"Dead Shot stands thar the color of seegyar ashes, while Cherokee settles ca'mly back in his 27 cha'r. Cherokee's face is as bar' of expression as a blank piece of paper, as he runs his eye along the lay-out, makin' ready for the next turn. Thar's mebby a dozen of us playin', but not a word is spoke. Everyone is onto Dead Shot's little game, the moment Nell begins to talk.
"Matters seems to hang on centers, ontil Nell stretches across an' lays her baby hand on Dead Shot's:
"'Thar ain't a soul in sight,' she says, mighty soft an' good, 'but what's your friend, Dead Shot.'
"Dead Shot, pale as a candle, wheels toward the door.
"'Pore Dead Shot!' murmurs Nell, the tears in her eyes, to that extent she has to ask Boggs to take her place as lookout.
"Four hours goes by, an' thar's the poundin' of a pony's hoofs, an' the creak of saddle-leathers, out in front. It's the Red Dog chief, who's come lookin' for Enright.
"They confabs a minute or two at a table to the r'ar, an' then Enright calls Peets over.
"'Dead Shot's gone an' got himse'f downed,' he says.
