than be the dadbusted bulliest hero that ever died with his boots on."
However, my acquaintance with him does not warrant my telling his story. But I will give it as told to me by a local character who was christened Roper Smith, but commonly called Rope. It was he who had made the above reply that opens this true story. The name of Jake Hodge seemed to be in everybody's mouth, and I was curious to know if I could connect it with my quondam acquaintance of the stage. So, after Rope had "liquored up" at my expense, we settled ourselves on a rough bench in front of the Coyote saloon, and he gave me the following facts regarding Jake Hodge since I had known him.
"Well, pardner, ez you're a sure-enough stranger on this range, I'll be plum pleased to tell you about Jake Hodge.
"Let's see; it was three years ago last fall round-up, that I war up at D—City with Jake, an' we had loaded on all ther express and war pullin' past ther hotel when ther galoot that is called ther lan'lord sung out an' allowed that thar was two passengers who wanted to occupy ther hurricane deck of that ar stage as far as Cottonwood. Jake just yapped back, 'Well, trot ther durned galoots out an' git 'em abroad.' Right thar, pard, I happened to look at Jake's face, an' I saw his eyes bug out ez big ez a lassoed cow. An' no wonder, pard, fer trottin' down them ar hotel steps to git on ther stage was ther purtiest dadburned leetle bunch of petticoats that these old blinkers of mine ever blinked at. She war callin' out in a voice as sweet as a durned lark, 'Hurry up, papa, an' help me in.' But quicker'n you could snap a quirt, Jake war on ther groun' an', throwin' me ther ribbons, he went to 'sistin' her like she'd been the queen of Timbuctoo. Just 'bout that time, pard, ther parient—a little, sawed-off, broad-ez-long Dutchman—came down to ther stage, a-puffin' like a wind-broke broncho, an' dumb in too.
"Supposin' that Jake war goin' to git in 'longside er me, I started to hand him ther ribbons, when I saw him give a disgusted look at his togs, an' then, pard, he says to me, 'Rope, I have a leetle business to attend to that I'd 'most furgot. You jist keep ther ribbons an' sashay along at a moderate gait out on ther road an' I'll catch up with you on a broncho, 'fore you reach Twelve-Mile creek.'
"You see that big cattleman's outflttin' store acrost 'tother corner, pard? Well, it war on ther way out to Twelve-Mile that I first diskivered that our Dutch passenger, old Van Dorn, was ther father-in-law to Jim Clark, that is ther boss of that ar outfit, Jim havin' married ther oldest sister of that there pretty bunch of petticoats. Old Van Dorn had got rich late in life, an' had edicated ther 'foresaid gal finer'n a sky pilot, an' was a-takin' her on a visit to her sister in Cottonwood.
"It war sure easy enough to see that ther old man thought her about ez fine a critter ez ever pranced over ther range, an' not by his consent would any ordinary galoot ever have ther chance to put ther cinch on her.
"We war a-nearin' of Twelve-Mile when I heard a clatter of hoofs behind us, an' up tore Jake on ther back of a sweatin' broncho. Changed? Well, some, pard, some. He'd blowed hisself for a whole durned outfit, from a pair of high-heeled puncher's boots up to a Stetson sombrero, with a leaf ez wide ez ther horns of a Texas steer. Ez sure ez shootin', pard, he did look skookum in them ar store clothes, topped off by er red necktie big enough to set all ther bulls on ther range a-fightin'.
"Pardner, I'll allow that I'm usually dull ez a suckin' calf in a blizzard, but I could see that ther glance that Gretchen — ez old Van Dorn called her — gave Jake when gittin' on ther stage, had done for him an' thrown him at her feet quicker'n if he'd stuck his foot in a durned coyote hole on ther dead run. So I didn't surprise much when Jake came lopin' up all togged out. But the gal, Lord bless her purty eyes, flushed up a pink that 'ud have put a prairie rose to shame, 'cause she knowed at once Jake had done it in honor of her.
"Purty soon, pardner, we rolled up to ther sod house at Twelve-Mile, an' while Van Dorn and Gretchen rested in ther shade of ther house, me an' Jake watered ther stock an' hatched ther plot that arterwards made Jake act like a doggoned locoed idiot.
