The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 5, 1902, Page 15

The gtt, 1902, by rt Howard Russell Y CH 1 tells this yere narratif \ first, back in one of them good > talk.” eman follow- ered me for a mo- had myself been hold- fon in a way both s for some e uck of Indians and and other sub- accuracy It was calculated to end draw him to a say lack energy, he his chair; he had once when I failed it w I told were v ripple of my friend sleep wakefulness, Neither # ment. ok to a re- enc At last, the observation d I saw that I 1 became at once cigar leaned med, follow- pause which I was word or ques- s tale to Coi- ght an’ the we're restin’ from ours an’ is re- paint in the does now, question time when e labors of with nose as you this aban ect of them sav- be affected either up has got to have some Injuns don't vhen took to- It's like tree havin' luck. deck!” A tharupon by demandin’ of with glasses all preepost that oes Boggs,” says Dan honor ‘o talkin’ of odds the most story on the list is the a race. An' 1 further e sav- a summer's of that Eytalian Spaniards he sur- the looks tes 'em, but he Vhich the paleface on the nest! as sort o' buttin’ into the arg- the same bein’ free an’ open to all, by way of a gratooity the finish of his son, aclines to string my chips 1 Sterett. the detalls of an’ concernin’ re Hardrobe,' says Doc Peet: 2 or prone an’ eager to add to my Injuns at every open- t an’ the rest makes expres- I proceeds to onbuckle. I much for said tale neither. copper it none, for it's the trooth shouid allers " every time. I'll tell you- robe story as I onfolds y friend began look- parior with a I saw his need and big hotel s eye mon my black boy a ent later, his favorite de- ppeared in the s of one of tae s of 10 placed it on nd withdrew. ity for “Tom” seemed to disap- recurring to Hardrobe, he weat the hostel elbow e is a Injun—a Osage buck an’ he war clan of his tribe. He's ed East a whole lot an’ cen oks some an’ POW-Wows Ameri- -way mighty near as flooent as An’ on that last t, Il ance an’ go as’far as you-all tongue-tied neither. yere is a long time ago. I'm young an’ lithe an’ n heft a pony an’ I'm six foot ins. No, I ain’t so tall old age shortens a hes now: at a-way on the south bank of Red the Texas side. Across on —what them map jun Territory.” In them Injuns free an’ r drives takes us plumb from south to no'th the Ve works over the old Jones which thoroughfare I former. I drives cattle over it n’ my eight ows where ater is, from experiences an’ Plummer ce hall girl who ver in a Tueson maiden sort o’ dims ne. First, she gives us “The bein’ enough of or two; speshul when Lu:k oF fia%drobe. ¥ g7 5 folks is as Colonel Sterett says ‘a leetle drinkin’.’ Then when the public clamors for more she sings something which be- gins: boy who once follows the herds n’ Plummer trail; r rink, an’ some of lead, An’ some over kyards, an’ none in bed; But they're dead game sports, so with naught b 1 words em We gives *-vell an’ hail.” Son, this yere sonnet brings down them memries; an they so stirs me I has to vamos that hurdy-gurdy to keep my emotions from stampedin’ into tears. Shore, thar's soft spots in me, same as other gents; an’ that melody a-makin’ of said references to the old Jones an’ Plum- mer days comes mighty clost to meltin’ everything about me but my guns an’ urs. “This yere cattle busipess ain’t what ed to be: no more is cow punchers. is gettin’ effete. Now it's a case brandin’ pens an’ wire an’ ten-mile pastures, an’ thar's ropin’ that & boy don’t have e encugh to know how to catch his pony. “In them times I'm dreamin’ of all this was different. I recalls how we frequent works a month with a beef herd, say of four thou: d, out on the stark an’ open plains, ropin’ an’ throwin' an’ run- nin' a -brand onto 'em. Thar's a dozen vners’ brands in the bunch, a road-brand com- mon to ’em all that a-way, so in case of ampedes on our trip to the no'th, we nows our cattle ag'in, an’' can k 'em out from among them local cat- tle which mebby they takes to minglin’ It's shorely work, markin’ big steers that way! Throwin’ a yn with a six hun- re tellin’ on all s pitchin’ his ious will wear down »ound 1 an’ 1ope halfway five