"The curse of drink"

By W. C. TUTTLE
Author of “The Keeper of Red Horse Pass,” “Three On and Everybody Down,” etc.
THE COWTOWN OF SAN PABLO AIMED TO GIVE A PLAY FOR THE BENEFIT OF PARSON JONES’ CANNIBALS. THOSE ABLE PUNCHERS, PEEWEE PARKER AND HOZIE SYKES, AIMED TO ACT IN IT. THEY DID—QUITE SOME. BUT WHEN THE LAST CURTAIN—AMONG OTHER THINGS—FELL, THE CHIEF WINNER FROM THE RIOT WAS EVELINE ANNABEL WIMPLE.
“Man,” says “Judgment” Jones, “is of few days and full of woe.”
Well, I reckon he’s right. I’m of a cheerful disposition, kinda goin’ through life with a wide grin, tryin’ to see everythin’ in the right light and do well by my feller man; but when Old Man Woe sneaks up behind and swats yuh with his loaded quirt—what’ll yuh have?
“Peewee” Parker says that as long as yuh stick to what the good Lord ordained for yuh to do, yo’re all right. He picked me and Peewee to be first-class cowpunchers, that’s a cinch, ’cause we ain’t never goin’ to be no good for anythin’ else, if for that.
And then there’s “Boll-Weevil” Potts, first name Hank. He’s about six feet six inches lengthways, and with no width to speak of; bein’ built a heap like a single-shot rifle. Hank’s all right, but nature was in a playful mood when she laid out his specifications. And he runs to ears so fluently that he has to wear a six and seven-eighths hat on a seven and a quarter head to keep it from wearin’ the top off his ears. As a distinguishin’ mark, he wears a brown derby.
I don’t hold that any man has a right to wear that kind of a war-bonnet in a cow country. It is jist a invitation to those desirin’ a legitimate target. But Hank owns the No-Limit Saloon, along with the HP cow outfit, and that kinda gives him the right to look kinda doggy, as yuh might say.
Me and Peewee runs the HP outfit for Hank. Peewee Parker weighs two hundred and fifty on the hoof, and he ain’t so awful tall. I’m “Hozie” Sykes, one of the real old Sykes family. My folks was in this country when the Mayflower came over. I’ve heard paw tell about one of his great, great grandfathers, who was livin’ down in Arizona at that time. He heard about this boatload of folks comin’ over; so the old man hitched up his oxen and headed for California. He said the damn’ country was gittin’ overrun with foreigners.