When Morton hears of them remarks he re-gyards himse’f as wronged.
“An’ if Old Houston,” observes Morton, who’s a knife fighter an’ has sliced offensive gents from time to time; “an’ if Old Houston ain’t more gyarded in his remarks, I’ll take to disapprovin’ of his conduct with a bowie.”
As I intimates, Old Houston is that pride-blown that you-all couldn’t stay on the same range where he is. An’ he’s worried to a standstill for a openin’ to onload on the Texas public a speciment of his dignity. At last, seein’ the chances comin’ some slow, he ups an’ constructs the opportunity himse’f.
Old Houston’s home-camp, that a-way, is at a hamlet named Washin’ton down on the Brazos. It’s thar he squanders the heft of his leesure when not back of the game as President over to Austin. Thar’s a clause in the constitootion which, while pitchin’ onto Austin as the public’s home-ranche or capitol, permits the President in the event of perils onforeseen or invasions or sech, to round up the archives an’ move the capitol camp a whole lot. Old Houston, eager to be great, seizes onto this yere tenet.
“I’ll jest sort o’ order the capitol to come down, yere where I live at,” says Old Houston, “an’ tharby call the waverin’ attention of the Lone Star public to who I be.”
As leadin’ up to this atrocity an’ to come within the constitootion, Old Houston allows that Austin is menaced by Comanches. Shore, it ain’t menaced none; Austin would esteem the cleanin’ out of that entire Comanche tribe as the labors of a holiday. But it fills into Old Houston’s hand to make this bluff as a excuse. An’ with that, he issues the order to bring the whole gov’ment layout down to where he lives.
No, as I tells you-all before, Austin ain’t in no more danger of Comanches than she is of j’inin’ the church. Troo, these yere rannikaboo savages does show up in paint an’ feathers over across the Colorado once or twice; but beyond a whoop or two an’ a little permiscus shootin’ into town which nobody minds, them vis’tations don’t count.
To give you-all gents a idee how little is deemed of Comanches by them Texas forefathers, let me say a word of Bill Spence who keeps a store in Austin. Bill’s addin’ up Virg Horne’s accounts one afternoon in his books.
“One pa’r of yaller-top, copper-toe boots for Virg, joonior, three dollars; one red cal’co dress for Missis Virg, two dollars,” goes on Bill.