broncc all is some im- its the trail of that ck Hardrobe. I'm the event a heap al them de- sharp winter an’ cattle dies v simply defies the best ef- an’ coyotes to get away Thar's one time when :mb month behind on . An’ eyes, bein’ from the of ravens -a del'cacy, is the t thing them black buzzards goes for, inin’ ali e while a eye is left. been bl a blizzard of snow Them gales is from the no'th an’ they lashes an’ whips the plains from the Bad Lands to the Brazos. “When the storm first prounces on the cattle, way up vonder in the Yellowstone country, them he'pless beasts jest simply turns their unprotestin’ tails an’ begins to drift. For six wecks -that tempest throws itse'f loose, an’ might an’ day, what cattle. Keeps thelf feet- an’ lives comeés driftin’ on. “Nacherally the boys comes with 'em. r winter sign-camps breaks up, an’ the riders turns south with the cattle. o, they can’t-do nothin’; you-all couldn't *em ‘or hold ’em or drive 'em no'th while. the storm lasts But it's the dooty of them punchers to keep abreast of their r ready the moment forts of r with the T rn to east, them storm-beat herds comes driftin’. An’ ridin’ an’ sw'arin’ an’ plungin’ about comes with 'em the boys on their broncos. No, they don't have nothin’ more’'n the duds cn their backs, an’ mebby their saddle blankets an’ ickers. But they kills beef to eat as they needs it, an’ the ponies paws through the snow for grass, an’ they exists along 11 right. For six weeks they’re ridin’ an’ cussin’. Theéy comes spatterin’ through the rivers, an’ swoopin’ an’ whoopin’ over the divides that lays between. They crosses the Heart an’ the Cannon Ball an’ the Cheyenne an’ the White an’ the Nio- brara an' the Platte an’ the Republican an’ Solomon an’ the Smoky an’ the to say nothin’ of the hundreds branches which flows an' 5 twists between; an’ final runs up on boys along the Canadian who's come from the Upper Missouri. An’ as for cattle! It shorely looks like it's one onbroken herd from Fort Elliot to where Canadian opens into the Arkansaw. The chuck wagons of a thousand ands ain’t two days behind the boys, o time after that blizzard sim- r's campfires burnin’ between the the Canadian the Red, an’ reachin’ all along from the Choctaw country as far west as the Panhandle, Shore, every cow- puncher makes for the nearest smoke, up an’ recooperates. An’ then be- gins the gatherin’ of the cattle an’' the slow northern drive of the return. Which the spring overtakes ‘em an’ passes ‘em on its way to the no'th, an’ the grass ic green an’ deep before they're back on them ranges a| “It's a great ride, says you? Son, I once attends where a lecture sharp holds forth as to that Napoleon's retreat from Moscow. Nacherally I sets silent through them hardships. But I shorely could, if I'm disposed to become a disturbin’ ele- ment or is out to cut in cantankerous an' spootatious on another gent's game ghowed him them French experi ences that Moscow time is mere Sunday- 00l excursions compared with these the boys makes when on tha b of that six weeks' blizzard they south with their herds. Them some of "em, is over 800 miles from ; an’ I must say she's first an’ only time I ever crosses up Yellowstone brand on the Lower hz 1 can put down a bet I'm no idle ss spectator that blizzard time; shul active at the close. which 1t shore behooves us Red River gents of cattle to stir about a whole lot. Them wild-ridin’ knight-errants of the rope an’ spur who cataracts themse'fs upon us with their driftin’ cattle doorin’ sa:a tem- pest looks llke they're plenty cap'ble of irivin’ our steers no'th with their own— cort o’ makin' up them deeficlencles of the storm. I brands over 4000 calves the spring b-fore, which means I has at least 20,000 head—or five times what I brands—skalll- hootin’ an’ hybernatin’ about them ranges. An’ beln’ as you-all notes I'm some strong on cattle, an’ not allowin’ none for them Yellowstone adventurers to drive some of 'em No'th none, I've got about . its at work overhaulin’ the rcundups &n’ ridin’ ‘round and em, weedin’ out my brand en’ throwin’ ‘em back on my Red River range a whole lot | Shore, I has to do ft, or them Yellowstone sharps would have stole me pore as Job’s