How the Dumb Man Rode.
"Now, I don't reckon none," remarked the Old Cattleman with a confidential air, "this yere dumb man' incident ever arises to my mind ag'in, if it ain't for a gent whose trail I cuts while I'm projectin' 'round the post-office for letters.
"It's this mornin', an' I'm gettin' letters, as I states, when Icatches this old party sort o' beamin' on me frank an' free, like he's shore a friendly Injun.At last he sa'nters over an' remarks, 'Whatever is your callin', pard?' or some sech bluff as that."Isees he's good people fast enough; still I allows a small, brief jolt mebby does hire good.
"'Well,' I says, intendin' to let him know I'm alive an' wakeful that a-way; 'well, whatever my callin' is, at least it ain't been no part of my bringin' up to let mere strangers stroll into the corral an' cinch a saddle onto me for a conversational canter, jest because they're disp'sitioned that a-way."'No offence meant,' says the old party, an' I observes he grows red an' ashamed plumb up to his white ha'r."Excuse me, amigo," I says, handin' out my paw, which he seizes all radiant an' soon, "I ain't intendin' nothin' blunt, nor to slam no door on better acquaintance, but when you--all ropes at me about what you refers to as my "callin"' that time, I ain't jest lookin' for a stranger to take sech interest in me, an' I'm startled into bein' onp'lite.I tharfore tenders regrets, an', startin' all over, states without reserve that I'm a cow man."An' now,' Iretorts, further, "merely to play my hand out, an' not that I looks to take a trick at all, let me ask what pursoots do you p'int out on as a pretext for livin'?""'Me?' says the old party, stabbin' at his shirt bosom with his thumb; 'me? I'm a scientist.' "'Which the news is exhilaratin' an'
interestin',' I says; 'shake ag'in! If thar's one thin-I regyards high, it's a scientist.Whatever partic'lar wagon-track do you-all follow off, may I ask?' "It's then this old gent an' I la'nches into a gen'ral discussion onder the head of mes'lancous business, Ireckons, an' lie puts it up his long suit, as he calls it, is `moral epidemics.' He says he's wrote one book onto 'em, an' sw'ar:; he'll write another if nobody heads him off; the same bein' on-likely.As he sees how I'm interested, the old sport sets down an' lays it out to me how sentiments goes in herds an' droves, same as weather an'
things like that."'Oneday you rolls out in the mornin',' this old gent declar's, `an' thar you reads how everybody commits sooicide.
Then some other day it's murder, then robbery, an' ag'in, the whole round-up goes to holdin' them church meetin's an' gettin' religion.
Them's waves; moral epidemics,' he says.
"Which this don't look so egreegious none as a statement, neither, an' so after pow-wowin' a lot, all complacent an' genial, I tells the old gent he's got a good game, an' I thinks myse'f his system has p'ints.At this, he admits he's flattered; an' then, as we're gettin' to the ends of our lariats, we tips our sombreros to each other an' lets it go at that.To-morry he's goin' to confer on me his book; which I means to read it, an' then I'll savey more about his little play.
"But," continued my friend, warm with his new philosophy, "this yere is all preelim'nary, an' brings me back to what I remarks at the jump; that what that old gent urges recalls this dumb an' deef man incident; which it sort o' backs his play.It's a time when a passel of us gets overcome by waves of sentiment that a-way, an' not only turns a hoss-thief loose entire, after the felon's done been run down, but Boggs waxes that sloppy he lavishes a hoss an' saddle onto him; likewise sympathy, an' wishes him luck.
"The whole racket's that onnacheral I never does quit wonderin'
about it; but now this old science sharp expounds his theory of 'moral epidemics,' it gets cl'ared up in my mind, an' I reckons, as he says, it's shorely one of them waves.
"Tell the story? Thar's nothin' much to said yarn, only the onpreecedented leeniency wherewith we winds it up.In the first place, I don't know what this hoss-thief's name is, for he's plum deef an' dumb, an' ain't sayin' a word.I sees him hoverin' 'round, but I don't say nothin' to him.I observes him once or twice write things to folks he has to talk with on a piece of paper, but it's too slow a racket for me, too much like conversin' by freight that a-way, an' I declines to stand in on it.I don't like to write well enough to go openin' a correspondence with strangers who's deef an'
dumb.
"When he first dawns on the camp, he has money, moderate at least, an' he gets in on poker, an' stud, an' other devices which is open an' common; an' gents who's with him at the time says he has a level notion of hands, an' in the long run, mebby, amasses a little wealth.
"While I ain't payin' much heed to him, I do hear towards the last of his stay as how he goes broke ag'inst faro-bank.But as gents often goes broke ag'inst faro-bank, an' as, in trooth, I tastes sech reverses once or twice myse'f, the information don't excite me none at the time, nor later on.
"It's mighty likely some little space since this dumb person hits camp, an' thar's an outfit of us ramblin' 'round in the Red Light, which, so to speak, is the Wolfville Club, an' killin' time by talkin'.Dave Tutt an' Texas Thompson is holdin' forth at each other on the efficacy of pray'r, an' the balance of us is bein' edified.
"It looks like Texas has been tellin' of a Mexican he sees lynched at Laredo one time, an' how a tender gent rings in some orisons before ever they swings him off.Texas objects to them pray'rs an'
brands 'em as hypocrisies.As happens frequent--for both is powerful debaters that a-way--Dave Tutt locks horns with Texas, an' they both prances 'round oratorical at each other mighty entertainin'.
