ng's uncle. When she breaks out of the
corral an' goes stampedin' off to her tribe, she leaves behind mebby
it's a hundred bottles or more of patent med'cine, rangin' all the way
from arnica to ha'r dye.

"Followin' her flight that a-way old Holt goes to takin' an account of
stock by way of seein' what she cabbages an' what she leaves, an' the
first flash he blunders upon this yere bushel or so of drugs. He's too
froogal to throw 'em away, old Holt is, bein' plumb pars'monious that
a-way, an' after revolvin' the play in his mind for a spell, he ups
an' swallows 'em to save 'em.

"No one ever does figger out jest what individyooal med'cine bumps
old Holt off that time, an' thar's no sayin' whether it's the arnica
or the ha'r dye or some other deecoction, or simply the whole
clan-jamfrey in comb'nation. Not that any gent goes to reely delvin'
for the trooth, the gen'ral interest pitchin' camp contentedly on
the simple fact that old Holt's been shore put over the jump. Doc
Peets? Old Holt's packed in before the Doc's half way to Red Dog.
Shore; some of them bottled med'cines is as ack'rate an' as full
of action as a six-shooter.

"Of course we-all is pleased to think the Turner person, as fooneral
director, ain't been born to bloom onseen, but the rift in the floote
is that the corpse belongs to Red Dog. Old Holt ain't ours none, an'
from whatever angle we looks at it it appears like Wolfville ain't
goin' to get a look in.

"It's at pinches sech as this that Enright shows his genius for
leadership. While all of us is lookin' bloo, to see how Red Dog beats
us to it for our own hearse, our fertile old war chief is ribbin' up a
game for pop'lar relief.

"The Red Dog del'gation, headed by the Red Dog chief, comes over to
round up the Turner person an' his hearse to entomb old Holt. At their
showin' up Enright begins to onkiver his diplomacy.

"'Which we symp'thizes with you-all in your bereevement, gents,' says
he to the Red Dog bunch, 'but it's ag'inst our rooles for this yere
hearse to go outside of camp.'

"'Ain't you actin' some niggardly about that hearse?' asks the Red Dog
chief coldly.

"'Not niggardly, only proodent. Death cometh as a thief in the night,
speshully in Arizona, an' we-all'd be a fine band of prairie dogs to
go lendin' our only hearse all over the territory, an' mebby have it
skallyhootin' 'round som'ers up about the Utah line jest when we needs
it at home. However, as refootin' your onjest cha