"Yes, he's dead enough; never does kick or flutter once. It's
shorely a shot in the cross.
"`Do you-all note how he tries to fill his hand on me?' asks
Toothpick, mighty cheerful.
"Toothpick stoops down for the Red Dog man's gun, an' what do you-
all think? He don't have no weapon, none whatever; nothin' more
vig'rous than a peaceful flask of whiskey, which the same is still
all safe in his r'ar pocket.
"'He warn't heeled!' says Toothpick, straightenin' up an' lookin' at
us apol'getic an' disgusted.
"It's jestice to Toothpick to say, I never yet overtakes that gent
who's more abashed an' discouraged than he is when he finds this
person ain't packin' no gun. He surveys the remainder a second, an'
says:
"'Gents, if ever the licker for the camp is on Toothpick Johnson,
it's now. But thar's one last dooty to perform touchin' deceased.
It's evident, departed is about to ask me to drink. It's this yere
motion he makes for his whiskey which I mistakes for a gun play.
Thar I errs, an' stacks up this Red Dog person wrong. Now that I
onderstands, while acknowledgin' my fal'cies, the least I can do is
to respect deceased's last wishes. I tharfore," says Toothpick,
raisin' the Red Dog party's flask, "complies with what, if I hadn't
interrupted him, would have been his last requests.
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