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Updated: June 20, 2025
"Didn't hear nothing of the weddin' over at Los Huecos, did ye?" "No! Whose weddin'?" "Ross Turney, the new sheriff." "Ye don't say! Him that's been elected on purpose to round up the Tremper gang, hey? Who's his antagonist?" "Old man Miller's gal. He's celebratin' his election by gettin' spliced. I been expectin' of 'em across this way to-night, but I guess they took the Black Butte trail.
And to America comes Alexander Turney Stewart, aged twenty, very Irish, shy, pink, blue of eye, with downy whiskers, intending to teach school until he could prepare himself for the "meenistry." It was the year Eighteen Hundred Twenty; and at that time the stars of the Irish schoolmaster were in the ascendant.
STEWART, ALEXANDER TURNEY. Born near Belfast, Ireland, October 12, 1803; came to America, 1823, and established drygoods business at New York City; died there April 10, 1876.
To which the Judge replied: "Oh, Mr. Turney, Mr. Green understands the whole matter as well as if I had preached to him a month. He knows he has got to be hung this day four weeks. You understand it that way, Mr. Green, don't you?"
"Sure," said Bailey. "I'll show ye a room," and he led them up beneath the low roof where an unusual cleanliness betrayed the industry of Joy. The two men returned and drank to the bride, Turney with the reckless lightness that distinguished him, Bailey sullen and watchful. "Got another outfit here, haven't you?" questioned the bridegroom. "Who is it?"
"No, I got to get back to the Bar X, or the old man'll swear I been drinking again, and I don't want to dissipate no wrong impressions around." He winked gravely. Then, as the sheriff and his surly prisoners drove off, he called: "Mr. Turney, take good care of them Trempers. I think a heap of 'em, for, outside of your wife, they're the only ones in this outfit that didn't laugh at me."
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