edes I ain't none
too cl'ar as to jest what a degen'rate is, I stands ready to back
Peets' deescription to win. Peets is, bar Colonel William Greene
Sterett, the best eddicated sharp in Arizona; also the wariest as to
expressin' views. Tharfore when Peets puts it up, onflinchin', that
this yere Silver Phil's a degen'rate, you-all can spread your blankets
an' go to sleep on it that a degen'rate he is.

"Silver Phil is a little, dark, ignorant, tousled-ha'red party, none
too neat in costume. He's as black an' small an' evil-seemin' as a
Mexican; still, you sees at a glance he ain't no Greaser neither. An'
with all this yere surface wickedness, Silver Phil has a quick,
hyster'cal way like a woman or a bird; an' that's ever a grin on his
face. You can smell 'bad' off Silver Phil, like smoke in a house, an'
folks who's on the level--an' most folks is--conceives a notion ag'in
him the moment him an' they meets up.

"The first time I observes Silver Phil, he's walkin' down the licker
room of the Red Light. As he goes by the bar, Black Jack--who's
rearrangin' the nosepaint on the shelf so it shows to advantage--gets
careless an' drops a bottle.

"'Crash!' it goes onto the floor.

"With the sound, an' the onexpected suddenness of it stampedin' his
nerves, that a-way, Silver Phil leaps into the air like a cat; an' when
he 'lights, he's frontin' Black Jack an' a gun in each hand.

"'Which I won't be took!' says Silver Phil, all flustered.

"His eyes is gleamin' an' his face is palin' an' his ugly grin gets
even uglier than before. But like a flash, he sees thar's nothin' to
go in the air about--nothin' that means him; an' he puts up his
hardware an' composes himse'f.

"'You-all conducts yourse'f like a sport who has something on his
mind,' says Texas Thompson, who's thar present at the time, an' can't
refrain from commentin' on the start that bottle-smashin' gives Silver
Phil.

"This Silver Phil makes no response, but sort o' grins plenty ghastly,
while his breath comes quick.

"Still, while you-all notes easy that this person's scared, it's plain
he's a killer jest the same. It's frequent that a-way. I'm never much
afraid of one of your cold game gents like Cherokee Hall; you can
gamble the limit they'll never put a six-shooter in play till it's
shorely come their turn. But timid, feverish, locoed people, whose
jedgment is bad an' who's prone to feel themse'fs in peril; they're the
kind who kills. For myse'