Steve Bug Cle - The Rave
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Steve Bug Cle - The Rave
"'All right,' says Texas final, but gulpin' alittle; 'since it's you who says so, Sam, wewon't. Me an' Dan yere'll merely take a littlepassear as far as the graveyard, by way of reecoverin'our sperits an' to get the air. I'llshore blow up if obleeged to listen to thatDead Shot any longer.'
"When Texas an' Boggs arrives at BootHill, Texas goes seelectin' about, same as ifhe's searchin' out a site for a grave. At lasthe finds a place whar thar's nothin' but mesquite,soapweed an' rocks, it's that ornery:
"Faro Nell, who's eyes is plumb keen thata-way, lets on to Cherokee private that DeadShot looks sorrow-ridden. But I don'tknow! Dead Shot's nacherally grave, havin'no humor. A gent who constant goes messin'round with road agents, shootin' an' bein'shot at, ain't apt to effervesce. Nell sticksto it, jest the same, that he's onder acloud.
"'With that he'd rave an' t'ar, an' make likehe's goin' to jump for his 8-squar' Hawkinsrifle, whar she's hangin' on a pa'r of antlersover the door; but he'd content himse'f finalby orderin' me out of the shack, sayin' that nosech kyard-sharpin' galoot as me need comepesterin' 'round allowin' to marry no child ofhis'n. At sech eepocks, too, it looks like SarahAnn sees things through the eyes of her oldman, an' she's more'n common icy.
"'It ain't a hour after candle lightin' when,with mebby it's a pint of baldface onder thebuckle of my belt, I'm jumpin' higher, shoutin'louder, an' doin' more to loosen the puncheonsin the floor than any four males of myspecies who's present at that merry-makin'.It he'ps old Bender, too, an' inspired by thecompany an' onder the inflooence of four or48five stiff toddies, he resolves not to let thathoss trade carry him to a ontimely grave, an'is sittin' up in his blankets, yellin', "Wakesnakes; an' Gin'ral Jackson fit the Injuns!"in happy accord with the sperit of his times.
"'He hires out to a peach ranch. An' this'llshow you how industrious, that a-way, thisBark tarrapin is. The peach ranch party hasa measly bunch of sheep. He keeps 'emnights in a box-tight board corral, so's the73coyotes can't get to mingle with 'em none.Days he throws 'em loose to feed. The firstevenin' the peach ranch gent tells this yereBark to corral the sheep, an' then come in forsupper. "An' be shore," says the peach ranchparty, "you gets 'em all in."
"Owin' to which, some of us allers trails inalong with Texas when he visits the Votes ForWomen S'loon. Even when thus protectedhe onflaggin'ly confines his observations to'Licker, Miss, please!' an' stops thar as dumbas graven images. Once the licker's beforehim he heaves it into himse'f same as if it'sdrugs, an' instantly pulls his freight a heapspeedy, breathin' hard. An' all as scared as ajack-rabbit that's heard the howl of a wolf.
"From the start, Monte graves himse'fupon the mem'ry of folk as the first sport, toonroll his blankets in Cochise County, whoconsoomes normal over twenty drinks a day.Upon festal occasions like Noo Year's, an'Christmas, an' Fo'th of Jooly, an' Thanksgivin',no gent who calls himse'f a gent thinksof keepin' tabs on a fellow gent, no matterhow freequent he signs up to Black Jack. Ongala o'casions, sech as them noted, the bridleis plumb off the hoss, an' even though youdrinks to your capac'ty an' some beyond, noone's that vulgar as to go makin' remarks.But that ain't Monte; he's different a heap.It looks like every day is Fo'th of Jooly withhim, he's that inveterate in his reemorselesshankerin' for nosepaint.
"'You-all don't know Pap Parks, Miss, inall his curves. Why, it's lucky he ain't wearin'his old bowie at that weddin', or he'd a-split meinto half apples. If I goes to writin' missivesthat a-way, he'll locate me; an' you can takemy word that invet'rate old homicide 'd travelto the y'earth's eends to c'llect my skelp. Thatain't goin' to do me; for, much as I lovePeggy, I'd a heap sooner be single than dead.'
"We-all takes a slant at it, maintainin' ourselvesmeanwhile as grave as a p