CHEROKEE HALL.
"An' you can't schedoole too much good about him," remarked the Old Cattleman.Here he threw away the remnant of the principe, and, securing his pipe, beat the ashes there-out and carefully reloaded with cut plug.Inevitably the old gentleman must smoke.His tone and air as he made the remark quoted were those of a man whose convictions touching the one discussed were not to be shaken."No, sir," he continued; "when I looks back'ard down the trail of life, if thar's one gent who aforetime holds forth in Wolfville on whom Ireflects with satisfaction, it's this yere Cherokee Hall.""To judge from his conduct," I said, "in the hard case of the Wilkins girl, as well as his remark as she left on the stage, Ishould hold him to be a person of sensibilities as well as benevolent impulse."It was my purpose to coax the old gentleman to further reminiscence.
"Benev'lent!" retorted the old man."Which I should shore admit it!
What he does for this yere young Wilkins female ain't a marker.
Thar's the Red Dog man he lets out.Thar's the Stingin' Lizard's nephy; he stakes said yooth from infancy.'Benev'lent!' says you.
This party Cherokee is that benev'lent he'd give away a poker hand.
I've done set an' see him give away his hand in a jack-pot for two hundred dollars to some gent 'cross the table who's organizin' to go ag'in him an' can't afford to lose.An' you can onderscore it; a winnin' poker hand, an' him holdin' it, is the last thing a thoroughbred kyard-sharp'll give away.But as I says, I sees this Cherokee do it when the opp'sition is settin' in hard luck an'
couldn't stand to lose.
"How would he give his hand away? Throw it in the diskyard an' not play it none; jest nacherally let the gent who's needy that a-way rake in the chips on the low hand.Cherokee mebby does it this fashion so's he don't wound the feelin's of this yere victim of his gen'rosity.Thar's folks who turns sens'tive an' ain't out to take alms none, who's feelin's he spar's that a-way by losin' to 'em at poker what they declines with scorn direct."'Benev'lent,' is the way you puts it! Son, 'benev'lent' ain't the word.This sport Cherokee Hall ain't nothin' short of char'table.
"Speakin' wide flung an' onrestrained, Cherokee, as I mentions to you before, is the modestest, decentest longhorn as ever shakes his antlers in Arizona.He is slim an' light, an' a ondoubted kyard-sharp from his moccasins up.An' I never knows him to have a peso he don't gamble for.Nothin' common, though; I sees him one night when he sets ca'mly into some four-handed poker, five thousand dollars table stake, an' he's sanguine an' hopeful about landin' on his feet as a Cimmaron sheep.Of course times is plenty flush in them days, an' five thousand don't seem no sech mammoth sum.Trade is eager an'
values high; aces-up frequent callin' for five hundred dollars before the draw.Still we ain't none of us makin' cigarettes of no sech roll as five thousand.The days ain't quite so halcyon as all that neither.
"But what I likes speshul in Cherokee Hall is his jedgement.He's every time right.He ain't talkin' much, an' he ain't needin' advice neither, more'n a steer needs a saddle-blanket.But when he concloodes to do things, you can gamble he's got it plenty right.
"One time this Cherokee an' Texas Thompson is comin' in from Tucson on the stage.Besides Cherokee an' Texas, along comes a female, close-herdin' of two young-ones; which them infants might have been t'rant'lers an' every one a heap happier.Sorter as range-boss of the whole out.fit is a lean gent in a black coat.Well, they hops in, an' Cherokee gives 'em the two back seats on account of the female an' the yearlin's.
"'My name is Jones,' says the gent in the black coat, when he gets settled back an' the stage is goin', I an' I'm an exhortin'
evangelist.I plucks brands from the burnin'.'
"'I'm powerful glad to know it,' says Texas, who likes talk.'Them games of chance which has vogue in this yere clime is some various, an' I did think I shorely tests 'em all; but if ever the device you names is open in Wolfville I overlooks the same complete.'
"'Pore, sinkin' soul!' says the black-coat gent to the female; 'he's a-flounderin' in the mire of sin.Don't you know,' he goes on to Texas, 'my perishin' friend, you are bein' swept downward in the river of your own sinful life till your soul will be drowned in the abyss?""'Well, no,' says Texas, 'I don't.I allows I'm makin' a mighty dry ford of it.'
"'Lost! lost! lost!' says the black-coat gent, a-leanin' back like he's plumb dejected that a-way an' hopeless.'It is a stiff-necked gen'ration an' sorely perverse a lot.'
"The stage jolts along two or three miles, an' nothin' more bein'
said.The black-coat gent he groans occasionally, which worries Texas; an' the two infants, gettin' restless, comes tumblin' over onto Cherokee an' is searchin' of his pockets for mementoes.Which this is about as refreshin' to Cherokee as bein' burned at the stake.But the mother she leans back an' smiles, an' of course he's plumb he'pless.Finally the black.coat gent p'ints in for another talk.
"'What is your name, my pore worm?' says the black-coat gent, addressin' of Texas; 'an' whatever avocation has you an' your lost companion?'
"I Why,' says Texas, 'this yere's Hall--Cherokee Hall.He turns faro in the Red Light; an',' continues Texas, a-lowerin' of his voice, 'he's as squar' a gent as ever counted a deck.Actooally, pard, you might not think it, but all that gent knows about settin' up kyards, or dealin' double, or anv sech sinful scheme, is mere tradition.'
"'Brother,' says the female, bristlin' up an' tacklin' the black-coat gent, 'don't talk to them persons no more.Them's gamblers, an'
mighty awful men;' an' with that she snatches away the yearlin's like they's contam'nated.
