I've fought for muddy water with a howlin' bunch of Sioux,
An' swallered hot tamales, an' cayenne.
"There's more, but I've done forgot most of it," apologized the singer.
Johnny laughed with delight. "Why, that's Lefty Allen's old song. Here's th' second verse:"
I've rid a pitchin' broncho till th' sky was underneath,
I've tackled every desert in th' land;
I've sampled Four-X whisky till I couldn't hardly see,
An' dallied with th' quicksands of th' Grande.
"That's shore O-Bar-O. Lefty made it up hisself, an' that boy could sing it. It all comes back to me now—he called it 'Th' Insult.' Why—here, you!" he chuckled. "I said I was mad an' in a hurry. I ain't mad no more, but I am in a hurry. See you tonight, mebby. So-long."
Riding on again he soon reached the Question-Mark bunkhouse and dismounted as a puncher turned the corner of the house. They grinned at each other, these good, old-time friends.