W. C. Tuttle

“ There were no notches on the butt of this old gun, but Duke Steele knew that its muzzle had spouted death many times.
Suddenly Duke spoke.
“Saint, what made you old before your time?”
“Old? Before—my—time?” The Saint turned his head and looked at Duke.
“Uh-huh. You ain’t over fifty, are yuh? You ain’t got no right to wear long white hair and whiskers and make folks think you’re as old as the hills.” ”

“ It was a hard journey across the desert to Cactus City, but water was necessary for the handling of the ore—and Calico had none. Many of the wagons brought back great casks of water to supply Calico. There was no ice. The cool of the evening lowered the temperature of the water a trifle, but a cold drink was unknown in Calico town in summer.
Duke Steele and the Saint had stocked their larder from one of the stores and had secured several badly-needed blankets. A passing wagon had sold them a small cask of water at a large price, but they were willing to pay. ”

“ Cates laughed and added, “Mebbe Sleed was afraid Mary’s ghost might not be welcome among so many good ones.”
“Is Cactus City any better than Calico?” asked Duke.
“Better morals,” nodded Mica. “They don’t have a killin’ down there more’n once a week. You stay here and you’ll find a-plenty of funerals to work on. Ain’t no money in it as far as I can see, but Preacher Bill had a system. ”