"Pshaw," sez he, "I'm goin' to pull out for home to day, an' I don't want to go without a farewell libation to the good times we've been havin'."
"I'm goin' to pull out, myself," sez I, "but I went on my farewell libation last night. Where might your home be?"
"Texas," sez he. I straightened up.
"Know the governor?" sez I.
"Some," sez he, his eyes twinklin'; "he was my sister's youngest brother."
"Your sister's youngest brother?" sez I, an' then I tumbled. "Say," I yelled, jumpin' to my feet, "you don't mean that you're it yourself?"
"That's the history," sez he; "but if it's just the same to you, I'd rather you didn't work up much of a story about the way I've handled this town since you saved that car."
"Do you really think 'at I saved your life?" sez I.
"Why," sez he, "if that wagon had ever hit the car the' wouldn't 'a' been anything left but my teeth to identify me by, an' I ain't never had one filled yet."
Well, I took one drink with him an' I told him the straight o' that cattle ring an' how Jim Jimison had surrendered on account o' the best little girl that walked, an' that he was the all around squarest boy the' was. I didn't cork up any natural eloquence I happened to have, an' I was some sorry 'at ol' Hammy couldn't have heard that plea. It was dramatic, an' I'll bet money on it. The outcome was, that he swore he'd have Jim out o' the pen as soon as he could get back an' do the signin'. He was a big man with steel gray eyes, an' by jing I felt good over it; but I stuck to the one drink proposition.