Wal, I rid Shank's mare over t' Hairoil's. Whilst we was goin', the parson opened up on the subject of Dutchy and that nasty, mean purp of hisn. And I ketched on, pretty soon, to just what he was a-drivin' at. I fell right in with him. I'd never liked Dutchy such a turrible lot anyhow,--and I did want t' be a friend to the parson. So fer a hour after we hit the shack, you might 'a' heerd me a-talkin' (if you'd been outside) and him a-laughin' ev'ry minute 'r so like he'd split his sides.
Monday was quiet. I spent the day at Silverstein's Gen'ral Merchandise Store, which is next the post-office. (Y' see, She might come in fer the Bar Y mail.) The parson got off a long letter to a feller at Williams. And Dutchy was awful busy--fixin' up a fine shootin'-gallery at the back of his "Life Savin' Station."
Tuesday, somethin' happened at the parson's. Right off after the five-eight train come in from the south, Hairoil druv down to the deepot and got a big, square box and rushed home with it. When he come into the thirst-parlour about sun-set, the boys ast him what the parson was gittin'. He just wunk.
"I bet _I_ knows," says Dutchy. "De preacher mans buys some viskey, alretty."
Hairoil snickered. "Wal," he says, "what I carried over was nailed up good and tight, all right, all right."
Wal, say! that made the boys suspicious, and made 'em wonder if they wasn't a darned good _reason_ fer the parson not wearin' duds like other religious gents, and fer his knowin' how to ride so good. And they was _sore_--bein' that they'd stood up so strong fer him, y' savvy.
"A cow-punch," says Monkey Mike, "'ll swaller almost _any_ ole thing, long 's it's right out on the table. But he shore cain't go a _hippy-crit._"
"You blamed idjits!" chips in Buckshot Millikin, him that owns such a turrible big bunch of white-faces, and was run outen Arizonaw fer rustlin' sheep, "what can y' expect of a preacher, that comes from _Williams?_"
Dutchy seen how they all felt, and he was plumb happy. "Vot I tole y'?" he ast. But pretty soon he begun to laugh on the other side of his face. "If dat preacher goes to run a bar agin me," he says, "py golly, I makes no more moneys!"
But the boys was plumb _disgusted_. "The parson's been playin' us fer suckers," they says to each other; "he's been a-soft-soapin' us, a-flimflammin' us. He thinks we's as blind as day-ole kittens." And the way that Tom-fool of a Hairoil hung 'round, lookin' wise, got under they collar. After they'd booted him outen the shebang, they all sit down on the edge of the stoop, just sayin' nothin'--but sawin' wood.