a preacher, or some sharp sim'lar, where he gets a Christian
example. Whatever do you think?'

"The barkeep says himse'f he allows it's the play to make. So he an'
Cherokee goes surgin' 'round, an' at last they camps the boy--who's
seven years comin' grass--on the only pulpit-sharp in Tucson. This
gospel-spreader says he'll feed an' bed down the boy for some sum;
which was shore a giant one, but the figgers I now forgets.

"Cherokee gives him a stack of blues to start his game, an' is now
pesterin' 'round in a co't tryin' to get the young one counter-
branded from the Stingin' Lizard's outfit into his, an' given the
name of Cherokee Hall. That's what takes him over to Tucson them
times, an' not stage-robbin'.

"Two days later, in fact, to make shore all doubts is over, Cherokee
even rings in said divine on us; which the divine tells the same
story. I don't reckon now he's much of a preacher neither; for he
gives Wolfville one whirl for luck over in the warehouse back of the
New York Store, an' I shore hears 'em as makes a mighty sight more
noise, an' bangs the Bible twice as hard, back in the States. I says
so to Cherokee; but he puts it up he don't bank none on his
preachin'.

"'What I aims at,' says Cherokee, 'is someone who rides herd on the
boy all right, an' don't let him stampede off none into vicious
ways.'

"'Why don't you keep the camp informed of this yere orphan an' the
play you makes?' says Enright, at the time it's explained to the