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190 to make any remarks in a case like this. It seems to me that the matter may be stated briefly as follows: Firstly, the

"Great G—d, boys!" fairly yelled the leader, as he recognized his man, "if this ain't old Judge, I'll be d—d! Let's get; for if he gets to talking to us, we'll die right here of old age or starvation!" and in half the time it would take me to tell it, the whole gang broke, as from the presence of the cholera, and disappeared in the chaparral from whence they came, never halting even to say good-by.

That reminds me of the fellow who came up to me with an Apache arrow sticking in his back, on the Skull Valley road, in Central Arizona. He

It pains me to be compelled to cut that story short at the above point, but love of truth impels me to say that I never had an opportunity of finishing it in the presence of that company. Just as I started to tell what the poor fellow did, I heard one of the party remark to another, "No insane asylum in mine, if I know it!" and a moment after observed them all, one by one, my beloved and trusted companions, crawling off over the rocks, like so many skulking Apaches, toward the spot where the horses were tied. When I overtook them, just as they were getting into their saddles, they assured me that they always liked that story about the Judge. They considered it "very neat and very appropriate." Well, so they did, and so do I; but I cursed in my heart the set of over-appreciative wretches who could draw a moral so fine, and put it in practice so suddenly. I like fun; but