I didn't, though. I switched back on to what was a-puzzlin' and a-worryin' me. "Billy Trowbridge," I begun, "has waited too long a'ready fer Rose Andrews. And if things don't come to a haid right soon, he'll lose her." Hairoil give a kinda jump. "The Widda Andrews," he says, "--Zach Sewell's gal? So you're a-plannin' t' interfere in the doin's of ole man Sewell's fambly." "Yas." He reached fer my hand and squz it, and pretended t' git mournful, like as if he wasn't never goin' t' see me again. "My _pore_ friend!" he says. "Wal, what's eatin' you now?" I ast. "Nothin'--only that pretty gal I tole you about, she's----" Then he stopped short. "She's what?" He let go of my hand, shrug his shoulders, and started off. "Never mind," he called back. "Let it drop. We'll just see. Mebbe, after all, you'll git the very lesson you oughta have. Ole man Sewell!" And, shakin' his haid, he turned the corner of the deepot. Wal, who was Sewell anyhow?--no better'n any other man. I'd knowed him since 'fore the Oklahomaw Rushes, and long 'fore he's wired-up half this end of the Terrytory. And I'd knowed his oldest gal, Rose, since she was knee-high to a hop-toad. Daisy gal, she allus was, by thunder! And mighty sweet. Wal, when, after tyin' up t' that blamed fool Andrews, she'd got her matreemonal hobbles off in less'n six months--owin' t' Monkey Mike bein' a little sooner in the trigger finger--why, d'you think I was a-goin' to stand by and see a tin-horn proposition like that Noo York Simpson put a vent brand on her? _Nixey!_ It was ole man Sewell that bossed the first job and cut out Andrews fer Rose's pardner. Sewell's that breed, y' know, hard-mouthed as a mule, and if he cain't run things, why, he'll take a duck-fit. But he shore put his foot in it _that_ time. Andrews was as low-down and sneakin' as a coy_o_te, allus gittin' other folks into a fuss if he could, but stayin' outen range hisself. The little gal didn't have no easy go with him--we all knowed _that,_ and she wasn't happy. Wal, Mike easied the sittywaytion. He took a gun with a' extra long carry and put a lead pill where it'd do the most good; and the hull passel of us was plumb tickled, that's all, just plumb tickled--even t' the sheriff. I said pill just now. Funny how I just fall into the habit of usin' doctor words when I come to talk of this par_tic_ular mix-up. That's 'cause Simpson, the tin-horn gent I mentioned, is a doc. And so's Billy Trowbridge--Billy Trowbridge is the best medicine-man we ever had in these parts, if he _did_ git all his learnin' right here from his paw. He ain't got the spondulix, and so he ain't what you'd call tony. But he's got his doctor certifi_cate,_ O. K., and when it comes t' curin', he can give cards and spades to _any_ of you' highfalutin' college gezabas, and _then_ beat 'em out by a mile. That's _straight!_