Bill Rawson jumped nigh four feet. “You go soak you’ haid!” he begun, mad’s a hornet. “Hole up the dust wagon! And whichever of us mule-skinners happens t’ be bringin’ it in’ll git the G. B. from that high-falutin’ gent in the States that owns the shootin’-match. No, ma’am! And if that’s the kind of plot you-all ’re hankerin’ after, you can just count me outen this hawg-tyin’!”
“That’s right–sic ’em, Towser; git t’ fightin’,” I says. “Now, Bill, work you’ hole-back straps. I cain’t say as Sam’s plan hit the right spot with me, neither. ’Cause how could Carlota figger in that pow-wow? Won’t do.”
Wal, after some more pullin’ and haulin’, we fixed it up this way: Pedro’d grab Carlota and take her away on a hoss whilst Boston and the passel of us was in the Arnaz place. He was t’ hike north, and drop her at the Johnson shack on the edge of town–then go on, takin’ a dummy in her place, and totin’ a brace of guns filled with blanks. We’d foller with plenty of blanks, too–and Boston. How’s that fer high!
If you want to ast me, I think the hull idear was just O. K., and no mistake. Beautiful gal kidnapped–bra-a-ave posse of punchers–hard ride–hot fight–rescue of a pilla stuffed with the best alfalfa on the market. Procession files back, all sand and smiles.
“Why,” I says to Bergin, “them Eastern printin’ fellers’ll set ’em up fer Boston so fast that he’ll plumb float.”
And the sheriff agreed.
But it couldn’t happen straight off. Pedro had t’ be tole about it, and give his orders. Carlota, the same. I managed this part of the shindig, the boys gittin’ the blanks, the hosses and the hay lady.
Wal, I rode down to the section-house and ast fer Pedro. He come out, about ten pounds of railroad ballast–more ’r less–spread on to them features of hisn. (That’d ’a’ been colour fer Boston, all right.) I tole him what we was goin’ t’ do, why we was a-doin’ it, and laid out his share of the job. Then I tacked on that the gal he’d steal was Carlota.
Now, as I think about it, I recall that he looked mighty tickled. Grinned all over and said, “Me gusta mucho” more’n a dozen times. But then I didn’t pay no ’tention to how he acted. I was so glad he’d fall in with me. (The Ole Nick take the greasers! A’ out-and-out, low-down lot of sneakin’ coyotes, anyhow! And I might ’a’ knowed––)
“Pedro,” I says, “they’s no rush about this. We’ll kinda work it up slow. T’ make the hull thing seem dead real, you come to town ev’ry evenin’ fer a while, and hang ’round the rest’rant. Spend a little spondulix with the ole woman so’s she won’t kick you out, and shine up t’ Carlota when Boston’s on the premises. Ketch on?”