"'Shore!' says the alcalde.

"'Ante an' pass the buck, then,' says Dave. 'I'm a law-abidin'
citizen, an' all I wants is a squar' deal from the warm deck.'

"So they fines Dave fifty dollars for playin' them harmonies without
no license. Dave asks me later not to mention this yere outcome in
Wolfville, an' I never does. But yere it's different."




CHAPTER III.

The Feud of Pickles.


"Thar's a big crowd in Wolfville that June day." The Old Cattleman
tilted his chair back and challenged my interest with his eye. "The
corrals is full of pack mules an' bull teams an' wagon-trains; an'
white men, Mexicans, half-breeds an' Injuns is a-mixin' an'
meanderin' 'round, a-lyin' an' a-laughin' an' a-drinkin' of Red
Light whiskey mighty profuse. Four or five mule skinners has their
long limber sixteen-foot whips, which is loaded with dust-shot from
butt to tip, an' is crackin' of 'em at a mark. I've seen one of
these yere mule experts with the most easy, delicate, delib'rate
twist of the wrist make his whip squirm in the air like a hurt
snake; an' then he'll straighten it out with the crack of twenty
rifles, an' the buckskin popper cuts a hole in a loose buffalo robe
he's hung up; an' all without investin' two ounces of actooal