“What denomination?” asked Tresler, curiously. “What religion?” he added, for the man’s better understanding.
“Wal, I don’t rightly knows,” Arizona went on gravely. “I kind o’ fancy the boys called ’em ‘dippers’; but I guess this yarn don’t call fer no argyment,” he added, with a suspicion of his volcanic temper rising at the frequent interruptions. Then, as the other kept silence, he continued in his earnest way, “Guess that meetin’-house wus mostly empty. Ther’ wus one feller ther’ a’ready when I come. He wus playin’ toons on a kind o’ ’cordian he worked wi’ his feet——”
“Harmonium,” suggested Tresler, diffidently.
“That’s it. I could ’a’ wep’ as I looked at that feller, he wus that noble. He’d long ha’r greased reg’lar, an’ wore swaller-tails. Guess he wus workin’ that concertina-thing like mad; an’ he jest looked right up at the ceilin’ as if he wer’ crazy fer some feller to come ’long an’ stop him ’fore he bust up the whole shootin’ match.”
“Looked inspired,” Tresler suggested.
“Mebbe that’s wot. Still, I wus glad I come. Then the folks come along, an’ the deac’n; an’ the feller quit. Guess he wus plumb scart o’ that deac’n, tho’ I ’lows he wus a harmless-lookin’ feller ’nough. I see him clear sheer out o’ range on sight, which made me think he wus a mean-sperrited cuss anyway.
“Yes, I guess I wus glad I’d come; I felt that easy an’ wholesome. Say, the meetin’s dead gut stuff. Yes, sir—dead gut. I felt I’d never handle a gun again; I couldn’t ’a’ blasphemed ’longside a babby ef you’d give me ten dollars to try. An’ I guess ther’ wa’n’t no dirty Greaser as I couldn’t ha’ loved like a brother, I wus that soothed, an’ peaceful, an’ saft feelin’. I jest took a chaw o’ plug, an’ sat back an’ watched them folks lookin’ so noble as they come along in the’r funeral kids an’ white chokers. Then the deac’n got good an’ goin’, an’ I got right on to the ‘A-mens,’ fetchin’ ’em that easy I wished I’d never done nothin’ else all my life. I set ther’ feelin’ real happy.”
Arizona paused, and his wild eyes softened as his thoughts went back to those few happy moments of his chequered career. Then he heaved a deep sigh of regret and went on—
“But it wa’n’t to last. No, sir, religion ain’t fer the likes o’ me. Ye can’t play the devil an’ mix wi’ angels. They’re bound to out you. Et’s on’y natteral. Guess I’d bin chawin’ some, an’ ther’ wa’n’t no spit boxes. That’s wher’ the trouble come. Ther’ wus a raw-boned cuss wi’ his missis settin’ on the bench front o’ me, an’ I guess her silk fixin’s got mussed up wi’ t’bacca juice someways. I see her look down on the floor, then she kind o’ gathered her skirts aroun’ her an’ got wipin’ wi’ her han’k’chief. Then she looks aroun’ at me, an’, me feelin’ friendly, I kind o’ smiled at her, not knowin’ she wus riled. Then she got whisperin’ to her wall-eyed galoot of a man, an’ he turns aroun’ smart, an’ he sez, wi’ a scowl, sez he, ‘The meetin’-house ain’t no place fer chawin’ hunks o’ plug, mister; wher’ wus you dragged from?’ Ther’ wus a nasty glint to his eye. But ef he wus goin’ to fergit we wus in the meetin’-house I meant showin’ him I wa’n’t. So I answers him perlite. Sez I, wi’ a smile, ‘Sir,’ sez I, ‘I take it we ain’t from the same hog trough.’ I see he took it mean, but as a feller got up from behind an’ shouts ‘Silence,’ I guessed things would pass over. But that buzzard-headed mule wus cantankerous. He beckons the other feller over an’ tells him I wus chawin’, an’ the other feller sez to me: ‘You can’t chaw here, mussin’ up the lady’s fixin’s.’
“Wal, bein’ on’y human, I got riled, but, not wishin’ to raise a racket, I spat my chew out. I don’t know how it come, but, I guess, bein’ riled, I jest didn’t take notice wher’ I dumped it, till, kind o’ sudden-like, I found I wus inspectin’ the vitals o’ that side-show-freak’s gun. Sez he, in a nasty tone, which kind o’ interrupted the deac’n’s best langwidge, an’ made folks fergit to fetch the ‘A-men’ right, ‘You dog-gone son of a hog——’ But I didn’t wait fer no more. I sees then what’s amiss. My chaw had located itself on the lady’s ankle—which I ’lows wus shapely—which she’d left showin’ in gatherin’ her fixin’s aroun’ her. I see that, an’ I see his stovepipe hat under the seat. I jest grabbed that hat sudden, an’ ’fore he’d had time to drop his hammer I’d mushed it down on his head so he couldn’t see. Then I ups, wi’ the drop on him, an’ I sez: ‘Come right along an’ we’ll settle like honest cit’zens.’ An’ wi’ that I backed out o’ the meetin’. Wal, I guess he wus clear grit. We settled. I ’lows he wus a dandy at the bizness end o’ a gun, an’ I walked lame fer a month after. But ther’ was a onattached widdy in that town when we’d done.”