Foster's Daily Democrat

BOWMAN. SHERIFF.

"This here whisky drinkin," said the old cattleman as he sat and toyed with his empty glass, "is a mighty cur'ous thing. I know men as can tamper with their little old 40 drops frequent and reg'lar. As far as hurtin of 'em is concerned it don't even come to throwin water on a drowned rat. Then ag'in I've crossed men's trails as drinkin whisky was like playin a harp with a hammer. Well. we ain't all up holstered alike. that what's the matter. We don't all show the same brands an yearmarks, nohow. What's medicine for pigs is pisen for dogs, an thar you be.

"Bein a reg'lar, reliable drunkard comes mighty near bein a disease; that's whatever. It ain't no question of nerve neither. Some dead game men I knows-men that obstinate they wouldn't move a camp for a prairie fire-couldn't pester a little bit with whisky.

"Thar was my friend Mace Bowman. Mace was clean strain cl'ar through. an yet I don't reckon he ever goes to a 'show down' with whisky once as he ain't out-held. But for grim nerve as would go up against the iron an never shiver this yere Bowman goes at par every time.

"Bowman dies a victim to his ambition. He starts in once to drink all the whisky in Wolfville. By his partic'lar reguest most of the white male people of the camp stands in on the deal. a-helpin of him in his play for to make Wolfville a dry camp. At the end of them two lurid weeks Mace lasts good judges like Enright an Doc Peets allows he's shorely made it scarce some.

"But Wolfville was too big for him. Any other man but Bowman would have roped at a smaller hamlet, but that wouldn't have been Mace, nohow. If there'd been a bigger camp than Wolfville anywhere about, that's where he'd been. He was mighty high hearted an ambitious, Mace was, an it was kill a bull or nuthin when he trails out for buffalo.

"But the thirteenth da he strikes in on the big trail, where you never meets no outfits comin back. an that settled it. The boys. not havin no leader, with Mace pe-tered. of course gives up the game. an the big raid on nose paint in Wolfville is only hist'ry now.

"When I knows Bowman first he's sher-iff over in northeast New Mexico. A good sheriff Mace was too. There ain't nuthin as shows the public brand gets run off while he's sheriff. you bet. When he thinks anythings his dooty. he lavs for it permis cus. He don't come foolin round after no judges and sech.

"One time I recalls a wagon train with household of folks into it as camps two or three days where Mace is sheriff. These vere people's headin for some'ers down on the Rio Grande for to settle some. Mebby it's the third morning along of sunup they strings out on the trail. an we alls thinks no more of 'em. It's long 'bout third drink time when back rides a man, sorter fretful and peevish like, an allows he'd done shy a boy.

"'When did you see this yere infant last?' says Bowman.

"'Why,' says the man, 'I shorely had him yis'tday, 'cause my old woman done rounded of 'em up and counted.

" 'What time was that yis'tday?'

" 'Bout first drink time,' says the man.

" 'How many of these yere offsprings, corral count, have you got anyway?' asks Bowman.

"'I'd got my brand on to 'leven of 'em, says the man beginnin to sob a whole lot 'Of course this yer young one gettin stam-peded off this way leaves me short one. It makes it a mighty rough crossin for me, stranger, after bringin that boy so far. The old woman, she bogged right down when she knowed, an I don't reckon she'll be the same helpmeet to me unless I finds him agin.'

" 'Oh well!' says Bowman, tryin for to cheer the bereft critter up, 'we lose cards in the shuffle as turns up all right in the deal, an I reckon we're goin to walk down this vearlin of yours agin too. What for brands or y'ear marks does he show so I'll know him?'

"'Whyi' said the man, a-wipin of his eye, he was shy a couple of teeth, bein milk teeth as he'd shed, an thar's a mark on his forard where his mother swipes him with a dipper, bringin of him up proper. That's all as I remembers quick.

"So Mace tells the man to take a cinch on his feelin's an stampedes over to the Mexican part of the camp, which was called Chilili, on a scout for the boy. Whatever do you think's become of his son? I'm blessed if a Mexican ain't some-how cut him out of the herd an stole him. Takes him in just as you would a Maver-nick calf. What in the name of hoss stealin he ever wants of that young one is allers too many for me, an I sorter allows it's one of those things as was foreordained, in which case, of course, the Mexican don't get no say.

"When the abductor hears how Mace is on his trail, which he does from other Mexicans, he swings onto his broncho an begins pintin out, takin boy an all. But Bowman got too far up on him an stops hin mighty handy with a rifle. Mace could work a winchester like you'd whirl a rope, an the way he gets a bullet under that black an tan's left arm don't hurry him a little bit. The bullet tears a hole through his lungs, an they being no further good for him to breathe with he comes tumblin like a sot pigeon, bringin the man's offspring with him.

"Of course this is all mighty flatterin to Mace as a shot, an it tickles the boy's sire too. He allows he's lived in Arkan-saw an knows good shootin, an this yere's speshul good. An then he gets the greaser's skelp to take back with him.

" iIt'll come handy to humor up the old woman with, when I gets back to camp,' he says, so he rucks the skelp into his war bags an thanks Mace for the interest he takes in his household affairs.

" 'That's all right,' says Bowman, 'no