"'What's the meanin' of a cold an' formal racket sech as this?' he howls, turnin' to Peets. 'I wants to go clost to my work; I wants to crowd in where it's warm.' "'I proposes a handkerchief,' says Peets; 'but Tutt objects on the grounds that his man's got heart palp'tations or somethin'.' "'You're a liar,' yells Tutt; 'our gent's heart's as solid as a sod house.' "'What do I hear?' shouts Peets. 'You calls me a liar?' "At this Tutt an' Peets lugs out their guns an' blazes away at each other six times like the roll of a drum--Texas all the time yellin' for a weepon, an' cavortin' about in the smoke that demoniac he'd scare me, only I knows it's yoomerous. Of course Peets an' Tutt misses every shot, and at the windup, after glarin' at each other through the clouds, Peets says to Tutt: "'This yere is mere petulance. Let's proceed with our dooties. As soon as Texas has killed an' skelped the hold-up you represents, I'll shoot it out with you, if it takes the autumn.' "'That's good enough for a dog,' says Tutt, stickin' his gun back in the scabbard; 'an' now we proceeds with the orig'nal baite.' "But they don't proceed none. As Tutt turns to his Signal sharp, who's all but locoed by the shootin', an' has to be detained by Boggs from runnin' away, Jack Moore comes chargin' up on his pony an' throws a gun on the whole outfit. "'Hands up yere!' he says, sharp an' brief; 'or I provides the coyotes with meat for a month to come.' "Everybody's hands goes up; an' it's plain Moore's comin' ain't no disapp'intment to the Signal person. He's that relieved he shows it. "'Don't look so tickled,' growls Boggs to him, as Moore heads the round-up for the New York Store; 'don't look so light about it; you mortifies me.' "Moore takes the band over to the New York Store, where Enright's settin' as a jedge. He allows he's goin' to put 'em all on trial for disturbin' of Wolfville's peace. The Signal sharp starts to say somethin', when Peets interrupts, an' that brings Boggs to the front, an' after that a gen'ral uproar breaks loose like a stampede. "'Gimme a knife, somebody,' howls Texas, 'an' let me get in on this as I should. Am I to be robbed of my revenge like this?' "But Enright jumps for a old Spencer seven-shooter, an' announces it cold, he's out to down the first gent that talks back to him a second time. This ca'ms 'em, an' the riot sort o' simmers. "'Not that I objects to a street fight,' says Enright, discussin' of the case; 'but you-all talks too much. From the jabber as was goin' for'ard over that blanket out thar, it shorely reminds me more of a passel of old ladies at a quiltin' bee, than a convocation of discreet an' se'f-respectin' gents who's pullin' off a dooel. To cut her short, the public don't tolerate no sech rackets, an' yere-upon I puts Texas Thompson an' this Signal party onder fifty-thousand- dollar bonds to keep the peace.'