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“There’s a good many here has a right to feel satisfied,” said Mrs. Grady, looking about, “and they’re welcome to their feelings. But if this meeting thinks it is through with its business, I can tell it that it ain’t–not if it acts honorable, it ain’t. Does those that have had their chance and those that can take home their prizes expect us 6-month mothers come here for nothing? Do they expect I brought my Bosco from Rincon to be insulted, and him the pride of the town?” “Cuba is known to Sharon,” spoke the other lady. “I’ll say no more.” “Jumping Jeans!” murmured the orator to himself. “I can’t hold this train much longer,” said Gadsden; “she’s due at Lordsburg now.” “You’ll have made it up by Tucson, Gadsden,” spoke Mrs. Brewton, quietly, across the whole assembly from the Manna Department. “As for towns,” continued Mrs. Grady, “that think anything of a baby that’s only got three teeth–” “Ha! Ha!” laughed Cuba’s mother, shrilly. “Teeth! Well, we’re not proud of bald babies in Sharon.” Bosco was certainly bald. All the men were looking wretched, and all the women were growing more and more like eagles. Moreover, they were separating into two bands and taking their husbands with them–Sharon and Rincon drawing to opposite parts of the tent–and what was coming I cannot say; for we all had to think of something else. A third woman, bringing a man, mounted the platform. It was she I had seen hurry out. “My name’s Shot-gun Smith,” said the man, very carefully, “and I’m told you’ve reached my case.” He was extremely good-looking, with a blue eye and a blond mustache, not above thirty, and was trying hard to be sober, holding himself with dignity. “Are you the judge?” said he to me. “Hell–” I began. “N-not guilty, your honor,” said he. At this his wife looked anxious. “S-self-defence,” he slowly continued; “told you once already.” “Why, Rolfe!” exclaimed his wife, touching his elbow.” Don’t you cry, little woman,” said he; “this’ll come out all right. Where ‘re the witnesses?” “Why, Rolfe! Rolfe!” She shook him as you shake a sleepy child. “Now see here,” said he, and wagged a finger at her af- fectionately, “you promised me you’d not cry if I let you come.” “Rolfe, dear, it’s not that to-day; it’s the twins.” “It’s your twins, Shot-gun, this time,” said many men’s voices.” We acquitted you all right last month.” “Justifiable homicide,” said Gadsden.” Don’t you remember?” “Twins?” said Shotgun, drowsily. “Oh yes, mine. Why–” He opened on us his blue eyes that looked about as innocent as Aqua Marine’s, and he grew more awake. Then he blushed deeply, face and forehead. “I was not coming to this kind of thing,” he explained. “But she wanted the twins to get something.” He put his hand on her shoulder and straightened himself. “I done a heap of prospecting before I struck this claim,” said he, patting her shoulder. “We got married last March a year. It’s our first–first–first”–he turned to me with a confiding smile–“it’s our first dividend, judge.” “Rolfe! I never! You come right down.” “And now let’s go get a prize,” he declared, with his confiding pleasantness. “I remember now! I remember! They claimed twins was barred. And I kicked down the bars. Take me to those twins. They’re not named yet, judge. After they get the prize we’ll name them fine names, as good as any they got anywhere–Europe, Asia, Africa–anywhere. My gracious! I wish they was boys. Come on, judge! You and me’ll go give ’em a prize, and then we’ll drink to ’em.” He hugged me suddenly and affectionately, and we half fell down the steps. But Gadsden as suddenly caught him and righted him, and we proceeded to the twins. Mrs. Smith looked at me helplessly, saying: “I’m that sorry, sir! I had no idea he was going to be that gamesome.” “Not at all,” I said; “not at all!” Under many circumstances I should have delighted in Shot-gun’s society. He seemed so utterly sure that, now he had explained himself, everybody would rejoice to give the remaining-medal to his little girls. But Bosco and Cuba had not been idle. Shotgun did not notice the spread of whispers, nor feel the divided and jealous currents in the air as he sat, and, in expanding good-will, talked himself almost sober. To entice him out there was no way. Several of his friends had tried it. But beneath his innocence there seemed to lurk something wary, and I grew apprehensive about holding the box this last time. But Gadsden relieved me as our count began. “Shot-gun is a splendid man,” said he, “and he has trailed more train-robbers than any deputy in New Mexico. But he has seen too many friends to-day, and is not quite himself. So when he fell down that time I just took this off him.” He opened the drawer, and there lay a six-shooter. “It was touch and go,” said Gadsden; “but he’s thinking that hard about his twins that he’s not missed it yet. ‘Twould have been the act of an enemy to leave that on him to-day.–Well, d’you say!” he broke off. “Well, well, well!” It was the tickets we took out of the box that set him exclaiming. I began to read them, and saw that the agent was no mere politician, but a statesman. His Aqua Marine had a solid vote. I remembered his extreme praise of both Bosco and Cuba. This had set Rincon and Sharon bitterly against each other. I remembered his modesty about Aqua Marine. Of course. Each town, unable to bear the idea of the other’s beating it, had voted for the manna-fed, who had 299 votes. Shot-gun and his wife had voted for their twins. I looked towards the Manna Department, and could see that Aqua Marine was placid once more, and Mrs. Brewton was dancing the ring before her eyes. I hope I announced the returns in a firm voice. “What!” said Shot-gun Smith; and at that sound Mrs. Brewton stopped dancing the ring. He strode to our table. “There’s the winner,” said Gadsden, quickly pointing to the Manna Exhibit. “What!” shouted Smith again; “and they quit me for that hammer-headed son-of-a-gun?” He whirled around. The men stood ready, and the women fled shrieking and cowering to their infants in the booths. “Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” cried Gadsden, “don’t hurt him! Look here!” And from the drawer he displayed Shot-gun’s weapon. They understood in a second, and calmly watched the enraged and disappointed Shot-gun. But he was a man. He saw how he had frightened the women, and he stood in the middle of the floor with eyes that did not at all resemble Aqua Marine’s at present. “I’m all right now, boys,” he said. “I hope I’ve harmed no one. Ladies, will you try and forget about me making such a break? It got ahead of me, I guess; for I had promised the little woman–” He stopped himself; and then his eye fell upon the Manna Department. “I guess I don’t like one thing much now. I’m not after prizes. I’d not accept one from a gold-bug-combine-trust that comes sneaking around stuffing wholesale concoctions into our children’s systems. My twins are not manna-fed. My twins are raised as nature intended. Perhaps if they were swelled out with trash that acts like baking-powder, they would have a medal too–for I notice he has made you vote his way pretty often this afternoon.” I saw the agent at the end of the room look very queer. “That’s so!” said several. “I think I’ll clear out his boxes,” said Shot-gun, with rising joy.” I feel like I’ve got to do something before I go home. Come on, judge!” He swooped towards the manna with a yell, and the men swooped with him, and Gadsden and I were swooped with them. Again the women shrieked. But Mrs. Brewton stood out before the boxes with her curl and her chintz.