“Bowlaigs takes up his abode on the heels of him bein’ run out by Tucson Jennie, over to the corral; that is, he bunks in thar temp’rary at least.  An’ he shore grows amazin’, an’ enlarges doorin’ the next three months to sech a degree that when he stands up to the counter in the Red Light, acceptin’ of some proffered drink, Bowlaigs comes clost to bein’ as tall as folks.  He early learns throughout his wakeful moments—­what I’d deescribe as his business hours—­to make the Red Light a hang-out; it’s the nosepaint he’s hankerin’ after, for in no time at all Bowlaigs accoomulates a appetite for rum that’s a fa’r match for that of either Huggins or Old Monte, an’ them two sots is for long known as far west as the Colorado an’ as far no’th as the Needles as the offishul drunkards of Arizona.  No; Bowlaigs ain’t equal to pourin’ down the raw nosepaint; but Black Jack humours his weakness an’ Bowlaigs is wont to take off his libations about two parts water to one of whiskey an’ a lump of sugar in the bottom, outen one of these big tumbler glasses; meanwhiles standin’ at the bar an’ holdin’ the glass between his two paws an’ all as ackerate an’ steady as the most talented inebriate.

“‘An’ Bowlaigs has this distinction,’ says Black Jack, alloodin’ to the sugar an’ water; ’he’s shore the only gent for whom I so far onbends from reg’lar rools as to mix drinks.’

“Existence goes flowin’ onward like some glad sweet song for Bowlaigs for mighty likely it’s two months an’ nothin’ remarkable eventuates.  He camps in over to the corral, an’ except that new ponies, who ain’t onto Bowlaigs, commonly has heart-failure at the sight of him, he don’t found no disturbances nor get in anybody’s way.  Throughout his wakin’ hours, as I su’gests former, Bowlaigs ha’nts about the Red Light, layin’ guileful an’ cunnin’ for invites to drink; an’ he execootes besides small excursions to the O.K.  Restauraw for chuck, with now an’ then a brief journey to the Post Office or the New York store.  These visits of Bowlaigs to the last two places, both because he don’t get no letters at the post office an’ don’t demand no clothes at the store, I attribootes to motives of morbid cur’osity, that a-way.

“The first real trouble that meets up with Bowlaigs—­who’s got to be a y’ar old by now—­since Jennie fights the dooel with him with that broom, overtakes him at the O.K.  Restauraw.  Missis Rucker for one thing ain’t over fond of Bowlaigs, allegin’ as he grows older day by day he looks more an’ more like Rucker.  Of course, sech views is figments as much as the alarms of Tucson Jennie about Bowlaigs meditatin’ gettin’ away with little Enright Peets; but Missis Rucker, in spite of whatever we gent folks can say in Bowlaigs’s behalf, believes firm in her own slanders.  She asserts that Bowlaigs as he onfolds looks like Rucker; an’ for her at least that settles the subject an’ she assoomes towards Bowlaigs attitoodes which, would perhaps have been proper had her charge been troo.