That screech was so blamed genuwine I almost fergot to stick out my laig and trip Boston as he come by me. Down he sprawled, them spectacles of hisn flyin’ off and bustin’ to smithereens. The boys bunched at the doors t’ cut off the Arnaz boy and the ole lady. Past ’em, I could see them two broncs, with Pedro and Carlota aboard, makin’ quick tracks up the street.
“Alas! yon villain has stole her!” says Sam Barnes, throwin’ up his arms like they do in one of them theayter plays.
“Come,” yells Rawson. “We will foller and sa-a-ave her.” Then he split fer the corral,–us after him.
When we got to it, we found somethin’ funny: Our hosses was saddled and bridled all right–but ev’ry cinch was cut!
Wal, you could ’a’ knocked me down with a feather!
That same minute, up come Hank Shackleton on a dead run. “Boys!” he says, “that greaser was half shot when he hit town. Got six more jolts at Dutchy’s.”
Fast as we could, we got some other saddles and clumb on–Bill and Sam and me and Shackleton, Monkey Mike, Buckshot Milliken and the sheriff–and made fer Hairoil’s shack.
No Carlota–but that blamed straw feemale, keeled over woeful, and a cow eatin’ her hair.
Shiverin’ snakes! but we was a sick-lookin’ bunch!
But we didn’t lose no time. A good way ahaid, some dust was travellin’. We spurred towards it, cussin’ ourselves, wonderin’ why Carlota didn’t turn her hoss, ’r stop, ’r jump, ’r put up one of her tiger-cat fights.