“‘I thought the west was full of sensations. It’s deadly dull as I find it. Why don’t suthen happen?’
“Wall, partner, jus’ then two gents as had bin ridin’ cattle for a considerable period, an’ hed quite a hatful of coin ter celebrate with, blew in.
“‘Ho! see that little feller!’ says one, indercating the tenderfoot writing chap. ‘I’ll bet he’s a good dancer.’
“‘I’ll bet he is, too,’ says the other. ‘Kin you dance, stranger?’
“‘No,’ says the tenderfoot, ‘I can’t.’
“‘Oh, you cawnt, cawnt you,’ says one of the range-ridin’ gents. ‘Then this is a blame good time to larn.’
“With that Mister Reade he whips out a big gun—jes like this one I’ve got here it was—and says:
“‘Dance!’
“‘I cawnt, I told yer,’ says the tenderfoot.
“Bang! goes the old shooting iron, and the bullet plows up splinters right under his left foot. Wall, sir, he lifted that foot mighty lively, I kin tell yer. Livelier than a ground-owl kin dodge inter its hole.