The Indian still stood in the same place, but bowed ironically several times, saying:
“Big chief, dead shot. Big chief, dead shot.”
As the four men reached the porch, Shoshone saw that they had gotten hold of another tenderfoot, and promptly they forgot that there was to be no noise there that day, for Shoshone said:
“Get ready, boys; now, all at once! He’s mine, for I saw him first.”
All the boys, in chorus, gave their ear-splitting salute of “Ee—you! Zip,” etc., while the frightened shoemaker held up his shaking left hand, trying feebly to emit a ferocious cowboy yell, at which Shoshone Pete broke out laughing and said:
“Why, hello, tenderfoot! What do you want to do? Sell me that?”—pointing at the shaking pistol.
The shoemaker thought, “How can I shoot him now, when he begins to talk business?” Then to his tormentor he said: “Who told you dot I haf tender feet? Dot is right, for I haf got plisters on der heels.”
At this naive confession, all present began to laugh and shout. Dan came forward, saying, as well as his laughter would let him:
“I say, pardner, what might your name be?”
“It’s—I mean, I am de Vilt Bill, de Bull-man. I am de rink-tailed squealer from Hoboken, New Jersey. I am de rip-snorting vilt man from de bad lands, und dis is de time to maket de racket. Quack! quack! quack!”