"The first time we-all ever sees Dead Shot, he comes trackin' into the Red Light one evenin' jest after the stage rolls up. Bein' it's encroachin' on second drink time, he sidles up to the bar; an' then, his manner some diffident an' apol'getic, he says:
"'Gents, do you-all feel like a little licker, that a-way?'
"It bein' imp'lite to reefuse, we assembles within strikin' distance of the bottles Black Jack is slammin' the len'th of the counter, an' begins spillin' out our forty drops. At this he turns even more apol'getic.
"'Which I trusts,' he says, 'that no one'll mind much if I takes water?'
"Of course no one minds. Wolfville don't 9 make no speshulty of forcin' whiskey onto no gent who's disinclined. If they prefers water, we encourages 'em.
"'An' for this yere reason,' expounds Boggs, once when he ondertakes to explain the public attitoode towards water to some inquirin' tenderfoot––'an' for this partic'lar reason: Arizona is a dry an' arid clime; an' water drinkers bein' a cur'ous rarity, we admires to keep a spec'men or two buck-jumpin' about, so's to study their habits.'
"As we picks up our glasses, Dead Shot sets to introdoocin' himse'f.
"'My name, gents,' he says, 'is Baker, Abner Baker. The Wells-Fargo folks sends me down yere from Santa Fe to ride shotgun for 'em.'
"The name's plenty s'fficient. It's him who goes to a showdown with them three road agents who lays for the stage over in a spur of the Black Range back of San Marcial, an' hives the three. That battle saves the company $200,000; an', they're that pleased with Dead Shot's industry, they skins the company's bankroll for a bundle of money the size of a roll of blankets, an' gives it to him by way 10 of reward. It's the talk of the two territories.
"While we-all knows Dead Shot when he speaks his name, none of us lets on. It's ag'inst ettiquette in the southwest to know more of a gent than what he tells himse'f.