me in to play the snare drum, the same bein’ the second rung on the ladder of moosical fame, an’ one rung above the big drum.  Old Hickey su’gests that I start with the snare drum an’ work up.  Gents, you-all should have heard me with that instrooment!  I’d shore light into her like a storm of hail!

“’For a spell the “Sni-a-bar Silver Cornet Band” used to play in the woods.  This yere Sni-a-bar commoonity is a mighty nervous neighbourhood, an’ thar’s folks whose word is above reproach who sends us notice they’ll shoot us up if we don’t; so at first we practises in the woods.  But as time goes on we improves an’ plays well enough so we don’t scare children; an’ then the Sni-a-bar people consents to let us play now an’ then along the road.  All of us virchewosoes is locoed to do good work, so that Sni-a-bar would get reeconciled, an’ recognise us as a commoonal factor.

“’Well do I recall the day of our first public appearance.  It’s at a political meetin’ an’ everything, so far as we’re concerned at least, depends on the impression we-all makes.  If we goes to a balk or a break-down, the “Sni-a-bar Silver Cornet Band’s” got to go back an’ play in the woods.