turkey, “Whatever 18 & ‘outfit’ you asks? It's a chuck wagon with four mules an’ a range cook, with twe hoss hustlers to hold the ponies, elght riders an’ a bunch of about seventy ponles—say seven to & rider. These yere 'leven outfits, as I calls "em, is scatteredseast an’ west mebby she's a hundred miles along the no'th fringe of my range that time, a-combin’ an’ a-searchin’ of the bunches’ an’ cuttin’ out all speciments of my brand when found. For myse’f, personal, I'm romancin’ ‘round on the loose like, stoppin’ some nights at one camp an’ some nights at another, keepin' cases on the deal. “It's at one of my camps one evenin’ when I crosses up first with this yere Hardrobe. - His son, Bloojacket, is with him. Hardrobe himse'f is mebby goin’ on fifty, while Bloojacket -that a-way ain't more'n say twenty-one. Shore, they’re out for cattle, too; them savages has a heap of cattle, an’ they nacherally finds THE SUNDAY CALL. their bands an’ bunches gets all tangled up with them Yellowstone aliens doorin’ the blizzard. Hardrobe an’ his son Bloo- jacket rides up an’ asks, can they work Wwith an outfit of mine. “As I explains previous, I'm a heap averse to Injuns, but this yere Hardrobe is a onusual Injun; an’ as he's settin’ in ag'inst ‘e stiff game the way things is mixed up, I ylelds consent, Which I yields the more pleasant for fear, since I drives through the Osage country now an” then, “this yere Hardrobe an’ his heirs plays even-by stanipedin’ my cattle some evenin’ if I don’t. Thar's nothin’ like a dash of se'f Interest that a-way to make a gent plumb urbane, an’ so, as I relates, 1 invites Hardrobe an’ Bloojacket to make my camp their headquarters, like I'd been yearnin' for the chance. Which they ac- cepts a heap grateful. ‘“‘Son, as you-all must have long ago tracked up on the information, it's shore sooperfluous for me té su'gest that a gent gets used to things. Which he gets used frequent to things that he's born with notion: ‘;mm an’ them aversions will simmer an’ subside ontil he's friend- ly with folks he once honed to shoot on sight. It turns out that a-way about me an’ this yere Hardrobe Injun an’ his son Bioojacket. What _he'ps, no doubt,' is they're capar’soned like folks, with big hats, bloe shirts, trowsers, cow-laiggin’s, boots an’ spurs, an’ all plumb ready to enter a civilized parlor at the drop of the handkerchief. Ceasin’ to rope for rea- sons, however, it's enough to say these savages an’ me waxes as thick hoss~ thiefs. Both of 'em’s been eddicated, like I states, at some Eastern Injun school which the gov'ment—allers buckin’ the impossible, the gov'ment is—upholds in them vain endeavors to turn red into white an’ make a savage into folks. “Bloojacket not long prior is down from the Bad Land country himse'f, bein’ he's been servin’ his Great Father as one of Gen'ral Crook’s scouts in the Sitttin’ Bull campaign. Which this yere young Bloo- jacket—who's ~ bubblin’ over with the sperits of -exyooberant yooth that a-way —has a heap of Interestin’ narratils about the ‘Gray Fox,’ as all them sav- ages allers calls old Crook. It's doo to Bloojacket to say he performs them doo- ties of his as scout like a clean strain sport, an’ quits an’ p'ints back for the raternal camp of Hardrobe in mighty high repoote. Thar's one feat of fast hard-ridin’ that Injun performs, which I hears from others, an’ which you-all might not find oninterestin’ if I saws It onto you. “Merritt with three hundred cavalry marches twenty-five miles one mornin’ Thar’s forty Injun scouts along, among ‘em this yere Bloojacket; sald copper- hued auxiliaries bein’ onder the command of Gen’ral Stanton, as game a gent as ever packs a gun. It's at noon; Merritt an’ this yere outfit camps at the Raw Hide Buttes. Thar's a courier from Crook overtakes 'em. He says that word comes trailin’ in that the Cheyennes at the Red Cloud Agency is makin’ war medicine, an’ is about to go stampedin’ off to hook up with Sittin’ Bull an’ Crazy Hoss in them Bloux croosades. Crook tells Merritt to detach a band of his scouts to caper over to Red Cloud an’ take a look at the Chey- ennes’ hand. “Stanton, who's actin’ chief of scouts as I describes, takes four of his savages an’ lines out for the Red Cloud Agency. Bloo- Jacket is one of the four. From the Raw Hide Buttes to the Red Cloud Agency is one hundred even miles as the crow flies or a bullet travels. What makes it more impressif, them one hundred miles is across a trailless country, the same bein” as rocky as Red Dog whisky an’ as rough as the life story of a mule. Which Stan- ton, Bloojacket an’ them others makes her in twelve hours even, an’ comes up, a' plaster of dust an’ sweat, to the Red Cloud agency at midnight sharp.,K Them Cheyennes is already gone eight hours over the Great Northern trail. “Stanton, who's a big body of a man, an’ nacherally some road-weary, writes a letter on the agency steps by the light of a lantern. He tells Merritt to push on to the War Bonnet an’ he’'ll head them Cheyennes off a whole lot. Then he sends the Red Cloud interpreter an’ four local Injuns with lead hosses to pack this yere missif back to Merritt, who's camped waltin’ at the Raw Hide Buttes. This Bloojacket, for all he's dote a hundred miles already, declar’s himse’f in on this second excursion, to show said interpre- ter the way. “ ‘But you-all won't last through,’ says Stanton, where he sets on them steps, quafin’ whisky an’ invig'ratin’ himse'f. “ ‘Which if T don’t I'll turn squaw,’ says Bloojacket, an’ gettin' fresh hosses with the others he goes sailin’ off into the mid- night. “Son, them savages, havin’ lead hosses that a-way, rides in on Merritt by fifth drink time—say 'leven o’clock that morn- in’; one hundred miles in 'leven hours; Bloojacket some wan an’ weary for a sav- age, a-leadin’ up the dance. Mighty fair ridin’ that boy Bloojacket does! Two hundred miles in twenty-one hours over a clost country ain’t bad! Which it's me who says so; an’ I shorely, one time an’ another, shoves plenty of scenery onder the hoofs of a cayouse myse'f. “About them foogitif Cheyennes? Oh, Merritt moves up to the War Bonnet, like Stanton su'gests, corrals ‘em, kills all their ponies an’ drives ’em back to the agency on foot. Thar's nothin’ so lets the whey outen a hossback Injun like puttin’ him a-foot that a-way; an’ them Cheyennes settles down in gloom an’ peace immediate. “While this yere Hardrobe an’ his son Bloojacket is with me, I'm impressed partic’lar by the love they blars each other. Which thelr affections that a-way would do credit to whites; I shore never does cut the trail of a father an’ son who jest simply gives themse’fs up to one an- other like this yere Hardrobe an’ his Bloojacket son. I can see, an’ turn my head the other way, that Bloojacket re- gyards that old Hardrobe parent of his like he's the No’'th Star; an’ as for Hard- robe himse'f, he can't keep his eyes off that child of his. Youwd have his life long before he'd let you touch a braid of Bloojacket's long ha'r. Both of ‘em plumb handsome for Injuns; tall an’ shim an’ quick as coyotes, with hands an’ feet (like all them Osage bucks) as little as a woman’s. Which, of course, I don’t go pryin’ ‘round this Hardrobe's private af- fairs—savages is plumb sensitif of sech matters—but all the same I learns, inci- dental, that Hardrobe is plenty rich for a Injun—rich even for Osages; an’ they’'re, as I tells you yeretofore, the most opulent savages which ever makes a trall or paints their faces. Later, I finds out that Hardrobe’s squaw—Bloo- jacket's mother—is dead. «gee thar,’ says this Hardrobe one day. We're in the southern fringe of the Osage country, on Grayhoss Creek at the time, an’ he p'ints to a heap of stones piled up like a oven an’ chimley, the same bein’ about four foot high. I saveys, nacherally, that thar's a defunct Osage inside that a-way, this yere bein’ the Osage scheme of burial. Shore! you-all will behold them piles of stones on every knoll an’ hill in the Osage country. ‘See thar, says this yere Hardrobe, p'intin’, “That's my squaw. Mighty good squaw once; but heap dead now.’ wrhen Hardrobe an’ Bloojacket rides over an’ fixes a little Yoonited States flag they’'ve got in their war-bags to a pole which sticks up’ards outen this yere tomb, fiyln’ sald ensign as them savages allers do, upside down. “It's yere this hard-luck tale I starts in to recount begins. ‘Which six months