“The thought that you, Dave,” says Enright, “you, a gent I yeretofore regyards as distinguished for every paternal virchoo, would go romancin’ along, lettin’ that boy grow up in darkness of Christmas, an’ it one of the first festivals of the Christian world! As a play, I says freely, that sech neglect is plumb too many for me!”
“She’s shore a shame,” adds Dan Boggs, who’s also shocked a heap, and stands in with Enright to crawl Dave’s hump, “she’s shore a shame, never to provide no Christmas for that offspring of yours, an’ leave him to go knockin’ about in his ignorance like a blind dog in a meat shop. That’s what I states; she’s a shame!”
“Now gents,” reemonstrates Dave, “don’t press the limit in these yere reecrim’nations, don’t crowd me too hard. I asks you, whatever could I do? If you-all enthoosiasts will look this yere Christmas proposition ca’mly in the face, you’ll begin to notice that sech cel’brations ain’t feasible in Arizona. Christmas in its very beginnin’ is based on snow. Who’s the reg’lar round-up boss for Christmas? Ain’t he a disrepootable Dutchman named Santa Claus? Don’t he show up wrapped in furs, an’ with reindeer an’ sleigh an’ hock deep in a snowstorm? Answer me that? Also show me where’s your snow an’ where’s your sleigh an’ where’s your reindeer an’ where’s your Dutchman in Wolfville? You-all better go about Jixin’ up your camp an’ your climate so as to make one of these Christmases possible before ever you come buttin’ in, cavilin’ an’ criticisin’ ag’in me as a parent.”
“Which jest the same, Dave,” contends Dan, who takes the eepisode mighty sour, “it looks like you-all could have made some sort o’ play.”
About this time, as addin’ itse’f to the gen’ral jolt given the Wolfville nerve by them Christmas questions put aforesaid by little Enright Peets, news comes floatin’ over from Red Dog of a awful spree that low-flung outfit enjoys. It’s a Six Shooter Weddin’; so deenominated because Pete Bland, the outlaw for whom the party is made, an’ his wife, The Duchess, has been married six years an’ ain’t done nothin’ but fight. Wherefore, on the sixth anniversary of their nuptials, Red Dog resolves on a Six Shooter Weddin’; an’ tharupon descends on those two wedded warriors, Pete an’ The Duchess, in a body, packin’ fiddles, nose-paint, an’ the complete regalia of a frantic shindig. An’ you hear me, gents, them Red Dog tarrapins shore throws themse’fs loose! You-all could hear their happy howls in Wolfville.
As a reason for the outburst, an’ one consistent with its name, the guests endows Pete an’ The Duchess each with belts an’ a brace of guns.
“To the end,” says the Red Dog cha’rman when he makes the presentation speech, “that, as between Pete an’ The Duchess, we as a commoonity promotes a even break, and clothes both parties in interest with equal powers to preserve the peace.”
As I observes, it’s the story of these proud doin’s on the locoed part of our rival, that ondoubted goes some distance to decide us Wolves of Wolfville on pullin’ off a Christmas warjig for little Enright Peets. We ain’t goin’ to be outdone none in this business of being fervid.
It’s mebby a month prior to Christmas when we resolves on this yere racket, an’ so we has ample time to prepare. Almost every afternoon an’ evenin’ over our Valley Tan, we discusses an’ does our wisest to evolve a programme. It’s then we begins to grasp the wisdom of Dave’s observations touchin’ how onfeasible it is to go talkin’ of Christmas in southern Arizona.
“Nacherally,” remarks Enright, as we sits about the Red Light, turnin’ the game in our minds, “nacherally, we ups an’ gives little Enright Peets presents. Which brings us within ropin’ distance of the inquiry, ‘Whatever will we give him?’”