"It's never been my beliefs," he said, "that Sam Enright would have dipped into them old love concerns of his if he'd been himse'f.
Enright's sick at the time.Shore! he ain't sick to the p'int of bein' down in his blankets, an' is still meanderin' 'round the camp as dooty dictates or his interest calls, but he's plenty ailin' jest the same.Thar's the roodiments of a dispoote between Doc Peets an'
Enright as to why his health that time is boggin' down.Peets puts it up it's a over-accoomulation of alkali; Enright allows it's because he's born so long ago.Peets has his way, however, bein' a scientist that a-way, an' takes possession of the case.
"No, it ain't them maladies that so weakens Enright he lapses into confidences about his early love; but you see, son, Peets stops his nose-paint; won't let him drink so much as a drop; an' bein' cut off short on nourishment like I says, it makes Enright--at least so Iallers figgers--some childish an' light-headed.That's right; you remove that good old Valley Tan from the menu of a party who's been adherin' an' referrin' to it year after year for mighty likely all his days, an' it sort o' takes the stiffenin' outen his dignity a lot; he begins to onbend an' wax easy an' confidenshul.Is seems then like he goes about cravin' countenance an' support.An' down onder my belt, it strikes me at the time, an' it shore strikes me yet, that ravishin' the canteen from Enright, nacherally enfeebles him an' sets him to talkin' an tellin' of past days.Oh, he don't keep up this yere onhealthful abstinence forever.Peets declar's Enright removed from danger, an' asks him to drink, himse'f, inside of two weeks.
"'Where a gent,' says Peets, elab'ratin' this yere theery of not drinkin' none, 'has been crookin' his elbow constant, an' then goes wrong, bodily, it's a great play to stop his nose-paint abrupt.It's a shock to him, same as a extra ace in a poker deck; an' when a gent' is ill, shocks is what he needs.'
"'But let me savey about this,' says Dan Boggs, who's allers a heap inquis'tive an' searchin' after knowledge; 'do you-all impose this onwonted sobriety as a penalty, or do you make the play meedic'nal?'
Meedic'nal,' says Peets.'In extreme cases, sobriety is plenty cooratif.'
"Does Enright bow to Doc Peets' demands about no whiskey that a-way?
Son, Peets is plumb inex'rable about them preescriptions of his.He looks on the mildest argyment ag'in 'em as personal affronts.Peets is the most immov'ble sharp, medical, that ever I crosses up with;an' when it comes to them preescriptions, the recklessest sport in Arizona lays down his hand.
"Once I knows Peets to pass on the failin' condition of a tenderfoot who's bunked in an' allows he'll die a lot over to the O.K.
Restauraw.Peets decides this yere shorthorn needs abstinence from licker.Peets breaks the news to the onhappy victim, an' puts him on water till the crisis shall be past.Also, Peets notified the Red Light not to heed any requests of this party in respects to said nose-paint.
"It turns out this sick person, bonin' for licker as is plumb nacheral, forgets himse'f as a gent an' sort o' reckons he'll get fraudulent with Peets.He figgers he'll jest come Injunin' into the Red Light, quil himse'f about a few drinks surreptitious, an' then go trackin' back to his blankets, an' Doc Peets none the wiser.So, like I says, this yere ill person fronts softly up to the Red Light bar an' calls for Valley Tan.
"Black Jack, the barkeep, don't know this party from a cross-Lsteer; he gets them mandates from Peets, but it never does strike Black Jack that this yere is the dyin' sport allooded to.In darkness that a-way, Black Jack tosses a glass on the bar an' shoves the bottle.It shore looks like that failin' shorthorn is goin' to quit winner, them recooperatifs.
"But, son, he's interrupted.He's filled his glass--an' he's been plenty free about it--an' stands thar with the bottle in his hand, when two guns bark, an' one bullet smashes the glass an' the other the bottle where this person is holdin' it.No, this artillery practice don't stampede me none; I'm plumb aware it's Doc Peets'
derringers from the go-off.Peets stands in the door, one of his little pup-guns in each hand.
"'Which I likes your aplomb!' says Black Jack to Peets, as he swabs off the bar in a peevish way.'I makes it my boast that I'm the best-nachered barkeep between the Colorado an' the Rio Grande, an'
yet I'm free to confess, sech plays chafes me.May I ask,' an' Black Jack stops wipin' the bar an' turns on Peets plumb p'lite, 'what your idee is in thus shootin' your way into a commercial affair in which you has no interest?'
"'This ycre bibulous person is my patient,' says Peets, a heap haughty.'I preescribes no licker; an' them preescriptions is goin'
to be filled, you bet! if I has to fill 'em with a gun.Whatever do you-all reckon a medical practitioner is? Do you figger he's a Mexican, an' that his diagnosises, that a-way, don't go? I notifies you this mornin' as I stands yere gettin' my third drink, that if this outcast comes trackin' in with demands for nose-paint, to remember he's sick an' throw him out on his head.An' yere's how I'm obeyed!'
"Which, of course, this explains things to Black Jack, an' he sees his inadvertences.He comes out from behind the bar to where this sick maverick has done fainted in the confoosion, an' collars him an' sets him on a char.
"'Doc,' says Black Jack, when he's got the wilted gent planted firm an' safe, 'I tenders my regrets.Havin' neither brands nor y'earmarks to guide by, I never recognizes this person as your invalid at all; none whatever.I'd shore bent a gun on him an'
harassed him back into his lair, as you requests, if I suspects his identity.To show I'm on the squar', Doc, I'll do this party any voylence, even at this late hour, which you think will make amends.'
