wouldn't be annoyin' yourse'f about his bein' locoed. I finds him
plenty deep an' wary, not to say plumb crafty. Another thing, it's
plain he not only gets letters, but we-all sees him write about his
drinks to Black Jack, the Red Light barkeep, an' sim'lar plays.'

"By this time, Tutt's got the letter open, an' is gettin' ready to
read. The dumb man's been standin' thar all the time, with his arms
roped behind him, an' lookin' like hope has died; an' also like he
ain't carin' much about it neither. When Tutt turns open the letter,
I notices the tears kind o' start in his eyes, same as if he's some
affected sentimental.

"'Which this yere commoonication is plenty brief,' says Tutt, as he
rums his eye over it. 'She's dated "Casa Grande," an' reads as
follows, to wit:

"'Dear Ben: Myra is dyin'; come at once. A." "'Now, whoever do you
reckon this yere Myra is?' asks Tutt, lookin' 'round. 'she's cashin'
in, that's obvious; an' I'm puttin' it up she's mighty likely a wife
or somethin' of this yere dumb party.' "'That's it,' says Boggs. 'He
gets this word that Myra's goin' over the big divide, an' bein' he's
gone broke entire on faro-bank, he plunges over to the corral an'
rustles Thompson's hoss. Onder sech circumstances, I ain't none
shore he's respons'ble. I take-it thar ain't much doubt but Myra's
his wife that a-way, in which event my idee is he only borrys
Thompson's pinto. Which nacherally, as I freely concedes, this last
depends on Myra's bein' his wife.' "'Oh, not necessarily,' says
Texas Thompson; 'thar's a heap of wives who don't jestify
hosstealiil' a little bit. Now I plays it open, Myra's this dumb
gent's mother, an' on sech a theery an' that alone, I removes the