strength. Several of us Wolfville gents is on the sidewalk in front
of the O. K. Restauraw, applaudin' of the good shots, when Dave Tutt
speaks up to Jack Moore, next to me, an' says:

"'Jack, you minds that old Navajo you downs over on the San Simon
last Fall?'"

"'I minds him mighty cl'ar,' says Jack. 'He's stealin' my Alizan
hoss at the time, an' I can prove it by his skelp on my bridle now.'

"'Well,' says Dave, p'intin' to a ornery, saddle-colored half-breed
who's makin' himse'f some frequent, 'that Injun they calls "Pickles"
is his nephy, an' you wants to look out a whole lot. I hears him
allow that the killin' of his relatif is mighty rank, an' that he
don't like it nohow.'

"'That's all right,' says Jack; 'Pickles an' me has been keepin'
cases on each other an hour; an' I'll post you-all private, if he
goes to play hoss a little bit, him an' his oncle will be able to
talk things over before night.'

"Which it's mighty soon when Pickles comes along where we be.

"'Hello, Jack,' he says, an' his manner is insultin'; 'been makin'
it smoky down on the old San Simon lately?'

"'No; not since last fall,' says Jack, plenty light an' free; 'an'
now I thinks of it, I b'lieves I sees that Navajo hoss-thief of an
oncle of yours when I'm down thar last. I ain't run up on him none
lately, though. Where do you-all reckon he's done 'loped to?'