W. C. Tuttle

“ Violet is about the size of a he-wolf, and she seems to think she can outrun the string of tomato cans which are tied to her tail. She goes through, under and over that crowd, and what she don't do to us is left for that pair of broncs and the buckboard. A million dog-fights start right there. ”

“ We cashes in and goes over to the band.
“When did you start to be a actor, Mighty?” asks Magpie, but the feller what Slim took apart steps between Magpie and Mighty and peers at Magpie’s star.
“Pardon me,” says he, “I see you’re the sheriff.”
“You’re pardoned, and I congratulates yuh on your eyesight,” replies Magpie.
“I’ve lost my dogs,” says he. “Somebody must ’a’ stole ’em.”
By this time most everybody in Piperock has congregated around. Music sure is a magnet for folks and dogs.
“Pick out what yuh want,” says Magpie, indicating any amount of canines, circling around through people’s legs. ”

“ I reckon if Abe had ’a’ lived we’d needed a recount. Lot of folks voted for him after he was dead.”
“They would,” I agrees. “Lot of folks around here ain’t got no more ambition than to vote for a corpse. How comes it you’re a editor? Has all the bad-men died off or has a moral wave hit Piperock?”
“I always been a critter of circumstance, Ike,” he states, unfolding his long legs, and easing his gun handy-like. “I always been a disciple of advance, and I’ve worn all the skin off my shoulder trying to give the wheels of progress a lift. ”

“ Slim Hawkins is slow to anger, but when he does get to going he’s hard to stop. He climbs under and over and through this stranger like he was searching for something, and when he gets through this feller ain’t got nothing on but a look of wonderment and one sleeve of his undershirt. Slim looks over the pile of clothes on the floor, and shakes his head. ”

“ There’s such a thing as personal animosity, but when yuh bust into a man’s business and cause him financial loss it’s time to start a probe. That show person was about to help us pay our overhead expenses, but now he’s gone gun-shy.
“I hereby deputizes you to operate this here plant, while I fulfils the obligations of my oath concerning public nuisances. You got plenty of ammunition, Ike?”
“I ain’t no editor, Magpie,” I objects. “I can’t even sign my own name so folks can read it.”
“Sign mine,” says he. “You’re editor pro tempore. Sabe?” And then he slips out of the door. ”

“ I asks, after we finishes our supper. “There ain’t no sense in leaving a critter like him loose, Magpie.”
“He’s a ornery hombre all right, all right,” agrees Magpie. “He ain’t so dangerous as he is plumb mean, Ike. He’s shot at me several times, but as he ain’t hit me yet I reckon he’s trying to scare me. Must ’a’ been Cactus what painted Slim with the ink. Me and Slim are the same build.
“I sure wish that Tombstone could live long enough to read his obituary, Ike. She’s a bird. ”

“ I ain’t no poet, but in a time like this a man’s spirit guides his fingers. I works for an hour, trying to make the blamed things stand up long enough to be read backwards, and I’m sore enough to kick a baby when Magpie shows up. He looks at me and grins, when he sees what I’m doing, and rolls a smoke.
“One of ’em has left, Ike,” he states. “Hank Padden rode in a while ago, and said he met Cactus Collins on his way to Willer Crick. ”

“ Sabe?”
“Uh-huh, I’ll just run the rest, Magpie. It looks like a bundle o’ crape anyway.”
“And Ike,” he reminds me, as I buckles on my gun, “yuh take that type stuff and put it inside the press. Sabe? Then yuh take that roller thing and pour on some ink, roll her over the letters, slap on a sheet of paper and twist that handle down hard.”
“You furnish the news, Magpie,” says I. “I’ll hold the wheels of progress for Tombstone Todd.”
I goes up to Buck’s place, and settles some elixir under my belt, while me and Buck talks over the humdrum existence we’re leading. ”

