'This is relief to Cherokee, but the young-ones howls like coyotes, an' wants to come back an' finish pillagin' him.But the mother she spanks 'em, an' when Texas is goin' to give 'em some cartridges outen his belt to amoose 'em, she sasses him scand'lous, an' allows she ain't needin' no attentions from him.Then she snorts at Texas an' Cherokee contemptuous.The young-ones keeps on yellin' in a mighty onmelodious way, an' while Cherokee is ca'm an' don't seem like he minds it much, Texas gets some nervous.At last Texas lugs out a bottle, aimin' to compose his feelins', which they's some harrowed by now.
"`Well, I never!' shouts the woman; 'I shorely sees inebriates ere now, but at least they has the decency not to pull a bottle that a-way before a lady.' "This stampedes Texas complete, an' he throws the whiskey outen the stage an' don't get no drink."It's along late in the mornin' when the stage strikes the upper end of Apache Canyon.This yere canyon is lately reckoned some bad.Nothin' ever happens on the line, but them is the days when Cochise is cavortin' 'round plenty loose, an'
it's mighty possible to stir up Apaches any time a-layin' in the hills along the trail to Tucson.If they ever gets a notion to stand up the stage, they's shore due to be in this canyon; wherefore Cherokee an' Texas an' Old Monte who's drivin' regards it s'picious."'Send 'em through on the jump, Monte,' says Cherokee, stickin' out his head."The six hosses lines out at a ten-mile gait, which rattles things, an' makes the black-coat gent sigh, while the young-ones pours forth some appallin' shrieks.The female gets speshul mad at this, allowin'
they's playin' it low down on her fam'ly.But she takes it out in cuffin' the yearlin's now an' then, jest to keep 'em yellin', an'
don't say nothin'."Which the stage is about half through the canyon, when up on both sides a select assortment of Winchesters begins to bang an' jump permiscus; the same goin' hand-in-hand with whoops of onusual merit.With the first shot Old Monte pours the leather into the team, an' them hosses surges into the collars like cyclones."It's lucky aborigines ain't no shots.They never yet gets the phelosophy of a hind sight none, an' generally you can't reach their bullets with a ten-foot pole, they's that high above your head.The only thing as gets hit this time is Texas.About the beginnin', a little cloud of dust flies outen the shoulder of his coat, his face turns pale, an'
Cherokee knows he's creased."'Did they get you, Old Man?' says Cherokee, some anxious."'No,' says Texas, tryin' to brace himse'f.
'I'll be on velvet ag'in in a second.I now longs, however, for that whiskey I hurls overboard so graceful.' "The Apaches comes tumblin' down onto the trail an' gives chase, a-shootin' an' a-yellin' a heap zealous.As they's on foot, an' as Old Monte is makin' fifteen miles an hour by now, they merely manages to hold their own in the race, about forty yards to the r'ar.
"This don't go on long when Cherokee, after thinkin', says to Texas, 'This yere is the way I figgers it, If we-alls keeps on, them Injuns is that fervent they runs in on us at the ford.With half luck they's due to down either a hoss or Monte--mebby both; in which event the stage shorely stops, an' it's a fight.This bein' troo, an' as I'm 'lected for war anyhow, I'm goin' to caper out right yere, an' pull on the baile myse'f.This'll stop the chase, an'
between us, pard, it's about the last chance in the box this pore female an' her offsprings has.An' I plays it for 'em, win or lose.'
"'Them's my motives; says Texas, tryin' to pull himse'f together.
'Shall we take this he-shorthorn along?' An' he p'ints where them four tenderfoots is mixed up together in the back of the stage.
"'He wouldn't be worth a white chip,' says Cherokee, 'an' you-all is too hard hit to go, Texas, yourse'f.So take my regards to Enright an' the boys, an' smooth this all you know for Faro Nell.I makes the trip alone.'
"'Not much,' says Texas.'My stack goes to the center, too.'
"But it don't, though, 'cause Texas has bled more'n he thinks.The first move he makes he tips over in a faint.
"Cherokee picks up his Winchester, an', openin' the door of the stage, jumps plumb free, an' they leaves him thar on the trail.
"'It's mebby an hour later when the stage comes into Wolfville on the lope.Texas is still in a fog, speakin' mental, an' about bled to death; while them exhortin' people is outen their minds entire.
"In no time thar's a dozen of us lined out for Cherokee.Do we locate him? Which I should say we shorely discovers him.Thar's a bullet through his laig, an' thar he is with his back ag'in a rock wall, his Winchester to the front, his eyes glitterin', a-holdin'
the canyon.Thar never is no Injun gets by him.Of course they stampedes prompt when they hears us a-comin', so we don't get no fight.
"'I hopes you nails one, Cherokee,' says Enright; 'playin' even on this yere laig they shoots.'
"'I win once, I reckons', says Cherokee, 'over behind that big rock to the left.'
"'Shore enough he's got one Injun spread out; an', comin' along a little, Jack Moore turns up a second.
"'Yere's another,' says Jack, 'which breaks even on the bullet in Texas.'
"'That's right,' says Cherokee, 'I remembers now than is two.The kyards is comin' some Tast, an' I overlooks a bet.'
"We-alls gets Cherokee in all right, an' next day 'round comes the female tenderfoot to see him.
"'I wants to thank my defender,' she says.
"'You ain't onder no obligations, whatever, ma'am', says Cherokee, risin' up a little, while Faro Nell puts another goose-h'ar piller onder him.'I simply prefers to do my fightin' in the canyon to doin' it at the ford; that's all.It's only a matter of straight business; nothin' more'n a preference I has.Another thing, ma'am;you-all forgives it, seein' I'm a gent onused to childish ways: but when I makes the play you names, I simply seizes on them savages that a-way as an excuse to get loose from them blessed children of your'n a whole lot.'"
