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Updated: June 22, 2025
Heard you was back. Say, you've ce'tainly been goin' some. Suits me. I never did like either Dug or Miller a whole lot. Dug's one sure-enough bad man and Miller's a tinhorn would-be. What you did to both of 'em was a-plenty. But keep yore eye peeled, old-timer. Miller's where he belongs again, but Dug's still on the range, and you can bet he's seein' red these days.
"Who is he?" "He's what they call a showfer. He runs one o' these automobiles; takes parties out in it." "Been here long? Looks kind o' like a tinhorn gambler." "Not long. He's thick with some of you Malpais gents. I've seen him with Healy a few." "Oh, with Healy."
Let me have the genuine goods. But the worst he could show me wasn't half as bad as what I have seen in Chicago. Every night I would say to that Jew: 'Come on, now Mr. Cohen; let's get away from these tinhorn shows. Lead me to the real stuff. Well, I believe the fellow did his darndest, but he always fell down. I almost felt sorry for him.
But the ticket looked above par to me. After that our board meetin's wa'n't such gay affairs. A grouchy lot of tinhorn investors we was, believe me; for the parties young Mr. Woodbury had decoyed into this fool scheme wa'n't Standard Oil plutes or any of the Morgan crowd: mostly salaried men, with a couple of dentists, a retail grocer, and a real estate agent!
The clairvoyant milliner was barred owing to the fact that she was "in trade," but "Tinhorn Frank," who no longer sat drunk and collarless in his dirt-floored saloon fumbling a deck of cards thick with grime, went down upon the list as "Mr. Rhodes," the citizens of Crowheart learning his name for the first time when it appeared on the sign above the door of his new real estate office.
Somehow he had thought that she "belonged" a little more than this; her unusual self-possession gave the impression perhaps. He glanced at the attenuated Mrs. Percy Parrott, at Mrs. Sylvanus Starr, exhilarated by numerous glasses of punch, capering through an impromptu cakewalk with Tinhorn Frank, at Mrs.
"I ain't apt to fergit it anyways soon," replied Teeters, dryly, "seein' as 'Tinhorn' riz and put it to a vote as to whether they should tar and feather you or jest naturally freeze you out." "The truth is acid," he laughed. "It's a fact though, Teeters, that this country's chief asset is its climate, and," with his quizzical smile, "this Scissor Outfit would make a fine dude-ranch."
He was a tinhorn gambler of Los Portales and for reasons of his own foregathered with the Snaith-McRobert faction. "Look here, young fellow. You may or may not be in this thing deep. I'm willin' to give you the benefit of the doubt if my friends are. I'd hate to see you bumped off when you didn't do any of the killin'. All we want is justice. This is a square town.
He'd worried himself near sick, worked himself up desp'rate, and had finished by doin' something that stood to get him put away for ten or fifteen years all for forty bucks! "Piddie," says I, "for a tinhorn, you're a wonder! But, say, when you get home to-night tell that kid of yours I want to see them new shoes of his before he gets the toes all stubbed out." Chee! W'atcher think?
But to have it left to me like this after getting along without it for twenty years and more; to get it through a streak of tinhorn luck; to turn over night from a land-poor Louisiana nester to a reeking oil millionaire well, it leaves me plumb cold. Anyway, I don't need it. What'll I do with it? I can't hope to spend it all on liquor that's about all that's left for me to spend it on."
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