ever knows Dead Shot Baker?"

This, from the old cattleman, with a questioning glance my way.

"No? Well, you shore misses knowin' a man! Still, it ain't none so
strange neither; even Wolfville's acquaintance with Dead Shot's only
what you-all might call casyooal, him not personally lastin' more'n
three months.

"This yere Dead Shot has a wife. Thar's women you don't want to see
ontil you're tired, an' women you don't want to see ontil you're
rested, an' women you don't want to see no how--don't want to see at
all. This wife of Dead Shot's belongs with the latter bunch.

"Last evenin' I'm readin' whar one of them philosophic sports asserts
that women, that a-way, is shore the sublimation of the oncertain.
That's how he lays it down; an' he never hedges the bluff for so much
as a single chip. He insists that you can't put a bet on women; that
you can bet on hosses or kyards or 'lections, but not on women--women
bein' too plumb oncertain. As I reads along, I can't he'p feelin' that
somehow this philosophic party must have knowed Dead Shot's wife.

"The first time we-all ever sees Dead Shot, he comes trackin' into the
Red Light one evenin' jest after the stage rolls up. Bein' it's
encroachin' on second drink time, he sidles up to the bar; an' then,
his manner some diffident an' apol'getic, he says:

"'Gents, do you-all feel like a little licker, that a-way?'

"It bein' imp'lite to reefuse, we assembles within strikin' distance
of the bottles Black Jack is slammin' the len'th of the counter, an'
begins spillin' out our forty drops. At this he turns even more
apol'getic.

"'Which I trusts,' he says, 'that no one'll mind much if I takes
water?'

"Of course no one minds. Wolfville don't make no speshulty of forcin'
whiskey onto no gent who's disinclined. If they prefers water, we
encourages 'em.

"'An' for this yere reason,' expounds Boggs, once when he ondertakes
to explain the public attitoode towards water to some inquirin'
tenderfoot--'an' for this partic'lar reason: Arizona is a dry an' arid
clime; an' water drinkers bein' a cur'ous rarity, we admires to keep a
spec'men or two buck-jumpin' about, so's to study their habits.'

"As we picks up our glasses, Dead Shot sets to introdoocin' himse'f.

"'My name, gents,' he says, 'is Baker, Abner Baker. The Wells-Fargo
folks sends me down yere from Santa Fe to ride shotgun for 'em.'

"The name's plenty s'fficient. It's him who goes to a showdown with
them three ro