“ There’s twenty-five sheets of paper left and one can of ink. My first edition takes twelve sheets, and I hereby claims that a man, without no experience, what can rise to the occasion and put out a paper like that is a credit to the community.”
“Didn’t you have trouble finding all them letters, Magpie?”
“Trouble? Say, the ends of my fingers are so tender I can hold out my hands and feel the sun slide behind the hills. The next publication is problematical, Ike. I’m short of material, but I only figures on one more issue. I got a article set up, and I can’t publish until the time is ripe.” ”

“ That or'nary hombre, Tombstone Todd, comes into my place a while ago, and climbs into a chair.
"'Young feller,' says he, 'my hair and whiskers are too noticeable, so I admires to see 'em on the floor.' He hauls out a six-gun, lays it across his lap, and leans back in the chair. 'Young feller,' says he again, 'a razor what pulls is an abomination and a barber what uses one is flirting with the undertaker. Let your judgment be your guide.'"
"Was he satisfied?" asks Buck.
"I'm here, ain't I?" grins Ricky. "But I wouldn't do it again for a million dollars." ”

“ Well, Ike, I gives yuh good afternoon."
"Good afternoon ain't much to give a man after you've give him ——," I opines. "But I'll take it, Dirty, old-timer. I reckon I'll need everything I can get before I goes to press."
I sets there and complains bitterly to myself about folks who don't keep up to date on news, wipes the worst of the ink off my face, and goes back to sleep.
"Slim" Hawkins woke me up. Slim would make a good running-mate for Magpie. He's built in the same proportions. He's had a few drinks, and is as serious as a owl. ”

“ All inked to ——!"
"Gosh!" exclaims Magpie from the doorway. "Ain't that too danged bad! That's the only can of ink there was left."
"Too bad, eh?" howls Slim. "I wish I knowed the name of that hombre."
"Did he speak feelingly of paste?" asks Magpie.
"Uh-huh," agrees Slim, drawing figures on the bar with his inky finger. "He sort of choked over the word. He——"
"Hey! Sam!" yells a voice at the door, and we observes a stranger in our midst.
It's sort of dark inside, but he seems to know what he wants. He ambles straight up to Slim, and grabs him by the arm. ”

“ He ambles over and sets down on a stool and looks the place over. He takes off his hat, balances it on his knee, and produces some sheets of paper.
“What’s your amusement rates?” he asks. “Half-page—maybe full.”
Magpie rolls a fresh smoke and studies the feller.
“Well,” he drawls, “the person who operates here ahead of me makes a fixed price of three dollars for six months, but I don’t sabe no case in which he split the size. I don’t guarantee to amuse nobody. I’ll be honest with yuh, though. ”

“ He slips out with his hat in his hand, and lopes off up the street.
“That’s business, Ike,” laughs Magpie. “I’m going to make ’em like it.”
“When yuh had the drop on him yuh ought to ’a ’collected in advance for another year,” says I. “You sure need a manager, Magpie, for The Piperock Pilot, Limited—to thirteen sheets and a death notice.”
“Howdy, gents,” states a voice at the door. “Is this the only newspaper in town?”
That person is a novelty in cowland. He stands there, exuding perfume and prosperity from his Sunday clothes. ”

“ When I recovers sufficient-like to peek out it’s about all over. Every bronc that was tied to the rack is gone, and part of one rack is missing. Most of the crowd is on the far side of the street, but our side is still well represented. ”

“ I’ll get Tombstone before night. Sabe?”
“Them is noble resolutions, Magpie. You know how to make this stuff stand up while she leaves her message on paper?”
“Sure. What yuh want to print it for, Ike? We ain’t got no paper to waste.”
“Magpie,” says I, “a editor likes to see his stuff printed. I got a old piece of paper what will do for this.”
Magpie sets the stuff in a little oblong affair, rolls on some ink, lays on the piece of paper, and twists down the handle. This is how she looks:
TAR ON TOMBSTONE
He was a bad man from Willer Crick. ”