"'Tell us what's in the letter,' says Texas, turnin' the document over to Boggs. 'Read her out, Dan; I'd play the hand, but I has to ride herd on the culprit.' "'I can't read it,' says Boggs, handin' the note to Tutt; 'I can't read readin', let alone writin'. But I'm free to say, even without hearin' that document none, that I shorely hesitates to string this party up. Bein' tongueless, an' not hearin' a lick more'n adders, somehow he keeps appealin' to me like he's locoed.' "'Which if you ever has the pleasure to play some poker with him,' says Tutt, as he onfolds the paper, 'like I do three nights ago, you wouldn't be annoyin' yourse'f about his bein' locoed. I finds him plenty deep an' wary, not to say plumb crafty. Another thing, it's plain he not only gets letters, but we-all sees him write about his drinks to Black Jack, the Red Light barkeep, an' sim'lar plays.' "By this time, Tutt's got the letter open, an' is gettin' ready to read. The dumb man's been standin' thar all the time, with his arms roped behind him, an' lookin' like hope has died; an' also like he ain't carin' much about it neither. When Tutt turns open the letter, I notices the tears kind o' start in his eyes, same as if he's some affected sentimental. "'Which this yere commoonication is plenty brief,' says Tutt, as he rums his eye over it. 'She's dated "Casa Grande," an' reads as follows, to wit: "'Dear Ben: Myra is dyin'; come at once. A." "'Now, whoever do you reckon this yere Myra is?' asks Tutt, lookin' 'round. 'she's cashin' in, that's obvious; an' I'm puttin' it up she's mighty likely a wife or somethin' of this yere dumb party.' "'That's it,' says Boggs. 'He gets this word that Myra's goin' over the big divide, an' bein' he's gone broke entire on faro-bank, he plunges over to the corral an' rustles Thompson's hoss. Onder sech circumstances, I ain't none shore he's respons'ble. I take-it thar ain't much doubt but Myra's his wife that a-way, in which event my idee is he only borrys Thompson's pinto. Which nacherally, as I freely concedes, this last depends on Myra's bein' his wife.' "'Oh, not necessarily,' says Texas Thompson; 'thar's a heap of wives who don't jestify hosstealiil' a little bit. Now I plays it open, Myra's this dumb gent's mother, an' on sech a theery an' that alone, I removes the lariat from his arms an' throws him loose. But don't try to run no wife bluff on me; I've been through the wife question with a blazin' pine-knot in my hand, an' thar's nothin' worth while concealed tharin.' "'Which I adopts the ainendiricnt,' says Boggs, 'an' on second thought, I strings my chips with Texas, that this yere Myra's his mother. I've got the money that says so.' "'At any rate,' says Tutt, 'from all I sees, I reckons it's the general notion that we calls this thing a draw. We can't afford to go makin' a preecedent of hangin' a gent for hoss-stealin' who's only doin' his best to be present at this Myra's fooneral, whoever she may be. It's a heap