This wasn’t no unheard-of custom to practice out our way; but it was a new sort o’ defence for a man with a noose about his neck to put up, an’ I see that some o’ the others was gettin’ interested. The big man had a smile like a boy, an’ steady eyes, an’ a clear skin; an’ he didn’t look at all the kind of a man to really need stretchin’.
“What’s your plan for earnin’ a livin’?” I asked.
“I am a kind of apostle,” sez he, “an’ I live on the bounty of others.”
“Do you mean ’at you’re a preacher?” asked Badger-face.
“Yes,” the stranger replied with a smile.
We found the singer on foot with a noose about his neck an’ nine rather tough-lookin’ citizens holdin’ a parley with him
“Well, I never see a preacher with as short hair as yours, nor one who carried so much artillery, nor one who made a practice o’ pickin’ up a fresh hoss whenever he felt like it. Where’d you learn to ride, an’ where’d you learn to rope?”
“Eastern Colorado. I lived there four years, an’ travelled on hossback,” sez the stranger.
“I’ll bet you left there mighty sudden,” sez Badger-face with an evil leer.