“You don’t say thet you are so hot arter blood ez thet ar’, stranger? No—I reckon not; he’s our meat, and we don’t ’low nobuddy else to tech him.”
“Tain’t fa’r, anyhow, boss. Hyar I stand jest out of ther blasted hitch and it hurts my feelin’s powerful bad, because I ain’t let to mount him. Say, you pizen sarpint,” he cried, shaking his clenched hand under Rafe’s nose, “why kain’t I chaw ye up?”
“You are a fit associate for these two ruffians,” replied Norris, proudly. “It would not surprise me if they allowed you to murder me while my hands are tied.”
“Oh, thunder, ef they only would! Say, boss, kain’t I hit him once, fur luck?”
“You are over zealous in the cause,” said Farrell, coldly. “Stand aside and let the prisoner alone.”
“Little boy,” replied the escaped man, “you hurt my feelin’s awful when you talk that way, and I shill feel obliged to jump on ye with both feet.”
“That’s enough, my man,” replied Farrell, laying his hand upon a pistol. “What is your name?”
“I ain’t heeled—that’s what’s the matter with me—an’ you’ve got the gaffs on. It ain’t ekal—that’s what I say—it ain’t ekal, and you know it ain’t. Let me hev a fourteen inch toothpick in my hand, and ef I don’t crow loud, my name ain’t Velveteens.”
“Is that your name? Come, come; you should not quarrel with us, if you want help.”
“Velveteens, the boys call me, and they call me that becoz I’m nat’rally so soft and tender-hearted. I be—by gracious. I’m too good fur this wicked, wicked world.”