Mefodis.' I does do it for troo, but now I'se gone over, wool an'
weskit, to d' Baptis'.An', sah, I feels mighty penitent an'
promisin', I does; I'm gwine to make a stick of it dis time.It's resky to go changin' about from one fold to the other like I'se been doin'; a man might die between, an' then where is he?'
"'But how about this swap to the Baptist church?' I asks.'I thought you tells me how the Methodist religion is full of sunshine that a-way.'
"'So I does, sah,' says Tom; 'so I does, word for word, like you remembers it.But I don't know d' entire story then.The objections I has to d' Mefodis' is them 'sperience meetin's they holds.They 'spects you to stan' up an' tell 'em about all yo' sins, an 'fess all you've been guilty of endoorin' yo' life! Now, sech doin's tu'ns out mighty embarrassin' for a boy like Tom, who's been a-livin' sort o' loose an' lively for a likely numbah of years, sah, an' Icouldn't stan' it, sah! I'm too modes' to be a Mefodis'.So Iexplains an' 'pologizes to d' elders, then I shins out for d'
Baptis' folks next door.An' it's all right.I'm at peace now: I'm in d' Baptis' chu'ch, sah.You go inter d' watah, kersause! an' that sets yo' safe in d' love of d' Lamb.'"Following these revelations of my friend concerning the jaunty fashion in which the "boy Tom" wore his religion as well as his name, I maintained a respectful silence for perhaps a minute, and then ventured to seek a new subject.I had been going over the vigorous details of a Western robbery in the papers.After briefly telling the story as I remembered it, in its broader lines at least, I carried my curiosity to that interesting body politic, the town of Wolfville.
"In the old days," I asked, "did Wolfville ever suffer from stage robberies, or the operations of banditti of the trail?""Wolfville," responded my friend, "goes ag'inst the hold-up game so often we lose the count.Mostly, it don't cause more'n a passin'
irr'tation.Them robberies an' rustlin's don't, speakin' general, mean much to the public at large.The express company may gnash its teeth some, but comin' down to cases, what is a Wells-Fargo grief to us? Personal, we're out letters an' missifs from home, an' I've beheld individooals who gets that heated about it you don't dar' ask 'em to libate ontil they cools, but as'a common thing, we-all don't suffer no practical set-backs.We're shy letters, but sech wounds is healed by time an' other mails to come.We gains what comfort we can from sw'arin' a lot, an' turns to the hopeful footure for the rest.
Thar's one time, however, when Wolfville gets wrought up.
"Which the Wolfville temper, usual, is ca'm an' onperturbed that a-way.Thar's a steadiness to Wolfville that shows the camp has depth;it can lose without thinkin' of sooicide, it can win an' not get drunk.The Wolfville emotions sets squar' an' steady in the saddle, an' it takes more than mere commonplace buckin' to so much as throw its foot loose from a stirrup, let alone send it flyin' from its seat.
"On this yere o'caslon, however, Wolfville gets stirred a whole lot.
For that matter, the balance of Southeast Arizona gives way likewise, an' excitement is genial an' shorely mounts plumb high.Iremembers plain, now my mind is on them topics, how Red Dog goes hysterical complete, an' sets up nights an' screams.Which the vocal carryin's on of that prideless village is a shame to coyotes!
"It's hold-ups that so wrings the public's feelin's.Stages is stood up; passengers, mail-bags an' express boxes gets cleaned out for their last splinter.An' it ain't confined to jest one trail.This festival of crime incloodes a whole region; an' twenty stages, in as many different places an' almost as many days, yields up to these yere bandits.Old Monte, looks like, is a speshul fav'rite; they goes through that old drunkard twice for all thar is in the vehicle.
The last time the gyard gets downed.
"No, the stage driver ain't in no peril of bein' plugged.Thar's rooles about stage robbin', same as thar is to faro-bank an' poker.
It's onderstood by all who's interested, from the manager of the stage company to the gent in the mask who's holdin' the Winchester on the outfit, that the driver don't fight.He's thar to drive, not shoot; an' so when he hears the su'gestion, 'Hands up!' that a-way, he stops the team, sets the brake, hooks his fingers together over his head, an' nacherally lets them road agents an' passengers an'
gyards, settle events in their own onfettered way.The driver, usual, cusses out the brigands frightful.The laws of the trail accords him them privileges, imposin' no reestrictions on his mouth.
He's plumb free to make what insultin' observations he will, so long as he keeps his hands up an' don't start the team none ontil he's given the proper word, the same comin' from the hold-ups or the gyards, whoever emerges winner from said emeutes.
"As I states, the last time Old Monte is made to front the iron, the Wells-Fargo gyard gets plugged as full of lead as a bag of bullets.
An' as to that business of loot an' plunder, them miscreants shorely harvests a back load! It catches Enright a heap hard, this second break which these yere felons makes.
"Cherokee Hall an' me is settin' in the Red Light, whilin' away time between bev'rages with argyments, when Enright comes ploddin' along in with the tidin's.Cherokee an' me, by a sing'lar coincidence, is discussin' the topic of 'probity' that a-way, although our loocubrations don't flourish none concernin' stage rustlin'.
Cherokee is sayin':
"'Now, I holds that trade--what you-all might call commerce, is plenty sappenin' to the integrity of folks.Meanin' no aspersions on any gent in camp, shorely not on the proprietors of the New York Store, what I reiterates is that I never meets up with the party who makes his livin' weighin' things, or who owns a pa'r of scales, who's on the level that a-way.Which them balances, looks like, weaves a spell on a gent's moral princ'ples.He's no longer on the squar'.'
