"You ain't, that is, not with a rope, you ain't."
"Huh, 'f I couldn't beat you two ways o' Sundays the only use I'd make of a rope'd be to hang myself." Slats retorted.
"Whar'd yer want us ter sent yer remains?" Slim asked gravely.
"Thar ain't goin' ter be any remains not till yer improve a whole lot," Slats flung at him as he turned away to attend to some duty. "Slim's all right," he continued, turning to the boys, "till he thinks somebody thinks as how he can do sumpin' better nor he can, then he jest has to naturally shoot off his mouth."
"But——"
"Course Slim's a good roper but, laws sakes wouldn't do ter let him know yer thinks so. Why only 'bout a month ago some idjut as ought ter have known better, complimented him on his throwin' an' right away he went an' bought a new hat two sizes larger nor he'd been wearin' an' his old one only six years old come next winter."
It was perhaps an hour later when Slim had a chance to tell his side.
"Yer'd think ter hear that tall shank o' bones talk that he'd invented the art o' ropin'. Why, bless yer heart, I've seen that guy miss more steers nor yer could shake a stick at/ Only time he's sure of catchin' anything's when he's right enough ter lay the loop over 'thout throwin' it 'tall."
Then, as he noticed the look of incredulity on the
"Course I'm only speakin' in comparative terms, so to speak. What I mean is that compared with some he'd measure up fairly well, mebby better nor the average. But 'twouldn't do ter let him think yer think so. He's the greatest feller yer ever saw ter get a big head, Slats is. Why, 'twont more'n a month ago that he went an' bought a new hat two sizes bigger nor the one he'd been wearing jest because some feller told him a throw he'd made was the best he'd ever seen."