"It's when Bill's over to Pine Knot layin' in tobacker, an' nose-paint an' corn meal, an' sech necessaries, when Olson stands in to down Bill's pet.He goes injunnin' over to Bill's an' finds the camp all deserted, except the raccoon's thar, settin', battin' his eyes mournful an' lonesome on the doorstep.This Olson camps down by the door an' fondles the raccoon, an' strokes his coat, an' lets him search his pockets with his black hands ontil he gets that friendly an' confident about Olson he'd told him anythin'.It's then this yere miscreant, Olson, springs his game."H's got a couple of crawfish which he's fresh caught at the Branch.Now raccoons regards crawfish as onusual good eatin'.For myse'f, I can't say I deems none high of crawfish as viands, but raccoons is different; an' the way they looks at it, crawfish is pie.
"This Olson brings out his two crawfish an' fetchin' ajar of water from the spring, he drops in a crawfish an' incites an' aggravates Zekiel--that's the name of Bill's raccoon--to feel in an' get him a whole lot.
"Zekiel ain't none shy on the play.He knows crawfish like a gambler does a red chip; so turnin' his eyes up to the sky, like a raccoon does who's wropped in pleasant anticipations that a-way, he plunges in his paw an' gets it.
"Once Zekiel acquires him, the pore crawfish don't last as long as two-bits at faro-bank.When Zekiel has him plumb devoured he turns his eyes on Olson, sorter thankful, an' 'waits developments.
"Olson puts in the second crawfish, an' Zekiel takes him into camp same as t'other.It's now that Olson onfurls his plot on Zekiel.
Olson drops a dozen buckshot into the jar of water.Nacherally, Zekiel, who's got his mind all framed up touchin' crawfish, goes after the buckshot with his fore foot.But it's different with buck-shot; Zekiel can't pick 'em up.He tries an' tries with his honest, simple face turned up to heaven, but he can't make it.All Zekiel can do is feel 'em with his foot, an' roll 'em about on the bottom of the jar.
"Now as I remarks prior, when a raccoon gets embarked that a-way, he can't quit.He ain't arranged so he can cease.Olson, who's plumb aware tharof, no sooner gets Zekiel started on them buckshot, than knowin' that nacher can be relied on to play her hand out, he sa'nters off to his wickeyup, leavin' Zekiel to his fate.Bill won't be home till Monday, an' Olson knows that before then, onless Zekiel is interrupted, he'll be even for that hawg Bill drops.As Olson cones to a place in the trail where he's goin' to lose sight of Bill's camp, he turns an' looks back.The picture is all his revenge can ask.Thar sets Zekiel on the doorstep, with his happy countenance turned up to the dome above, an' his right paw elbow deep in the jar, still rollin' an' feelin' them buckshot 'round, an'
allowin' he's due to ketch a crawfish every moment.
"Which it works out exactly as the wretched Olson figgers.The sun goes down, an' the Sunday sun comes up an' sets again; an' still pore Zekiel is planted by the jar, with his hopeful eyes on high, still feelin' of them buckshot.He can't quit no more'n if he's loser in a poker game; Zekiel can't.When Bill rides up to his door about second-drink time Monday afternoon, Olson is shorely even on that hawg.Thar lays Zekiel, dead.He's jest set thar with them buck-shot an' felt himse'f to death.
"But speakin' of the sapiency of Bill Hoskins's Zekiel," continued the old gentleman as we lighted pipes and lapsed into desultory puffing, "while Zekiel for a raccoon is some deep, after all you-all is jest amazed at Zekiel 'cause I calls your attention to him a whole lot.If you was to go into camp with 'em, an' set down an'
watch 'em, you'd shorely be s'prised to note how level-headed all animals be.
"Now if thar's anythin' in Arizona for whose jedgement I don't have respect nacheral, it's birds.Arizona for sech folks as you an' me, an' coyotes an' jack-rabbits, is a good range.Sech as we-alls sorter fits into the general play an' gets action for our stacks.
But whatever a bird can find entrancin' in some of them Southwestern deserts is allers too many for me.
"As I su'gests, I former holds fowls, who of free choice continues a residence in Arizona, as imbeciles.Yet now an' then I observes things that makes me oncertain if I'm onto a bird's system; an' if after all Arizona is sech a dead kyard for birds.It's possible a gent might be way off on birds an' the views they holds of life.He might watch the play an' esteem 'em loser, when from a bird's p'int of view they's makin' a killin', an' even callin' the turn every deal.
"What he'ps to open my eyes a lot on birds is two Road Runners Doc Peets an' me meets up with one afternoon comin' down from Lordsburg.
These yere Road Runners is a lanky kind of prop'sition, jest a shade off from spring chickens for size.Which their arrangements as to neck an' laigs is onrestricted an' liberal, an' their long suit is runnin' up an' down the sun-baked trails of Arizona with no object.
Where he's partic'lar strong, this yere Road Runner, is in waitin'
ontil some gent comes along, same as Doc Peets an' me that time, an'
then attachin' of himse'f said cavalcade an' racin' along ahead.ARoad Runner keeps up this exercise for miles, an' be about the length of a lariat ahead of your pony's nose all the time.When you-all lets out a link or two an' stiffens your pony with the spur, the Road Runner onbuckles sim'lar an' exults tharat.You ain't goin' to run up on him while he can wave a laig, you can gamble your last chip, an' you confers favors on him by sendin' your pony at him.
Thar he stays, rackin' along ahead of you ontil satiated.Usual thar's two Road Run.ners, an' they clips it along side by side as if thar's somethin' in it for 'em; an' I reckons, rightly saveyed, thar is.However, the profits to Road Runners of them excursions ain't obvious, none whatever; so I won't try to set 'em forth.Them journeys they makes up an' down the trail shorely seems aimless to me.
