Dodge City (Kan.) -- Fiction; Masterson, Bat, 1853-1921 -- Fiction; Western stories
“Thar!” said Cimarron Bill, decisively. “You can now tell how that
eediot Rattlesnake ain’t cap’ble of se’f-protection. It’s not only ag’in
your oaths of office, but it’s inhooman not to interfere. Before them
two has been married a week, that Calamity girl’ll t’ar into pore
Rattlesnake with her ten nails an’ make saddlestrings of him.”
“That’s your view, Cimarron,” retorted Mr. Masterson. “Now to my mind
Rattlesnake and Calamity’ll get along as peaceful as two pups in a
basket. Besides, speaking of public interest, do you know how many
inhabitants Dodge has lost during the official year?”
“No,” said Cimarron Bill, “I don’t. But whatever has that got to do with
Calamity ropin’ up this yere innocent Rattlesnake?”
“There were seven to get bumped off,” continued Mr. Masterson,
disregarding the question, “exclusive of McBride’s Bridget. Seven; and I
don’t count Mexicans and non-resident cowboys who came in with the herds
and expired in the natural course of festivals which they, themselves,
inaugurated. Seven! That’s knocking a hole in Dodge’s census.”
“But why,” protested the honest Cimarron, “should you-all punish
Rattlesnake for that? He don’t down any of them seven. He’s pulled his
gun jest once this year, an’ then he only busts the crust on Kell, an’
no harm done.”
“No harm!” interjected Mr. Masterson, severely.
“Whatever was the harm?” retorted the obstinate Cimarron. “Kell’s inside
thar runnin’ his joint, ain’t he? Besides the fault was Kell’s.
Rattlesnake rings in a cold hand on Kell, as a gent every now an’ then
will, an’ Kell taunts him about it. If Kell’s goin’ to comment on a cold
hand he’d ought to do it with his six-shooter. To go tantalisin’
Rattlesnake about it with his mouth that a-way, makes what I calls a
case of crim’nal carelessness, an’ leaves Kell responsible. But whether
it does or not, why rooin Rattlesnake’s life with this Calamity lady
because of them other seven? Thar’s neither jestice nor reason in it.”
“Cimarron,” replied Mr. Masterson, disgustedly, “you’re forever roping
at the wrong steer. There’s no ruin in the business. This is the idea:
We lose seven. Now when Rattlesnake and Calamity are married, they may
do something to repair our loss. If they were to jump in and have seven
children, that would make it an even break, wouldn’t it?”
“Still,” contended Cimarron Bill, “I don’t see why the losses of Dodge
should be saddled onto Rattlesnake. It ain’t right to heap burdens on
him that, properly regyarded, belongs to the commoonity.”
“Well,” observed Mr. Masterson, turning on his heel for a stroll down
the street, “I won’t dispute all day with you. Rattlesnake’s of full
age, free, and half white, and if he wants to wed Calamity it’s his
American privilege.”
“Which you could say the same,” returned Cimarron Bill, “if Rattlesnake
was aimin’ at sooicide.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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