“Dis here town looks like a spindle-shanked crane,” Mustard declared in disgust. “Dem legs under dem houses is shore fixed fer wadin’.”
Then a prominent building came into view, and Pap Curtain stopped like a man turned to stone.
“I knows dis here town,” Pap declared. “Dey calls it Kerlerac.”
“How fur from Tickfall?” Mustard inquired.
“Thuty mile.”
“Come on, den. Less meet deir ’quaintance.”
“Naw, suh!” Pap protested. “You see dat high buildin’ over dar? Two nigger womans helt me up in front of dat Red El’phunt s’loon an’ robbed me of a dollar an’ fo’ bits. One of ’em helt a razor at my neck, an’ de yuther tuck my loose change.”
“Dat don’t make no diffunce,” argued Mustard. “Dey ain’t dar now.”
“I reckin not!” Pap said positively. “I kotch ’em when dey wusn’t lookin’ and helt ’em by deir hair and bumped deir heads togedder! An’ what you reckin dem womans done? Dey paid a white lawyer my own good money to git me in a lawsuit wid de cote-house, an’ dey put me in de chain-gang fer six mont’s.”
“Hear dat, now!” Mustard exclaimed. “Bad luck!”