THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE.
"That's straight, son; you shorely should have seen Jack Moore,"continued the Old Cattleman, after a brief pause, as he hitched his chair into a comfortable position; "not seein' Jack is what any gent might call deeprivation.
"Back in the old days," he went on, "Jack Moore, as I relates, is kettle-tender an' does the rope work of the Stranglers.Whatever is the Stranglers? Which you asks Borne late.I mentions this assembly a heap frequent yeretofore.Well, some folks calls 'ern the 'vig'lance committee'; but that's long for a name, so in Wolfville we allers allooded to 'em as `Stranglers.' This yere is brief, an'
likewise sheds some light.
"This Jack Moore--which I'm proud to say he's my friend--I reckons is the most pro bono publico gent in the Southwest.He's out to do anythin' from fight to fiddle at a dance, so's it's a public play.
"An' then his idees about his dooties is wide.He jest scouts far an' near, an' don't pay no more heed to distance an' fatigue than a steer does to cobwebs.
"'A offishul," says Jack, 'who don't diffuse himse'f 'round none, an' confines his endeavors to his own bailiwick, is reestricted an'
oneffectooal, an' couldn't keep down crime in a village of prairie-dogs.' An' then he'd cinch on his saddle, an' mebby go curvin' off as far north as the Flint Hills, or east to the Turkey-track.
"That's right; when it comes to bein' active, Jack is what you might call an all-round seelection.An' clean strain? Game as hornets.
Never knowed him to quit anythin' in his life--not even whiskey.Isays to him myse'f one time: 'Jack; whyever don't you renig on whiskey? Looks like it's sorter gettin' behind you some, ain't it?
Some day mebby it outholds you when you can't stand to lose.'
"'Sometimes I thinks I'll pass it up, myse'f,' says Jack, 'but don't you know, I can't do it.I'm too sperited, that a-way, an'
chivalrous.That's whatever! I'm too chivalrous.' An' I shore reckons he was.
"But as for doin' his dooty! Which the same is simply relaxation to Jack Moore.I recalls one instance speshul.One day thar comes trailin' along into Wolfville a party from down 'round Yallerhouse some'ers.This yere Yallerhouse gent looks disperited an' off color as to health.But of course we-alls don't refer none to it; for whether this stranger's sick or well is his business, not ours;leastwise in its first stages.This yere's before Doc Peets inhabits Wolfville or he'd informed us touchin' this party's that a-way.
"Which the Yallerhouse gent tracks along into the Red Light, an'
tells the barkeep to set out the nose-paint.He drinks alone, not invitin' of the pop'lace, whereby we knows for shore he's offen his feed.
"Well, after he corrals his forty drops, this invalid camps down in one corner of the stage station, an' next mornin' he wakes up outen his head an' plumb locoed.
"'This yere Yallerhouse man,' says Dan Boggs, comin' along into the Red Light about first-drink time the same mornin', an' speakin'
general, 'is what conserv'tive opinion might call "some sick." Istops a minute ago an' asks him how he's stackin' up like, but it ain't no use.He's plumb off his mental reservation, an' crazy as a woman's watch.'
"'Whatever do you allow is the matter of him, Boggs?' asks Old Man Enright.
"'Smallpox,' says Boggs, mighty confident.
"'Smallpox!' repeats Enright; 'be you shore?'
"'That's what I says,' answers Boggs; 'an' you can gamble my long suit is pickin' out smallpox every time.I knows the signal smoke like my own campfire.'
"'Well, see yere,' says Dave Tutt, who's come in, 'I jest now rounds up them symptoms of this Yallerhouse gent; an' talkin' of smallpox, I offers a hundred dollars even he ain't got no smallpox.Bein' out solely for legit'mate sport,' continues Tutt, 'an' not aimin' to offend Boggs none, I willin'ly calls it fifty to one hundred he ain't got nothin'.'
"'Which I takes both bets,' says Boggs, 'an' deems 'em easy.Which both is like robbin' a bird's-nest.Yere's the circ'latin' medium.
Thar; cover it an' file it away with the barkeep to wait results.'
So Tutt an' Boggs makes their bets mighty eager, an' the barkeep holds the stakes.
"As soon as it gets blown through Wolfville this Yallerhouse party has smallpox, everybody comes canterin' over to the Red Light, gets a drink, an' wants to hold a mass meetin' over it.By partic'lar request Enright takes the chair an' calls 'em to order.
"'This yere meetin',' says Enright, meanwhile beatin' with the butt of his six-shooter on the poker-table, 'is some sudden an'
permiscus; but the objects is easy an' plain.We-alls convenes ourse'fs to consider the physical condition of this party from Yallerhouse, which report says is locoed an' can't talk none for himself.To make this inquiry a success, we-alls oughter see this Yallerhouse gent; an' as thar is fewer of him than of us, I app'ints Jack Moore, Dan Boggs, an' Short Creek Dave, a committee, of three, to bring him before us in a body.Pendin' the return of the committee the meetin' will take a drink with the chair.'
"In about no time back comes the outfit, packin' the Yallerhouse man all easy enough in a blanket, an' spreads him out on the floor.He looks sorter red 'round in spots, like somethin's been stingin' of him, but it's evident, as Boggs says, he's locoed.He lays thar, rollin' his eyes an' carryin' on to himse'f, but he don't address the chair or offer to take no part in the meetin'.Enright quaffs his drink all slow an' dignified, an' gazes at the Yallerhouse man on the floor.
"'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, settin' down his glass, an'
givin' the poker-table a little tap with his gun, 'yere's the party, an' the question is now: "What's he got?" Do I hear any remarks?'
"'Bein' in the lines, Mister Pres'dent,' says Boggs, 'of previous assertion, an' for the purpose of bringin' the question squar'
before this house, I now moves you this yere Yallerhouse party has the smallpox.I ain't aimin' herein at playin' it low on Tutt, an'
