How Jack Rainey Quit.
"Customary, we has our social round-ups in the Red Light," observed the Old Cattleman; "which I mentions once it does us for a club.We're all garnered into said fold that time when Dave Tutt tells us how this yere Jack Rainey quits out."'Rainey gets downed,' says Tutt, 'mainly because his system's obscoore, an'
it chances that a stranger who finds himse'f unmeshed tharin takes it plumb ombrageous; an' pendin' explanations, gets tangled up with a pard of Rainey's, goes to a gun play, an' all accidental an'
casooal Rainey wings his way to them regions of the blest."'Now Iallers holds,' goes on Tutt, 'an' still swings an' rattles with that decision, that it's manners to ask strangers to drink; an' that no gent, onless he's a sky-pilot or possesses scrooples otherwise, has a right to refoose.Much less has a gent, bein' thus s'licited to licker, any license to take it hostile an' allow he's insulted, an'
lay for his entertainers with weepons.' "'Well, I don't know, neither,' says Texas Thompson, who's a heap dispootatious an' allers spraddlin' in on every chance for an argyment.'Thar's a party, now deceased a whole lot--the Stranblers over in Socorro sort o'
chaperones this yere gent to a cottonwood an' excloodes the air from his lungs with a lariat for mebby it's an hour-an' this party I'm alloodin' at, which his name is Fowler, is plumb murderous.Now, it's frequent with him when he's selected a victim that a-way, an'
while he's bickerin' with him up to the killin' p'int, to invite said sacrifice to take a drink.When they're ag'inst the bar, this yere Fowler we-all strangles would pour out a glass of whiskey an'
chuck it in the eyes of that onfortunate he's out to down.Of course, while this party's blind with the nose-paint, he's easy; an'
Fowler tharupon e'llects his skelp in manner, form an' time to suit his tastes.Now I takes it that manners don't insist none on no gent frontin' up to a bar on the invite of sech felons as Fowler, when a drink that a-way means a speshul short-cut to the tomb.' "'All this yere may be troo,' replies Tutt, 'but it's a exception.What Iinsists is, Texas, that speakin' wide an' free an' not allowin' none for sports of the Fowler brand, it's manners to ask strangers to stand in on what beverages is goin'; that it's likewise manners for said strangers to accept; an' it shows that both sides concerned tharin is well brought up by their folks.Sech p'liteness is manners, goin' an' comin', which brings me with graceful swoops back to how Jack Rainey gets shot up.' "'But, after all,' breaks in Texas ag'in, for he feels wranglesome, 'manners is frequent a question of where you be.What's manners in St.Looey may be bad jedgment in Texas; same as some commoonities plays straights in poker, while thar's regions where straights is barred.'
"'Texas is dead right about his State that a-way,' says Jack Moore, who's heedin' of the talk.'Manners is a heap more inex'rable in Texas than other places.I recalls how I'm galivantin' 'round in the Panhandle country--it's years ago when I'm young an' recent--an' as I'm ridin' along south of the Canadian one day, I discerns a pony an' a gent an' a fire', an' what looks like a yearlin' calf tied down.I knows the pony for Lem Woodruff's cayouse, an' heads over to say "Howdy" to Lem.He's about half a mile away; when of a sudden he stands up--he's been bendin' over the yearlin' with a runnin' iron in his hand--an' gives a whoop an' makes some copious references towards me with his hands.I wonders what for a game he's puttin'
up, an' whatever is all this yere sign-language likely to mean; but I keeps ridin' for'ard.It's then this Woodruff steps over to his pony, an' takin' his Winchester off the saddle, cuts down with it in my direction, an' onhooks her--"Bang!" The bullet raises the dust over about fifty yards to the right.Nacherally I pulls up my pony to consider this conduct.While I'm settin' thar tryin' to figger out Woodruff's system, thar goes that Winchester ag'in, an' a streak of dust lifts up, say, fifty yards to the left.I then sees Lem objects to me.I don't like no gent to go carpin' an' criticisin' at me with a gun; but havin' a Winchester that a-way, this yere Woodruff can overplay me with only a six-shooter, so I quits him an'
rides contemptuous away.As I withdraws, he hangs his rifle on his saddle ag'in, picks up his runnin' iron all' goes back content an'
all serene to his maverick.'" "What is a maverick?" I asked, interrupting my friend in the flow of his narration."Why, Is'posed," he remarked, a bit testily at being halted, "as how even shorthorns an' tenderfeet knows what mavericks is.Mavericks, son, is calves which gets sep'rated from the old cows, their mothers, an'
ain't been branded none yet.They're bets which the round-ups overlooks, an' don't get marked.Of course, when they drifts from their mothers, each calf for himse'f, an' no brands nor y'ear marks, no one can tell whose calves they be.They ain't branded, au' the old cows ain't thar to identify au' endorse 'em, an' thar you stands in ignorance.Them's mavericks."It all comes," he continued in further elucidation of mavericks, "when cattle brands is first invented in Texas.The owners, whose cattle is all mixed up on the ranges, calls a meetin' to decide on brands, so each gent'll know his own when he crosses up with it, an' won't get to burnin' powder with his neighbors over a steer which breeds an' fosters doubts.
After every party announces what his brand an' y'ear mark will be, all' the same is put down in the book, a old longhorn named Maverick addresses the meetin', an' puts it up if so be thar's no objection, now they all has brands but him, he'll let his cattle lope without markin', an' every gent'll savey said Maverick's cattle because they won't have no brand.Cattle without brands, that a-way, is to belong to Maverick, that's the scheme, an' as no one sees no reason why not, they lets old Maverick's proposal go as it lays.