later, mebby, I hears how Hardrobe weds o dance-hall girl over to Caldwell. Shore, she's white, an’ as beautiful as a flower an’ as wicked as a trant'ller. Hardrobe brings her to .his ranche in the Osage country. The next tale I gets Is that this yere Bloojacket, likewise, becomes a vie- tim to them wide-flung fac’nations of this Caldwell dance-hall damsel, an’ that him an' Hardrobe falls out; said Hardrobe goin’ on the warpath an’ shootin’ Bloo- jacket up & whole lot with a Winchester. No, he don’t land the boy at that; Bloo- jacket gets away With & shattered arm. Also, the word Is out that Hardrobe fs still gunnin’ for Bloojacket, the latter havin’ gone onder cover some'ers by vir. choo of sald 'pinion. As Colonel Sterott says, these pore aborigines experiences them gloomy rackets of bad luck the mo- ent ever they takes to braldin’ in their personal destinies with a paleface, I don’t blame ‘em none, neither. I sees this yere Caldwell seraph on one o'casion my. ga't, an’ she's shore a beauty! Also, shes plumb aware of them attractions; an’ Whenever she throws the lariat of her loveliness that a-way at a gent, she's due to fasten. t's mebby & month followin' this di. 135 vision in the house of Hardrobe when T runs up on him In person. I crosses his trall in one of them little jim crow res- tauraws you-all finds now an’ then in the Osage country. Hardrobe an’ me shakes, an’ says ‘How!" an’ then he camps down ag’in at a table where he's feedin’ on fried antelope an’ bakin’ powder biscult. T'm standin’ at a bar across the wickeyup from Hardrobe. “Just as I sets down the bottle, thar's the crack of a Winchester to the r'ar of the Jint, an’ as I turns, Hard-obe goes onto the floor as dead a Osage as ever transpire in that tribe. ,In the back door, with one arm in a sling, an’ a rifle that still smokes, ca'm an’ onmoved like them Injuns allers is, stands Bloojacket. ‘“‘My hand is forced,’ he says, as he passes me his gun; ‘it’s shorely him or me! One of us wore the death mark an’ had got to go.’ ‘ ‘Couldn’t you-all have gone with Crook¥ ag’n? I says. ‘Which you don’t have to Infest this yere stretch of country at all. Thar's no hobbles or sidelines on youy none whataver.” “Bloojacket makes no reply, an’ hi¢ copper face gets expressionless an’ plumb inscrootable. I can &ee through, how= ever; it’s the hobbles of that Caldwell beauty’s inflooence that's holdin” him. “Bloojacket walks over to where Hard- robe’s layin’ dead an’ sqrt o’ straightens him ‘round—laigs and arms—an’ places his big white cowhat over his face. Thar’s no more sign of feelin’. whether love or hate, in them eyes of Bloojacket while he performs these vere ceremonies than if Hardrobe's a roll of blankets. But thar’s no @isrespects neither; jest a great steadiness. When he has him composed out straight, Bloojacket looks at the re- mainder for mebby a minute. Then he shakes his head. *“ ‘He was a great man.’ savs Blooiacket, p'intin’ at his dead father with his good hand; ‘thar’s no more like him among the Osages.” “Tharupon Bloojacket wheels on the halfbreed who runs the beanery, an’ who's standin’ still an’ scared. an’ says: “ ‘How much does he owe?” Then he pays Hardrobe’s charges for antelope steaks an’ what chuck goes it, an® at the close of them fiscal op’rations ra- marks to the Halfbreed—who ain’t sayin’ ‘Don’t touch beit all knows me!” reed restauraw them mandates a no more’n he can’ he'p: nor buckle on him; y: An’ T can see t party is out to obey ‘whole Tot. ‘““Whatever becomes of Bloojacket? ‘Which if you'll redooce yourse’f to atten~ tion, son, I'm reckonin’ on tellin’ you. Bloojacket gives himse'f up to the Osages an’ is thrown loose on p'role. Them sav- ages ain’t got no calaboose; no savages has, bein’ too fgnorant for bars an’ boits that a-way. So when a buck is charged with murder, or whatever is that felony he commits, he allers goes lopin’ "round plumb loose an’ permiscus, an’ nothin’ to detain him but his Injun eddication. But that’s plenty; thar's never a record of one of 'em runnin’ away. No, they goes romancin’ about, footloose an’ free as tha ravens; but they shows down to be tried an’ later they walks in an’ is shot to death onmurmurin’ly, wherever