“‘An’, nacherally, you denounces this felon,’ says Colonel Sterett, who’s come in an’ who’s integrity is of the active sort.

“‘Nacherally, I don’t say a word,’ retorts Cherokee.  ’I ain’t for years inhabited these roode an’ sand-blown regions, remote as they be from best ideals an’ high examples of the East, not to long before have learned the excellence of that maxim about lettin’ every man kill his own snakes.  I says nothin’; I merely looks about to locate the victim of them machinations with a view of goin’ ag’inst his play.’

“It’s when Cherokee arrives at this place in his recitals that Dave evolves his interruptions.  He’s camped by himse’f in a reemote corner of the room, an’ he ain’t been noticin’ nobody an’ nobody’s been noticin’ him.  All at once, in tones which is low but a heap discordant, Dave hums to himse’f something that sounds like: 

  ’Bye O babe, lie still in slumber,
  Holy angels gyard thy bed.’

“At this, Cherokee in a horrified way stops, an’ we-all looks at each other.  Enright makes a dispar’in’ gesture towards Dave an’ says: 

“‘Gents, first callin’ your attention to the fact that Dave ain’t over-drinkt an’ that no nosepaint theery is possible in accountin’ for his acts, I asks you for your opinions.  As you knows, this thing’s been goin’ for’ard for some time, an’ I desires to hear if from any standp’int of public interest do you-all figger that steps should be took?’

“In order to fully onderstand Enright in all he means, I oughter lay bar’ that Dave’s been conductin’ himse’f in a manner not to be explained for mighty likely she’s eight weeks.  Yeretofore, thar’s no more sociable sport an’ none whose system is easier to follow in all Wolfville than Dave.  While holdin’ himse’f at what you might call ‘par’ on all o’casions, Dave is still plenty minglesome an’ fraternal with the balance of the herd, an’ would no more think of donnin’ airs or puttin’ on dog than he’d think of blastin’ away at one of us with his gun.  Yet eight weeks prior thar shorely dawns a change.

“Which the first symptom—­the advance gyard as it were of Dave’s gettin’ queer—­is when Dave’s standin’ in front of the post-office.  Thar’s a faraway look to Dave at the time, like he’s tryin’ to settle whether he’s behind or ahead on some deal.  While thus wropped in this fit of abstraction Dan Boggs comes hybernatin’ along an’ asks Dave to p’int into the Red Light for a smell of Valley Tan.  Dave sort o’ rouses up at this an’ fastens on Dan with his eyes, half truculent an’ half amazed, same as if he’s shocked at Dan’s familiarity.  Then he shakes his head decisive.

“‘Don’t try to braid this mule’s tail none!’ says Dave, an’ at that he strides off with his muzzle in the air.  Boggs is abashed.

“‘Which these insultin’ bluffs of Dave’s,’ says Boggs, as we canvasses the play a bit later, ’would cut me to the quick, but I knows it ain’t on the level, Dave ain’t himse’f when he declines said nosepaint—­his intellects ain’t in camp.’