"And who's your dog-goned evidence against?"
"Against Captain McCalmont, Curly his—his son, and six others, robbers, and that polecat Jim du Chesnay, of Holy Crawss."
"Wall, throw down your dog-goned guns, throw up your dog-goned hands, and say 'Sir' when you dare to address an honest man. Now you get off'n that horse!"
"Dog-goned Hawkins," says the robber, "I ain't no prisoner, I ain't yo' meat, I don't propose to hole up in yo' flea-trap calaboose, and I quit this hawss when I'm daid. Take my talk for State's evidence, or go without!"
"Chalkeye," says the Marshal aside, "is he covered?"
"Say the word, and I drop him."
"All right. Now, Hennesy, at the first break you die. You may talk."
"McCalmont's outfit," says Buck, "is breaking for Holy Crawss. To-morrow mawning they round up cattle, and then they drive right home to Robbers' Roost."
"You're going to guide us, Mr. dog-goned Robber, or get plugged as full of holes as a dog-goned sieve."
"Guide you?" says Buck, and spat at him. "Guide you? I wouldn't be seen daid with yo' tin-horn crowd of measly, bedridden toorists. I cayn't insult you worse than saying that yo' mother was a sport, yo' father hung, and their offspring a skunk. Now all you deck of cowards——"