“After Peets hangs up his bluff, we goes about strainin’ eyes an’ y’ears for any yells or signal smokes that denotes the advent of said changes.  An’, son, hard as it is to credit, it comes to pass like Peets prognosticates.  By next evenin’ a great current of tenderness for Dave goes over Jennie all at once.  She begins to call him ’Davy’—­a onheard of weakness!—­an’ hovers about him askin’ whatever he thinks he needs; in fact, she becomes that devoted, it looks like the little Enright Peets’ll want he’p next to play his hand for him.  That’s the trooth:  Jennie goes mighty clost to forgettin’ Enright Peets now an’ then in her wifely anxieties concernin’ Dave.

“As for Dave himse’f, he don’t onderstand his sudden an’ onmerited pop’larity; but wearin’ a dazed grin of satisfied ignorance, that a-way, he accepts the sityooation without askin’ reasons, an’ proceeds to profit tharby.  That household is the most reeconciled model fam’ly outfit in all broad Arizona.  An’ it so continyoos to the end.

“‘Whatever did you do or say, Doc?’ asks Enright a month later, as we-all from across the street observes how Jennie kisses Dave good-bye at the door an’ then stands an’ looks after him like she can’t b’ar to have him leave her sight; ‘what’s the secret of this second honeymoon of Dave’s?’

“‘Which I don’t say much,’ says Peets.  ’I merely takes Jennie one side an’ exhorts her to brace up an’ show herse’f a brave lady.  Then I explains that while I ain’t told Dave none—­as his knowin’ wouldn’t do no good—­I regyards it as my medical dooty to inform her so’s she’ll be ready to meet the shock.  “The trooth is, Missis Tutt,” I says, “pore Dave’s got heart disease, an’ is booked to cash in any moment.  I can’t say when he’ll die exactly; the only shore thing is he can’t survive a year.”  She sheds torrents of tears; an’ then I warns her she mustn’t let Dave see her grief or bushwhack anything but smiles on her face, or mightly likely it’ll stop his clock right thar.  “Can’t nothin’ be done for Dave?” she asks.  “Nothin’,” I replies, “except be tender an’ lovin’ an’ make Dave’s last days as pleasant an’ easy as you can.  We must jump in an’ smooth the path to his totterin’ moccasins with gentleness an’ love,” I says, “an’ be ready, when the blow does fall, to b’ar it with what fortitoode we may.”  That’s all I tells her.  However, it looks like it’s becomin’ a case of overplay in one partic’lar; our pore young namesake, Enright Peets, is himse’f gettin’ a trifle the worst of it, an’ I’m figgerin’ that to-morry, mebby, I’ll look that infant over, an’ vouchsafe the news thar’s something mighty grievous the matter with his lungs.’”

CHAPTER XII.

Bill Connors of the Osages.

“Nacherally, if you-all is frettin’ to hear about Injuns,” observed the Old Cattleman in reply to my latest request, “I better onfold how Osage Bill Connors gets his wife.  Not that thar’s trouble in roundin’ up this squaw; none whatever.  She comes easy; all the same said tale elab’rates some of them savage customs you’re so cur’ous concernin’.”