A SCOUTING TRIP
"What ails you?" Law inquired as he and Blaze rolled away in the buckboard.
"Serves me right for leaving my six-shooter at home," panted the rancher. "Well, I might have known they'd find me some day."
"'They'? Who?"
"That hombre and his wife—the woman with the mustache. They swore they'd get me, and it looks like they will, for I daresn't raise my hand to protect myself."
This was very mystifying to Dave, and he said so.
"The woman'll recognize me, quick enough," Blaze asserted, and then,
"God knows what Paloma will do."
"Really! Is it that bad?"
"It's a vile story, Dave, and I never expected to tell anybody; but it's bound to come out on me now, so you better hear my side. Last summer I attended a convention at Galveston, and one hot day I decided to take a swim, so I hired a suit and a room to cache my six-shooter in. It was foolish proceedings for a man my age, but the beach was black with people and I wasn't altogether myself. You see, we'd had an open poker game running in my room for three days, and I hadn't got any sleep. I was plumb feverish, and needed a dip. Well, I'm no water-dog, Dave; I can't swim no better than a tarrapin with its legs cut off, but I sloshed around some in the surf, and then I took a walk to dreen off and see the sights. It was right interesting when I got so I could tell the women from the men—you see I'd left my glasses in the bath-house.
"Now I'd sort of upheld the general intemperance of that poker game for three days and nights—but I don't offer my condition as an excuse for what follows. No gentleman ought to lay his indecencies onto John Barley corn when they're nothing more nor less than the outcroppin's of his own orneriness. Liquor has got enough to answer for without being blamed for human depravities. I dare say I was friendlier than I had any right to be; I spoke to strangers, and some of the girls hollered at me, but I wouldn't have harmed a soul.