“Well, it’s when you put your money into something that you expect to make plenty more money out off—like you plant wheat. You plant your money in some speculation to get more money.”
“Yes; well, me make one bad plant.”
“One bad speculation, eh?”
“Yes; muy malo—one mucho bad spectoolashe. She was one Spanish spectoolashe. Me marry one Spanish woman. She purty soon got all me money. She say, ‘Juan[‘Juan] you got-a some money?’ Me say, ‘No; no, got-a money?’ She say, ‘Juan, you no ketch-a money you vamose—you git!’ Me no like los senoritas. Spanish spectoolashe no good for Piute man—you think?”
“No; very bad speculation. But I suppose you went to work and earned more money for your Spanish wife?”[wife?”]
“No; me stop work—heap mad. Me no want no more money—no more senorita. Too much all time want new dress. One night me vamose. Me come over mountains to my people, ketch me one Piute wife. She no all time want money[money], money.’”
“Then you have a good Piute wife?”
“O, yes; muy bueno—muy bonita! Me keep-a her mucho well dress—give her many shirt. She got heap-a shirt. Not many Piute woman get so much shirt!”
“Why[“Why], John, you surprise me. How many shirts has she got—twenty?”[twenty?”] Juan looked astounded and abashed at this extravagant guessing. He scratched his head, looked at me, then at the fire, and seemed to have some notion of not telling me the exact “quantity” of shirt in which his wife rejoiced. At length he slowly said:
“Well, she got two shirt—two shirt, but all fix up nice—plenty braid, mucho ribbon, O, very nice! Twenty shirt no good. What you talk?—me never see one woman got twenty shirt.”