'Oh, shucks!' said Arizona, 'do dry up and let me orate. Am I the orator or ain't I? If I'm the orator let me orate in peace; if I ain't, I'll stand out and be as silent as the grave. I was talkin'—aw—about dear Bertie—aw—who walks round with a new silvery gun, a forty-five frontier pistol, in his nice clean hands, in order to reduce this unholy crowd to a proper sense o' their subordination. Who is it carries a nice new gun, boys?'
'Bertie carries a nice new gun,' said the crowd, shrieking with laughter.
'Bertie's paw owns thishyer horse-packet, and is some sick in New Orl'ans right now,' went on Arizona, 'but if his son, who'll own this Pilgrim when he paysses in his checks, was to be filled up with lead, the ole man would be some disgruntled. Who's sick paw would be some disgruntled if Bertie was to stop lead, boys?'
'Bertie's paw would be some disgruntled,' answered the crowd.
'Does we, the kind and peaceful crowd that looks after horses, need guns to subdue our bloodthirsty instincts?' asked Arizona. 'Far from it, boys. We come from the calm prairies of Texas and sunny Arizona, where peace flourishes for ever and no man dies without askin' for death, except in some fatal instances that may be looked on as accidents. We are all sorts here, Texans, Arizonians, Californians, Henglishmen, Kanucks, Mexicanos, but all serenely devoted to the cause of peace. Who's the disturbing influence here, waltzing round with a gun, boys?'
'Bertie is,' said the crowd unanimously.
'Who is it that says "aw" to freeborn citizens of the United States, to men from Chihuahua, to down-trodden subjects of the King of England and the Emperor of Prussia?'
'Bertie does,' affirmed the crowd.
'And looks at sons of the prairie and the mountain through a piece of glass, which the Major here discarded years ago. Who does that?'
And the crowd said that 'dear Bertie did.'