Wal, it looked as if that book was goin’ fluey. To make things worse, the boys begun kickin’ about havin’ t’ pack so many guns. And I had to git up a notice, signed by the sheriff, which said that more’n two shootin’-irons on any one man wouldn’t be ’lowed no more, and that cityzens was t’ “shed forthwith.”
I seen somethin’ had got t’ be done pronto. “Cupid,” I says to myself, “you must consider that there book of Boston’s some more. ’Pears that Boston ain’t gittin’ all he come after. Nothin’ ain’t happenin’ that he can put into a book. Wal, it’s got t’ happen. Just chaw on that.”
Next, I hunted up the boys. “Gents,” I says to ’em, “help me find a bad man that’ll fit into a story with a gal.”
“Yas; every book has got t’ have a gal.”
“I s’pose,” says Rawson. “Just like ev’ry herd had got t’ have a case of staggers. But–who’s the gal?”
The boys all lent towards me, fly-traps wide open.
“Carlota Arnaz,” I answers.
Some looked plumb eased in they minds–and some didn’t. Carlota, she’s ace-high with quite a bunch–all ready t’ snub her up and marry her.
“The Senorita’ll do,” says Rawson. “She gen’ally makes out t’ keep some man mis’rable.”