"But there's a Buck Canon," I pleads. "Please say there's a Buck Canon."
"Oh, yes, there's a Buck Canon," he allows. "Nice limestone formation—make good hard water."
"Well, you're a marvel," says I.
We walked together down to Dutchy's saloon.
We stopped outside.
"Now," says he, "I'm goin' to take one of those hosses and go somewheres else. Maybe you'd better do likewise on the other."
"You bet I will," says I.
He turned around and taked up the paper he was carryin'. It was a sign. It read:
THE DUTCH HAS RUSTLED
"Nice sentiment," says I. "It will be appreciated when the crowd comes back from that little pasear into Buck Canon. But why not tack her up where the trail hits the camp? Why on this particular door?"