“I got a plot,” he says, “and colour, and a bad man, and”–smilin’ awful happy–“a gal. So you get you’ trip right away. And don’t you come back alone.”
CHAPTER NINE
A ROUND-UP IN CENTRAL PARK
The boys was a-settin’ ’long the edge of the freight platform, Bergin at the one end of the line, Hairoil at the other, and all of ’em either a-chawin’ ’r a-smokin’. I was down in front, doin’ a promynade back’ards and for’ards, (I was itchin’ so to git started) and keepin’ one eye peeled through the dark towards the southwest–fer the haidlight of ole 202.
“And, Cupid,” Sam Barnes was sayin’, “you’ll find a quart of tanglefoot in that satchel of yourn. Now, you might go eat somethin’ that wouldn’t agree with you in one of them Eye-talian rest’rants. Wal, a swaller of that firewater ’ll straighten you out pronto.”
“Sam, that shore is thoughtful. Use my bronc whenever you want to–she’s over in Sparks’s corral. Allus speak t’ her ’fore you go up to her, though. She’s some skittish.”
“And keep you’ money in you’ boot-laig,” begun the sheriff. “I’ve heerd that in Noo York they’s a hull lot of people that plumb wear theyselves out figgerin’ how t’ git holt of cash without workin’ fer it.”
“We’ll miss y’ turrible, Cupid,” breaks in Hairoil. “I don’t hardly know what Briggs ’ll do with you gone. Somehow you allus manage t’ keep the excitement up.”
“But if things don’t go good in Noo York,” adds Hank Shackleton, “why, just holler.”
“Thank y’, Hank,–thank y’.”