followin' the eighth drink, an' whispers to Enright, confidenshul,
that when all's in the only thing he deplores is that old Holt is
bein' planted on Boot Hill instead of in Headboard Hollow. At this
Enright, meetin' the Red Dog chief half-way, whispers back that later,
if Red Dog desires the same, we'll jump in an' move old Holt a whole
lot to Headboard Hollow. At this lib'ral'ty the Red Dog chief squeezes
Enright's hand a heap fraternal, an' chokes with emotion. He sobs out
that this is the one thing wanted to reestore them former friendly
reelations between the camps.

"The procession is one of the most exhil'ratin' pageants ever seen in
the Southwest. At the head is the ploomed hearse, old Holt inside,
the Turner person on the box. Next comes the stage coach, Monte
drivin', an' Nell, Missis Rucker, Tucson Jennie, little Enright Peets,
the Turner person's Peggy bride an' other ladies inside. The balance
of us attends on our ponies, ridin' two an' two.

"As we're waitin' for the preacher sharp, who's goin' in the stage, to
get tucked in among the ladies, a hollow-chested, chalk-cheeked,
sardonic-lookin', cynical-seemin' bandit, drivin' a lean-laigged hoss
to one of them spid'ry things they calls a quill-wheel, comes
pirootin' along over to one side of the fooneral cortege at a walk.
He's p'intin' in from over Red Dog way, but I savvys from the
wonderin' faces of them Red Dog sports that he's as new to them as us.
The cynical bandit skirts along our procession ontil he's abreast of
the hearse. Then he pulls up, we-all not havin' had the word to start
as yet.

"The Turner person has hooked up old Boomerang to the hearse, so as to
confer on this his first fooneral all the style he can. Havin' halted
his quill-wheel, the hectic bandit, coughin' a little, p'ints his whip
at Boomerang an' says to the Turner person:

"'Is this the skate you're tryin' to match ag'inst my Toobercloses?'

"'Grizzly b'ars an' golden eagles!' exclaims Boggs, who's ridin' next
to me, 'if he ain't that lunger from Albuquerque!' An' Boggs pulls out
to the left, an' crowds up towards the hearse for a closer look.

"'As fooneral director,' the Turner person replies to the hectic,
quill-wheel bandit, whom he fathoms instantly--'as fooneral director,
I must preeserve the decorums. But only you wait, you onblushin'
outlaw, ontil I've patted down the sods on old Holt yere, an' I'll
race you for every splinter you own.'

"'That's all right,' reto