The Texan | Page 3

Good Lord! An' without no
pencil an' paper! We'll cut her up in chunks an' tackle her: let's see, ten
times eighteen is one-eighty, an' three times that is--three times the
hundred is three hundred, and three times the eighty is two-forty. That's
five-forty, an' a half of one-eighty is ninety, an' five-forty is six-thirty.
We'd ort to double it fer interest an' goodwill, but we'll leave it go at the
reglar price. So, just you skin off six hundred an' thirty bucks, an'
eighteen more, an' pass 'em acrost. An' do it pronto or somethin' might
happen to Fatty right where he's thickest." The cowpuncher emphasized
his remarks by boring the muzzle even deeper into the unctuous
periphery of the proprietor. The croupier shot a questioning glance
toward his employer.
"Shell it out! You fool!" grunted that worthy. "Fore this gun comes out
my back. An', besides, it's cocked!" Without a word the croupier
counted out the money, arranging it in little piles of gold and silver.
As the vagabond swept the coins into his battered Stetson the Texan
gave a final twist to the six-gun. "If I was you, Fatty, I'd rub that there
thirteen number off that wheel an' paint me a tripple-ought or mebbe,
another eagle-bird onto it."
He turned to the man who stood grinning over his hatful of money:
"Come on, Pedro, me an' you're goin' away from here. The licker this
hombre purveys will shore lead to bloodshed an' riotin', besides which
it's onrespectable to gamble anyhow."
Pausing to throw the bridle reins over the horn of his saddle, the Texan
linked his arm through that of his companion and proceeded down the
street with the big black horse following like a dog. After several
minutes of silence he stopped and regarded the other thoughtfully.
"Pedro," he said, "me an' you, fallin' heir to an onexpected legacy this
way, it's fit an' proper we should celebrate accordin' to our lights. The
common an' onchristian way would be to spliflicate around from one
saloon to another 'till we'd took in the whole town an' acquired a couple

of jags an' more or less onfavourable notoriety. Then, in a couple of
days or two, we'd wake up with fur on our tongue an inch long an' our
wealth divided amongst thieves. But, Pedro, such carryin's-on is
ondecent an' improvident. Take them great captains of industry you
read about! D'you reckon every pay-day old Andy Rockyfellow goes a
rampin' down Main Street back there in Noo York, proclaimin' he's a
wolf an' it's his night to howl? Not on your tintype, he don't! If he did
he'd never of rose out of the rank an' file of the labourin' class, an'
chances is, would of got fired out of that fer not showin' up at the corral
Monday mornin'! Y'see I be'n a-readin' up on the lives of these here
saints to kind of get a line on how they done it. Take that whole bunch
an' they wasn't hardly a railroad nor a oil mill nor a steel factory
between 'em when they was born. I got all their numbers. I know jest
how they done it, an' when I get time I'm a-goin' out an' make the
Guggenhimers cough up my share of Mexico an' the Rocky Mountains
an' Alaska.
"But to get down to cases, as the preachers says: Old Andy he don't
cantankerate none noticeable. When he feels needful of a jamboree he
goes down to the bank an' fills his pockets an' a couple of valises with
change, an' gum-shoes down to John D. Swab's, an' they hunt up
Charley Carnage an' a couple of senators an' a rack of chips an' they
finds 'em a back room, pulls off their collars an' coats an' goes to it.
They ain't no kitty only to cover the needful expenses of drinks, eats,
an' smokes--an' everything goes, from cold-decks to second-dealin'.
Then when they've derove recreation enough, on goes their collars an'
coats, an' they eat a handful of cloves an' get to work on the public
again. They's a lot of money changes hands in these here sessions but it
never gets out of the gang, an' after you get their brands you c'n
generally always tell who got gouged by noticin' what goes up. If coal
oil hists a couple of cents on the gallon you know Andy carried his
valises home empty an' if railroad rates jumps--the senators got nicked
a little, an' vicy versy. Now you an' me ain't captains of industry, nor
nothin' else but our own soul, as the piece goes, but 'tain't no harm we
should try a law-abidin' recreation, same as these others, an' mebbe
after some practice we'll get to where the Guggenhimers will be