"Whenever I beholds a seegyar," said the old fellow, as he puffed
voluminously at the principe I passed over, "I thinks of what that
witness says in the murder trial at Socorro.

"'What was you-all doin' in camp yourse'f,' asks the jedge of this
yere witness, 'the day of the killin'?'

"'Which,' says the witness, oncrossin' his laigs an' lettin' on he
ain't made bashful an' oneasy by so much attentions bein' shown
hire, 'which I was a-eatin' of a few sardines, a-drinkin' of a few
drinks of whiskey, a-smokin' of a few seegyars, an' a-romancin'
'round.'"

After this abrupt, not to say ambiguous reminiscence, the Old
Cattleman puffed contentedly a moment.

"What murder trial was this you speak of?" I asked. "Who had been
killed?"

"Now I don't reckon I ever does know who it is gets downed," he
replied. "This yere murder trial itse'f is news to me complete. They
was waggin' along with it when I trails into Socorro that time, an'
I merely sa'nters over to the co't that a-way to hear what's goin'
on. The jedge is sorter gettin' in on the play while I'm listenin'.

"'What was the last words of this yere gent who's killed?' asks the
jedge of this witness.

"'As nearly as I keeps tabs, jedge,' says the witness, `the dyin'