“You are right about the way Arizona is going to hell,” said the mine foreman. “I don’t know as any of you fellows ever knowed ‘Teeth’ Barker. Anyhow, next to what his father must have been, he was the ugliest creature that ever lived on this earth. All of his teeth just naturally stuck out like the cowcatcher of an engine. Well, in spite of that, he always was a good friend of mine. Least he used to be.
“About six months ago I was up to Jerome, and they was telling about an accident there. A man no one knowed at all was killed, but a fellow said he had the ugliest tusks he ever seed. I knew at once that must be Barker. They said they’d planted him up on the knoll, and so,” continued the foreman sadly, “and so, although it was a powerful hot day, I struggled up to the knoll with a nice piece of pine board, and a jack-knife, and I sort of located ‘Teeth’ with a handsome monument and an exaggerated epitaph.
“I came down as hot as the devil, and steps into a saloon to get a drink, when who should walk up to me but ‘Teeth’ Barker himself!
“‘You’re dead,’ said I.
“‘Do I look like it?’ he asked. He got sort of hot under the collar about it, too.
“Well, the long and short of it all was that I had gone and taken all that trouble with a tombstone for a stranger.
“‘The least that you can do, “Teeth” Barker,’ said I, ‘is to come up and see that beautiful monument I erected over you. It took as much trouble to make as a year’s assessment work.’
“Well, he didn’t see it that way. Said he wouldn’t go up there if I was to pay him. And that was after I had taken all that trouble! Gratitude! There ain’t no such thing any more in Arizona,” concluded the foreman.
Story after story was put forth for the edification of the crowd until the grating of wheels outside told of the arrival of the stage. A moment later heavy footsteps resounded on the porch, and the burly stage-driver, with two great mail-sacks slung over his shoulder, swung into the office.
“Evening, gents!” he called in answer to the general salutation. He stepped over to Stephen’s desk and threw down a little bunch of envelopes. “Four telegrams,” he said.