paper in a small camp this a-way is like givin' a six-shooter to a
boy; most likely he shoots himse'f, or mebby busts the neighbor,
tharwith."

"Oh, I don't know,' says Doc Peets, who, I wants to say, is as
sudden a white man, mental, as I ever sees; "my notion is to bring
him along. The mere idee of a paper'll do a heap for the town."

"I'm entertainin' sentiments sim'lar,' says Enright; "an' I guess
I'll write this Colonel Sterett that we'll go him once if we lose.
I'm assisted to this concloosion by hearin', the last time I'm in
Tucson, that Red Dog, which is our rival, is out to start a paper,
in which event it behooves Wolfville to split even with 'em at the
least."

"That's whatever!" says Moore. "If we allows Red Dog to put it onto
us that a-way we might jest as well dissolve Wolfville as a camp,
an' reepair to the woods in a body."

"Enright sends Colonel Sterett word, an' in four weeks he comes
packin in his layout an' opens up his game. Colonel Sterett,
personal, is a broad, thick, fine-seemin' gent, with a smooth, high
for'ead, grey eyes, an' a long, honest face like a hoss. The Colonel
has a far-off look in his eyes, like he's dreamin' of things
sublime, which Doc Peets says is the common look of lit'rary gents
that a-way. Texas Thompson, however, allows he witnesses the same
distant expression in the eyes of a foogitive from jestice.

"Colonel Sterett makes a good impression. He evolves his journal an'
names it the Coyote, a name applauded by us all. I'll read you a few