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“‘Thar’s plenty of whiskey in camp,’ says Jack Moore, meditative- like, ‘whereby that drinkin’ part comes easy.’

“‘I assooms it’s the will of all to pull off a proper Thanksgivin’ caper,’ says Enright, ‘an’ tharfore I su’gests that Doc Peets and Boggs waits on Missis Rucker at the O. K. restauraw an’ learns what for a banquet she can rustle an’ go the limit. Pendin’ the return of Peets an’ Boggs I allows the balance of this devoted band better imbibe some. Barkeep, sort out some bottles.’

“The committee comes back after a little, an’ allows Missis Rucker reports herse’f shy on viands on account of the freighters bein’ back’ard comin’ in.

“‘But,’ says Peets, ‘she’s upholstered to make a strong play on salt hoss an’ baked beans, with coffee an’ biscuits for games on the side.’

“‘That’s good enough for a dog,’ says Jack Moore, ‘to say nothin’ of mere people. Any gent who thinks he wants more is the effect victim of whims.’

“While we-alls is discussin’ the ground plans for this yere feast, thar’s a clatter of pony-hoofs an’ a wild yell outside, an’ next thar’s a big, shaggy-lookin’ vagrant, a-settin’ on his hoss in front of the Red Light’s door.

“‘Get an axe, somebody,’ he shouts, ‘an’ widen this yere portal some. I aims to come in on my hoss.’

“‘Hands up, thar!’ says Jack Moore, reachin’ for his six-shooter. ‘Hands up! I’ll jest fool you up about comin’ in on your hoss. You work in one wink too many now, an’ I puts a hole in your face right over the eye.’

“‘Go slow, Jack,’ says Enright. ‘Who may you-all be?’ he goes on to the locoed man on the hoss.

“‘Me?’ says the locoed man. ‘I’m Red Dog Bill. Tell that sot,’ he continues, p’intin’ at Jack, ‘ to put down his gun an’ not offer it at me no more. He’s a heap too vivid with that weepon. Only I’m a white-winged harbinger of peace, I shore ups an’ makes him eat the muzzle offen it.’

“‘Well, whatever be you thirstin’ for, anyhow?’ says Enright. ‘You comes ridin’ in yere like you ain’t got no regards for nothin’. Is this a friendly call, or be you present on a theery that you runs the town?’

“‘I’m the Red Dog committee on invitations,’ he says. ‘Red Dog sends its comps, an’ asks Wolfville to bury the hatchet for one day in honor of to-morrow bein’ Thanksgivin’, an’ come feed with us.’

“‘Let’s go him,’ says Dan Boggs.

“‘Now stand your hand a second,’ says Enright, ‘don’t let’s overlook no bets. Whatever has you Red Dog hold-ups got to eat, anyhow?’

“‘Ain’t got nothin’ to eat much–maybe some can stuff–what you-alls calls air-tights,’ says the Red Dog man. ‘But we has liquid, no limit.’

“‘Got any can tomatters?’ says Boggs.

“‘Can tomatters we-alls is ‘speshul strong on,’ says the Red Dog man. ‘It’s where we-alls lives at; can tomatters is.’

“‘I tells you what you-all do,’ says Enright, ‘an’ when I speaks, I represents for this yere camp.’

“‘Which he shore does,’ says Jack. ‘He’s the Big Gray Wolf yere, you can gamble. If he don’t say “go slow” when you comes a-yellin’ up, your remains would a-been coverin’ half an acre right now. It would look like it’s beef-day at this yere agency, shore.’

“‘You-all go back to Red Dog,’ says Enright, payin’ no notice to Jack’s interruptions, ‘an’ tell ’em we plants the war-axe for one day, an’ to come over an’ smoke ponies with us, instead of we-alls come thar. We’re goin’ to have baked beans an’ salt hoss, an’ we looks for Red Dog in a body. Next Thanksgivin’ we eats in Red Dog. Does this yere go?’

“‘It goes,’ says the Red Dog gent; ‘but be you-alls shore thar’s s’fficient whiskey in your camp? Red Dog folks is a dry an’ burnin’ outfit an’ is due to need a heap.’

“‘The liquid’s all right,’ says Boggs. ‘If you alls wants to do yourse’f proud, freight in a hundred-weight of them can tomatters. Which we runs out entire.’