an’ whenever them leadin’ bucks who's deal- in’ the trial-game for the tribe decides. “‘But Bloojacket never gets tried. It's a week later, an’ he's standin’ in front of the agency, sort o' makin’ up some views touchin’ his destinies. He's all alone, though forty foot off four Osage bucks is settin’ together onder a cottonwood play- in* Injun poker—the table bein’ a red blanket spread on the grass—for two bits a corner. These yere sports in their blankets an’ feathers, an’ rifflin® their greasy deck, ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to Bloo= Jacket, an’ he ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to them ‘Which jest the same them children of nacher don’t like the idee of downin’ your old gent none: an' it's plumb apparent Bloojacket's already exiled a lot. As he stands thar roominat'n’, with the hot August sun beatin’ down, mebby thar's a atmosphere of sadness to go with this Bloojacket. But if thar is, you-all would have to guess at it: his countenance is shorely as ca’'m as on that murderin® evenin’ in the halfbreed’s restauraw. “Bloojacket is still thar, an’ them sports onder the cottonwood s still gruntin® over their poker, when thar comes the patter of a bronco’s hoof. Thar's a smaill dust cloud, an’ up sweeps this yere Cald- well beauty; which Colonel Sterett calls her the ‘casus belll’ when I relates this tale that Wolfville time. She comes to a halt in front of Bloojacket. “That savage glances’ up with a tne quirin’ eye, an’ the glance is as steady as the hills about him. The . Caldwell beauty—it seems she disdains mournin'— is robed like a rainbow: an’ she an’ Bloo- jacket, him standin’, she on her bronco, looks on each other plenty intent. “Which five minutes goes by, if one goes by, an’ thar them two stares into each other's eyes; an’ never a word from either. Them poker bucks keeps on with thelr gamble that a-way, over onder the cot= tonwood, an’ no one looks at the two or seems like they heeds their existence. Shore, them poker savages is onto every move; but they're troo to the Injun idee of p'liteness, an’ won't cut in with even so much as the treemor of a eyelash on other folks’s plays. “Bloojacket an’ the Caldwell beauty is still gazin’. At last the Caldwell beauty goes back, an’ then slow an’ shore, she searches to the front a eight-ineh six- shooter. Bloojacket, with his eye still on her, an’ never a flicker of feelin’, don’t speak or move. The Caldwell beauty smiles an’ shows her white teeth. Then cockin’ the six-shooter, she lays the bar'l across her left arm, an’ all as solid as a church. Her pony’s gone to.sleep with his nose between his knees, an’ the Cald- well beauty sort o’ settles herse’f in the saddle, s0's to be ready for that plunge she knows is comin” when she turns loose the gun. The Caldwell beauty lays out her game as slow an’ delib'rate as trees: Bloo‘acket lookin® on with onwinkin’ eye, while them red blanket bucks plays along without a sign of Interest. « cWhich this yere pistol overshoots a says the Caldwell beauty, as she runs her eye along the sights, ‘an’ I must aim some low or I'll shore make ragged work.” “Bloojacket, ten feet away, offers no retort; he stands moveless as a stachoo. Thar's a flash an’ a crash an’ a cloud of bloo smoke; that aroused bronco makes a standin’ jump of twenty feet. The Cald- well beauty keeps her saddle, an’ with never SWerve or curve goes flashin® down the brown, sunburnt August trail. When the smoke drifts aside, Bloojacket lays thar on his Side an’ face, an’ thar's a bullet hole as squar’ between the eyes as you-all could sed your finger-tip. Which he's dead—dead without a motion: while them poker bucks plays ca‘mly on.” My venerable friend came to a full stop, After a respectful pause I ventured an in- quiry. “And the Caldwell beauty?" I said. «It atn’t a week when she's ag'in fhe star of that Caldwell hu gurdy whers she ropes up Hardrobe fi Her laugh is as loud an’ as free, her beauty as pro. foundly dazzlin’ as before; she swings through twenty qua a evenin® from ‘Bow to your D to “All take a drink at the bar'; an’ if she's preyed on by them Osage tragedies, you shore can't teil it for whisky or see it for powder an’ paint.”,