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.'

"'Jest the same,' says Dave, mighty dogmatic, 'I still asserts that in
a concealed, inborn fashion, I'm timid absoloote. If you has ever
beheld me stand up ag'in the iron it's because I'm 'shamed to quit.
I'd wilt out like a jack-rabbit if I ain't held by pride.

"'"You're plenty ready with that Colt's," I says to Yuba, an' my tones
is severe. "That's because you sees me weeponless. If I has a gun
now, I'd make you yell like a coyote."

"'"S'pose you ain't heeled," reemonstrates Yuba, "that don't give you
no license to stand thar aboosin' me. Be I to blame because your
toilet ain't complete? You go frame yourse'f up, an' I'll wait;" an'
with that, this Yuba takes his hand from his artillery.

"'Thar's a footile party who keeps the dancehall an' who signs the
books as Colonel Boone. He's called the "King of the Cowboys"; most
likely in a sperit of facetiousness since he's more like a deuce than a
king. This Boone's packin' a most excellent six-shooter loose in the
waistband of his laiggin's. Boone's passin' by as Yuba lets fly his
taunts an' this piece of ordnance is in easy reach. With one motion I
secures it an' the moment followin' the muzzle is pressin' ag'inst a
white pearl button on Yuba's bloo shirt.

"'"Bein' now equipped," I says, "this war-dance may proceed."

"'I'm that scared I fairly hankers for the privilege of howlin', but I
realises acootely that havin' come this far towards homicide I must
needs go through if Yuba crowds my hand. But he don't; he's forbearin'
an' stands silent an' still. Likewise, I sees his nose, yeretofore the
colour of a over-ripe violin, begin to turn sear an' gray. I recovers
sperit at this as I saveys I'm saved. Still I keeps the artillery on
him. It's the innocence of the gun that holds Yuba spellbound an'
affects his nose, an' I feels shore if I relaxes he'll be all ove