I
picked up a speaking acquaintance with Luke Ravel, and sometimes we
would go into the shooting gallery together and have a friendly bout
with the Flobert rifles.
At this time there was one of those tough characters in the town named
Jim Cartwright. In days gone by he had been a deputy United States
Marshal, and one time took advantage of his official position to provoke
a quarrel with an enemy and killed him in cold blood. Public indignation
ran high and Jim had to skip to Mexico. He stayed away two years and
getting in trouble over there, came back to his old stamping grounds in
hopes the people had forgotten his former scrape. They hadn't exactly
forgotten it, but Jim was a pretty tough character and no one seemed to
care to tackle him.
One night Luke Ravel and Jim had some words over a game of cards, and
bad blood was engendered between them. The next day my side partner
Frank Noel, and I went into the shooting gallery to try our luck, and
were standing there enjoying ourselves, when Luke came in and took a
hand. He was dressed in the height of fashion, and while we three were
standing there, Jim Cartwright, three sheets in the wind, appeared in
the doorway pistol in hand.
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