I noticed he had a scar on the side
of his foot and asked him how he got it, to which he responded with
indifference:
"Oh, that? Why, a man shootin' at me to make me dance, that was all."
I expressed some curiosity in that matter, and he went on:
"Well, the way of it was this: It was when I was keeping a saloon in New
Mexico, and there was a man there by the name of Fowler, and there was a
reward on him of three thousand dollars----"
"Put on him by the State?"
"No, put on by his wife," said my friend; "and there was this--"
"Hold on," I interrupted; "put on by his wife did you say?"
"Yes, by his wife. Him an her had been keepin' a faro bank, you see, and
they quarreled about it, so she just put a reward on him, and so--"
"Excuse me," I said, "but do you mean to say that this reward was put
on publicly?" to which my friend answered, with an air of gentlemanly
boredom at being interrupted to gratify my thirst for irrelevant detail:
"Oh, no, not publicly. She just mentioned it to six or eight intimate
personal friends.
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