Heart of the West

Baldy Woods reached for the bottle, and got it. Whenever Baldy went for anything he usually-but this is not Baldy's story. He poured out a third drink that was larger by a finger than the first and second. Baldy was in consultation; and the consultee is worthy of his hire."I'd be king if I was you," said Baldy, so positively that his holster creaked and his spurs rattled.Webb Yeager pushed back his flat-brimmed Stetson, and made further disorder in his straw-coloured hair. The tonsorial recourse being without avail, he followed the liquid example of the more resourceful Baldy."If a man marries a queen, it oughtn't to make him a two-spot," declared Webb, epitomising his grievances."Sure not," said Baldy, sympathetic, still thirsty, and genuinely solicitous concerning the relative value of the cards. "By rights you're a king. If I was you, I'd call for a new deal. The cards have been stacked on you-I'll tell you what you are, Webb Yeager.""What?" asked Webb, with a hopeful look in his pale-blue eyes."You're a prince-consort.""Go easy," said Webb. "I never blackguarded you none.""It's a title," explained Baldy, "up among the picture-cards; but it don't take no tricks. I'll tell you, Webb. It's a brand they're got for certain animals in Europe. Say that you or me or one of them Dutch dukes marries in a royal family. Well, by and by our wife gets to be queen. Are we king? Not in a million years. At the coronation ceremonies we march between little casino and the Ninth Grand Custodian of the Royal Hall Bedchamber.