Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1895-06-22
!" JACKS UP, ON HGHTS."
BY ALFRED HENRY LEWIS.
Written for The Evening Star

Written for The Evening Star
TT was a hot day in June" said the old
cattleman, as he thoughtfdlly read the
makers name in his sombrero, IAN while
not possessin' one of these yere heat
gauges to say ackerate, I'm allowin' 1t was
ridin' hard on jest sech weather as this
The Tucson mail was in, an a band of us
was at the post Office a-makin of demands
| for letters, when in comes Cherokee Hall
| lcokin' some moody an sets himself down
| on a shoe box.
(which you no doubt thinks as how
you'll take some missives yourself this
| mornin',' says Dock Poets, noticin' of his
| gloom, an amin to pint his idees up some
other trail Pass over them documents for
| Chez okee Hall, an don't try for to hold out
nuthin' onto u.s. for we're way too peevish
J to stand any offishul gaities today
" There amt no one weak minded enuff
to write to me none says Cherokee, which
1 remarks this yere phenomenon with
| pleasure. Mail bags packs more grief than
| joy, an I amt honin for no hand IN the
game whatever. It's fifteen years since
| buys stamp CT gets n letter, an all thirst
| therefor is assuaged complete
Fifteen years is shore a long time
| says Enright, an then we all hops into our
| letters again. Finally Cherokee breaks in
| once more.
I amt amin to invest Wolfville in no
| superstitious fears says Cherokee, but
| l Jest chronicles as current event how
I was sittin into little poker last night
and three times straight I picks up the
hand the dead man held'-jacks up, on
| Fights, an 1t win every time
| WHO all lose it?' asks Dan Boggs,
| some breathleSs.
Why" says Cherokee. it's every time
that old longhorn as comes in from Tue
| son back some two weeks ago.
| Yes. says Boggs gettin' mighty de-
| cided, an you can bet your saddle an
| throw the pony In, death is flxin' its sights
| for him right now. It's shorely a-warnin'
an I'm glad whole lot it amt none of
| the boys, that's ALL
You see. this we're stranger who Chero-
kee alludes at, comes over from Tucson a
| ha'r an beard, an jedgin' from the rings
| on his horns he was maybe a-comfn' sixty.
| He seemed like he had plenty of money,
/ an we takes it he's all right His leavin'
| Tucson showed he had sense, SO we cashes
| him at his figger. OF course We all never
| asks his name none as askin' names an
| lookin' at the brands a boss is speshul
| roode in the west, an shows your bringiE'
| up, an frequent your bringin' down; but
| he allows he's called old Bill Gentry to
| The boys, an he an Faro Nell are partlcler
| friendly.
| Talkin' to him. says Nell is lest like
layin in the shade. He knows every
thing, too; all about books an things all
| over the world. He was a-tellin' me, too.
as how he had a daughter like me that
died way back some'ers about when
was yearlin'. He feels heap bad about
| 1t yet, an l gets SO sorry for him, SO old
| an white hard
| An you may gamble says Boggs, if
Nell likes him. he's all right
a." If Nell likes him that makes him all
| right, says Cherokee.
We was still talkin' an readin' over orr
| q in he xr-1a
| hears Jack Moore outside.
| What's this we're literature as affronts
my eyes pasted onto the outside of Uncle
| Sans wickeyup? says Moore mighty true
| ulent. We all goes out an there shore
| enuf is notice offerin $3.50 reward for
| some sharp, who's been a-standin' up the
stage over on the Lordsburg trail.
| Whoever lacks this up, wonder says
| Enright, it never was here ten minutes
| ago.
Well. jest you all hover round an
watch the glory of its comm down. says
| Moore, a-cuttin' of it loose with his bowie
an tearin' it up. I herewith furnishes the
| information cold. this yere camp of Wolf
| vile knows its business an don't have to
| be notified of nuthin. This yere outfit has
| vigilance committee all regular an which
| I'm kettle-tender therefor, an when it
| comes nacheral to announce some notice to
the public. you all will perceive me a
| perVadin of the scenery on a boss an
| promugatin of said notice viver vcce. Am
| l right Enright?
| All right preachin' Jack says En-
| right. You speaks trooth like a runnin'
| brook
But whoever sticks up that notice is
| the information 1 pants for says Boggs,
pickin' up an readin' Of the piece.
| reckon l posts that notice some my
! SET said big squar man we don't know,
| who comes in that mornin' on the stage.
| an who was jest then a santerin' about
the suburbs of the crowd listenin' to the
| talk.
| We'll don't do it no more pardner,'
| says Moore, mighty grave, We're no doubt
| way wrong, but We have our own pecooliar
| notions about what looks good: so after
| now don't alter the landscape none round
| yere, til you first gets our views
| I'm offerin' even money. postin' no.
| tees wouldn't hurt this yere camp a little
| Bit says the stranger.
| Well, comm right to cases. says En-
| right, it don't hurt Us none, but Ii CRATES
| on a whole lot. The idee of a mere
| stranger a-strollin' in an a-tackin up of
| notices, like he was a-standin' a pat hand
on what he knows an We not in it, is a
heap unpleasant So don't do it no more
| Well, l don't aim to do it no more,
says the man. but still clings to my idee
| that notices amt no setback to this camp
| Which the same bein' a mere theery,'
| says Doc Poets, personal to yourself, l
| holds it would be onpote to discuss ii, so
| lets all wheel under cover fur drink
| $50 we all lines up on the Early Bird bar
an the drinks ends the talk, they alters
| ought to.
| an by second drink time in the evenin'
| every one was movn' about, an as it hap
| pens, quite a band was in the Red Light;
| some a drinkin' an eXchangin' of views,
an some a buckin' the various games
which was goin' wide open all round. Cher
okee was sittin' behind his box an Faro
| Nell, who lotted a heap more on Cherokee
| than on any of us-seemed like, from a
little girl, she'd give a pony for a smile
from Cherokee-was sittin up at his Shout
der on the lookout stool. The game was
goin' plenty lively when along comes old
| Gentry. Cherokee takes look at him an
seems worried little. thinkin', no doubt, of
them hands the dead man held but goes
| on dealin without word.
| Where you done been all day.? says
| Nell to the old man. amt seen you none
| whatever since yesterday
| ." why, l gets tired an done up lot,
| settin' agin' Cherokee last night says the
| old man. an so l jest prowls down in my
blankets an sleeps some til about an hour
| ago.
$50 the old man buys a stack of blues an
| sets them all on the ten. 1t was jest then
| in comes the big man who was postin' of
the notice former, an points a siX-shooter
| at Gentry an says:
Put your hands up-put them up quick