“Yeah—and stay home,” says Muley painful-like.
They went out just before the crowd came back. It seems that Gunga Din and Sahara are all right, but they left five guards in the stable.
“We found a hat,” said Mighty. “Hassayampa said that they ain’t fed that tiger for two days, and I’m kinda scared that we won’t never find the man to put under that hat.”
I’m goin’ to draw a veil over the rest of that night. It will be sufficient to say that mornin’ came apace, the sun came up in its usual way, and among us was brotherly love and the sweet spirit of progress. Civilization is sweet to the civilized.
Magpie found us the next day. He looks us over, tells us what he thinks of our ancestors, takes our guns away and leads us down to Wick Smith’s home. I’m kinda hazy on just what happened to us, but it seems that me and Dirty went to sleep on a bed.
I dunno what time I woke up, but I suppose it was afternoon. I sets up on that bed and looks at the dangest person I ever seen. He was settin’ there, lookin’ at me. He’s kind of a dirty, brown-complected hombre, with somethin’ white wrapped around his head, and his body is covered with a striped gown of some kind.
I bats my eyes a couple of times, but he don’t disappear.
“I’m dead and in —,” says the apparation.
It has the voice and eye of Dirty Shirt Jones, but the rest of it don’t look like him. Right then and there I marks an X after my name for a temperance vote.
“Yessir, I’m dead,” says the person. “I’ve had delirium tremens enough times to know that this ain’t it.”