“Ah, ha,” thinks I, “here’s a young fellow that’s just left his girl at her door. She gave him a kiss, and he’s happy. He’s hurrying home now, and—” my reflections ended. About ten feet away from me his arms swung together and his right hand pulled a long gun out of his left sleeve.
“The real thing,” I said to myself, stopping.
“Put up your hands.”
I did.
“Turn your face to that fence.”
I did.
He stepped up behind me and put something hard against my spine.
“All right, brother,” I said meekly. “It’s all yours. It’s in my left-hand pants pocket.”
He found it.
“I’ve got a watch, brother, that’s worth a lot to me; I wish you’d let me keep it. It would bring you four dollars, but it might bring you forty years.”