“Ain’t that pretty high?”
“Of course it’s[it’s] a considerable sum, but thar’s a terrible rough set over here. These Washoe fellow are nearly h—l themselves, and they are more on the cut and shoot than is healthy. You see $1,000 is no money at all when you calkerlate the risk. I’m liable to be chopped all to pieces, riddled with bullets, and either killed out and out or crippled for life. You see $1,000 is no money at all.”
“Well, come to look at it in that light, I don’t know but your price is reasonable enough.”
“Cheap! of course it is. I rather like your style or I wouldn’t undertake the job at that figger. Come—is it a bargain? Am I your man, at the figger named?”
“Well, not so fast. If I am to have a fighter, I want the best that is to be had. I don’t want a fellow that will be kicked and cuffed about town by every bummer. I am able to pay for a first-class fighter, and I won’t have anything else!”
“Ain’t I a fighter?” rolling his eyes fiercely and thrusting first his right, then his left arm, straight out from the shoulder, ducking his head comically about and poising himself on one foot; “will anybody kick and cuff me? me, the war-hoss of the hills; the Taranterler of Calaveras? Not much!”
“Have you ever whipped anybody?”
“Ever whipped anybody? Me—have I ever whipped anybody? Ha! ha! ha! You make me laugh. Next you will be asking if I was ever whipped. Show me your man—show me your men—for I ain’t perticular about ’em coming one at a time. Bring ’em on, and I’ll whip all that can stand in this room in one minute by the clock!”
“Well,” said “J. P.,” “I think you’ll do; but, as I said before, I want the best man in the country. My fighter must be a regular lightning striker. Now I have another man in my eye. He is something of a fighter. Has a graveyard of his own of considerable size. It lies between the pair of you. The best man is the man for my money.”
“D—n your man! Bring him on. D—n me, I’ll devour him! Show him to the Taranterler!”