"I don't reckon now he ever plays Julius Caesar none on Red Dog.
Mighty likely this yere was the bull-snake's first engagement.Iclings to this notion that Red Dog never sees Julius Caesar; for if she had, them drunkards which inhabits said camp wouldn't have quit yellin' yet.Which Julius Caesar, with that Red Dog whiskey they was soaked in, would have shore given 'em some mighty heenous visions.
Fact is, Crawfish told Jack Moore later he never takes Julius Caesar nowhere before.
"But all the same Crawfish prances into camp on this yere occasion with Julius bushwacked 'way 'round back in his shirt, an' sech vacant spaces about his person as ain't otherwise occupied a-nourishin' of minor bull-snakes plenty profuse.
"Of course them snakes is all holdin' back, bein', after all, timid cattle; an' so none of us s'spects Crawfish is packin' any sech s'prises.None of the boys about town knows of Crawfish havin' this bull-snake habit but me, nohow.So the old man stampedes'round an'
buys what he's after, an' all goes well.Nobody ain't even dreamin'
of reptiles.
"At last Crawfish, havin' turned his little game for flour, air-tights, an' jig-juice, as I says, gets into the Red Light, an'
braces up ag'in the bar an' calls for nose-paint all 'round.This yere is proper an' p'lite, an' everybody within hearin' of the yell lines up.
"It's at this crisis Crawfish Jim starts in to make himse'f a general fav'ritc.Everybody's slopped out his perfoomcry, an' Dan Boggs is jest sayin': 'Yere's lookin' at you, Crawfish,' when that crazy-boss shepherd sorter swarms 'round inside his shirt with his hand, an' lugs out Julius Cesar be the scruff of his neck, a-squirmin' an' a-blowin', an' madder'n a drunken squaw.Once he gets Julius out, he spreads him 'round profuse on the Red Light bar an'
sorter herds him with his hand to keep him from chargin' off among the bottles.
"'Gents,' says this locoed Crawfish, 'I ain't no boaster, but Ioffers a hundred to fifty, an' stands to make it up to a thousand dollars in wool or sheep, Julius Caesar is the fattest an' finest serpent in Arizona; also the best behaved.'
"Thar ain't no one takin' Crawfish's bet.The moment he slams Julius on the bar, more'n ten of our leadin' citizens falls to the floor in fits, an' emerges outen one par'xysm only to slump into another.
Which we shorely has a general round-up of all sorts of spells.
"'Whatever's the matter of you-all people?' says Crawfish, lookin'
mighty aghast.'Thar's no more harm in Julius Caesar than if he's a fullblown rose.'
"Jack Moore, bein' marshal, of course stands his hand.It's his offishul dooty to play a pat hand on bull-snakes an' danger in all an' any forms.An' Jack does it.
"While Crawfish is busy recountin' the attainments of Julius Caesar, a-holdin' of his pet with one hand, Jack Moore takes a snap shot at him along the bar with his six-shooter, an' away goes Julius Caesar's head like a puff of smoke.Then Moore rounds up Crawfish, an', perceivin' of the other bull-snakes, he searches 'em out one by one an' massacres 'em.
"'Call over Doc Peets,' says Jack Moore final, 'an' bring Boggs an'
Tutt an' the rest of these yere invalids to.'
"Doc Peets an' Enright both trails in on the lope from the New York Store.They hears Moore's gun-play an' is cur'ous, nacheral 'nough, to know who calls it.Well, they turns in an' brings the other inhabitants outen their fits; pendin' which Moore kills off the last remainin' bull-snake in Crawfish's herd.
"Son, I've seen people mad, an' I've seen 'em gay, an' I've seen 'em bit by grief.But I'm yere to remark I never runs up on a gent who goes plumb mad with sadness ontil I sees Crawfish that day Jack Moore immolates his bull-snake pets.He stands thar, white, an'
