He don't want to go makin' no vain plays for his
six-shooter, or indulge in no sour ranikaboo retorts. That gent
likes him. With Wolfville social conditions, this yere greetin' is
what you sports who comes from the far No'th calls 'the beginnin' of
the thaw. The ice is breakin' up; an' if our candidate sets in his
saddle steady an' with wisdom at this back-thumpin', name-callin'
epock, an' don't take to millin' 'round for trouble, in two minutes
him an' that gregar'ous gent who's accosted him is drinkin' an'
fraternizin' together like two stage hold-ups in a strange camp. The
West ain't ornery; she's simply reserved a whole lot.
"Mighty likely now," continued my friend, following a profound pause
which was comfortably filled with peach and honey; "it's mighty
likely now, comin' down to folks, that the most ornery party I ever
knows is Curly Ben. This yere Ben is killed, final; clowned by old
Captain Moon. Thar's a strange circumstance attendin', as the papers
say, the obliteration of this Curly Ben, an' it makes a heap of an
impression on me at the time. It shows how the instinct to do
things, that a bent is allers carryin' 'round in his mind, gets sort
o' located in his nerves mebby, an' he'll do 'em without his
intellects ridin' herd on the play--do 'em like Curly Ben does,
after his light is out complete.
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