ds with all the confidence of a oldest
inhab'tant. After grinnin' up an' down the table as affable as a wet
dog, he ropes onto a can of airtights, the same bein' peaches. He
he'ps himse'f plenty copious an' starts to mowin' 'em away.

"None of us is noticin' partic'lar, bein' engaged on our own hook
reachin' for things, when of a sudden he cuts loose a screech which
would have knocked a bobcat speechless.

"'I'm p'isened!' he yells; 'I'm as good as dead right now!'

"Followin' this yere fulm'nation, he takes to dancin' stiff-laiged,
meanwhile clutchin' hold of the buckle on his belt.

"Thar should be no dissentin' voice when I states that, at a crisis
when some locoed maverick stampedes a entire dinin' room by allowin'
he's been p'isened, prompt action should be took. Wharfore it excites
no s'rprise when Jack Moore, to whom as kettle-tender for the
Stranglers all cases of voylance is _ex officio_ put up, capchers the
ghost-dancin' Turner person by the collar.

"'Whatever's the meanin' of this midprandial excitement?' demands
Jack. 'Which if these is your manners in a dinin' room, I'd shore
admire to see you once in church.'

"'I'm p'isened!' howls the Turner person, p'intin' at the airtights.
'It's ptomaines! I'm a gone fawnskin! Ptomaines is a center shot!'

"None of us holds Rucker overhigh, an' yet we jestifies that husband's
action. Rucker's headin' in from the kitchen, bearin' aloft a platter
of ham an' cabbage. He arrives in time to gather in the Turner
person's bluff about 'ptomaines,' an' onderstands he's claimin' to be
p'isened. Shore, Rucker don't know what ptomaines is, but what then?
No more does the rest of us, onless it's Peets, an' he's over to
Tucson. As I freequently remarks, the Doc is the best eddicated sharp
in Arizona, an' even 'ptomaines' ain't got nothin' on him.

"Rucker plants the platter of ham an' cabbage on the table, an'
appeals 'round to us.

"'Gents,' he says, 'am I to stand mootely by an' see this tavern, the
best j'int ondoubted in Arizona, insulted?' An' with that he's down on
the Turner person like a fallin' tree, whar that crazy-hoss
individyooal stands jumpin' an' dancin' in the hands of Moore.

"'What's these yere slanders,' shouts Rucker, 'you-all is levelin' at
my wife's hotel? Yere we be, feedin' you on the fat of the land; an'
the form your gratitoode takes is to go givin' it out broadcast you're
p'isened! You pull your freight,' he concloodes, as he wrastles the
dan