The Ocala Evening Star

HELLSO'S POUND TRIP
Arizona's Editor's Tour Was Lively While It Lasted.

NO DESIRE TO BE DICTATOR.
"Those Who Charge Us Otherwise Do Us a Great Injustice," He Says-Dr. Barnes Told It Was Time For Him to Move, Which He Did.

[Copyright, 1907.]

We are Jim Hellso. We are the editor of the Kicker. We are mayor of Giveadam Gulch. We are the postmaster. We are a deputy United States marshal. We are the owner of Hellso's Opera House. We own the Hellso bank. We are the sole owner of six different mountains and 30,000 acres of desert lands in Arizona.

And yet we do not aspire to dictatorship. We don't want to be pointed out as the big "it." We haven't the slightest idea that we own the town or that things have got to go as we decree.

Those who charge us otherwise do us a great injustice.

At an early hour last Wednesday morning we buckled on our guns and "STATED THE CASE GENTLY, BUT FIRMLY." went hunting for an individual named Idaho Sam.

He arrived here four weeks ago and announced that he was a holy terror, and he has since made a nuisance of himself. We found him after half an hour's search and tendered him his choice between hitting the trail and hanging. He started to argue the matter, but we got the drop on him, and as a result the midday sun shone down on him as he rested on the far side of Wolf creek.

Our next visit of state was paid to Mr. C. I. Flint, attorney at law. Mr. Flint is of that class called shysters. He was disbarred in Chicago and came out here to make a fresh start. His doings have been unsavory, and he has neglected to take advantage of little hints thrown out by us from time to time.

When we called and announced to him that he must pull his freight he grabbed for a shotgun in the corner of his office, but soon thought better of it and agreed to change climates. He went that night. In his new location we wish him well.

Told Doctor to Move.

Three months ago Dr. Barnes hung out his sign on Apache avenue. Before he had been a week in practice we learned that he knew nothing about medicines except what he had learned in a sawmill. We decided to give him a chance, however. Out in this country we feel that every man is entitled to at least one fair show.

Dr. Barnes had made a botch of it at setting broken limbs and diagnosing cases, and it was time for him to move on. We stated the case gently, but firmly, and he replied that he had been expecting it and was glad to go.

When Mr. John Taylor arrived in Giveadam Gulch six weeks ago he gave out that he was looking for a place to establish an orphan asylum. He was offered sites on the mountains and on the plains, but he seemed to lose interest.

It soon developed that he was simply a good natured sort of deadbeat. There has been no particular harm in him, but as he was breathing ozone rightfully belonging to some one else he was asked to move on. He moved. There were tears in his eyes as he went, and his last words were that this was a cold old world.

Before we had visited Lawyer Jim Wheelan in his office to hold a little talk word came to us that he had a gun and intended to shoot on sight. Mr. Wheelan is another shyster. He came here from Milwaukee to escape being sent to state prison, but the change of climate didn't bring reform with it.

On several different occasions we have had to refer to him in the Kicker as a liar and a scoundrel, and the relations between us have been somewhat strained.

When we entered Mr. Wheelan's office the other day he was ready to debate the question. We found ourselves looking into the muzzle of a large and liberal revolver. As a matter of fact he pulled trigger on us, and if the cartridge hadn't failed to explode this issue of the Kicker would have contained our obituary. The failure of the cartridge gave us our chance, and within four hours Mr. Wheelan and his law library and his little ways were out of sight down the Panther creek trail.

Other towns may greet him with open arms, but there was something lacking between him and the Gulch.

Many and many a time in the last six months have we warned Dr. Henry Mason that he should have stuck to sheep herding and let the practice of medicine alone. When we came to learn that he couldn't tell quinine from morphine we talked to him like a brother and offered to pay his fare to Florence, but he was a man who loved to dwell on the ragged edges of fate.

He believed in destiny, and he believed that destiny meant to lead the medical profession. He argued it out so clearly that we shut up.

A week ago Dr. Mason killed off his third patient. It was only a Chinaman, but out here we are even coming to look upon the Celestial as a human being. The public didn't actually rise up and demand that the doctor go or hang, but we rather put it that way when we called. He wasn't a minute in saying that he would go. He had a good offer to go back to his herding, and so much Latin and medicine together made his headache. He retires with honors. He could have killed a dozen patients during his practice, but he has been content with three.

Judge Given Walking Papers.

No one exactly knows where the individual calling himself Judge Williams hailed from. He gave out that he was here to see about establishing waterworks, but was soon a hanger on for free drinks and was always wanting to borrow a dollar. His attitude and occupation appeared against the best interests of Arizona, and we therefore gave him a hint to move on. He said he would sadly miss the homelike surroundings of the Gulch, but he vanished.

For a few minutes after we struck the trail of Joe Canif it looked as if some one would be planted before sundown. Joseph came here from Santa Fe a few weeks ago with an object in view. That object, as stated by himself, was "to raise hell." He has accomplished it pretty thoroughly. He has had two shooting scrapes and three or four barroom rows. A few days ago the vigilance committee sat on his case, and it was resolved that he must go.

Joseph was the last on our list. We hunted him out in a pool room and assumed a brotherly smile. It didn't go. Then we tried the fatherly dodge. It didn't work. Joseph was fly. He had two guns, and it was just his hour for shooting. There was some little discussion, and then he started to draw.

We beat him by the fraction of a second, and, as he afterward said, he ought to have had sense enough to put hands up. He didn't have, however, and we had to bore a bullet in his shoulder. All things considered, he got off easy. He is now in the hospital, but after a few days will set off with a new song in his heart and look for a town where a man of his caliber is appreciated. Sooner or later he will be lynched, but then he will have lots of fun while he does live. We regard the town now as in a healthy social condition and should not be a bit surprised to see a winter boom set in and real estate jump 25 per cent.

M. QUAD.