“‘Which I saveys I’m safe with all of you,’ says Dave, his confidence, which the thoughts of Tucson Jennie sort o’ stampedes, beginnin’ to return.  ‘But now an’ then them gusts of apprehensions frequent with married gents sweeps over me an’ I feels weak.  But comin’ back to the dance-hall:  As I su’gests thar’s many a serene hour I whiles away tharin.  Your days an’ your dinero shore flows plenty swift in that temple of merriment; an’ chilled though I be with the stiff dignity of a wedded middle age, if it ain’t for my infant son, Enright Peets Tutt, to whom I’m strivin’ to set examples, I’d admire to prance out an’ live ag’in them halcyon hours; that’s whatever!

“‘Thar’s quite a sprinklin’ of the elite of Tucson in the dance-hall the evenin’ I has in mind.  The bar is busy; while up an’ down each side sech refreshin’ pastimes as farobank, monte an’ roulette holds prosperous sway.  Thar’s no quadrille goin’ at the moment, an’ a lady to the r’ar is carollin’ “Rosalie, the Prairie Flower.”

  “Fair as a lily bloomin’ in May,
  Sweeter than roses, bright as the day! 
  Everyone who knows her feels her gentle power,
  Rosalie the Prairie Flower.”

“’On this yere o’casion I’m so far fortunate as to be five drinks ahead an’ tharfore would sooner listen to myse’f talk than to the warblin’ of the cantatrice.  As it is, I’m conversin’ with a gent who’s standin’ hard by.

“‘At my elbow is posted a shaggy an’ forbiddin’ outlaw whose name is Yuba Tom, an’ who’s more harmonious than me.  He wants to listen to “Rosalie the Prairie Flower.”  Of a sudden, he w’irls about, plenty peevish.

“’Stick a period to that pow-wow,” observes Yuba; “I wants to hear this prima donna sing.”

“‘Bein’ gala with the five libations, I turns on Yuba haughty.  “If you’re sobbin’ to hear this songstress,” I says, “go for’ard an’ camp down at her feet.  But don’t come pawin’ your way into no conversations with me.  An’ don’t hang up no bluff.”

“’Which if you disturbs me further,” retorts Yuba, “I’ll turn loose for shore an’ crawl your hump a lot.”

“’Them foolhardy sports,” I replies, “who has yeretofore attempted that enterprise sleeps in onknown graves; so don’t you-all pester me, for the outlook’s dark.”

“’It’s now that Yuba,—­who’s a mighty cautious sport, forethoughtful an’ prone to look ahead,—­regyards the talk as down to cases an’ makes a flash for his gun.  It’s concealed by his surtoot an’ I ain’t noticed it none before.  If I had, most likely I’d pitched the conversation in a lower key.  However, by this time, I’m quarrelsome as a badger; an’ a willin’ness for trouble subdooes an’ sets its feet on my nacheral cowardice an’ holds her down.’

“‘Dave, you-all makes me nervous,’ says Boggs, with a flash of heat, ‘settin’ thar lyin’ about your timidity that a-way.  You’re about as reluctant for trouble as a grizzly bar, an’ you couldn’t fool no gent yere on that p’int for so much as one white chip.’