“‘An’ nobody to give us a ovation,’ says Chinook Bill, almost tearful.
“‘It’s a snub,’ says I, ‘an’ Greasers at that!’
“It’s too quiet to be real,’ comments Chinook Bill, still ominous.
“‘Terrible oppressive,’ I agrees.
“Then we stops at the edge o’ town an’ shakes hands solemn like. Chinook Bill gets poetic an’ weeps copious.
“‘Maybe it will be the last chance,’ says he in a small voice, ‘an’ we will be eat up by cruel Injuns. We cyaint let the opportunity pass,’ says he. Then he recites some poetry es says opportunity never knocks but oncet. ‘An’ it ’ud be a shame not to do it.’
“‘A arful shame,’ concedes I, then we shakes hands again.
“‘Are you ready?’ says Chinook Bill.
“‘I’m dancin’ with suppressed hylarity,’ says I.
“Then we put spurs an’ whoops her up, shootin’ promiscuous. When we come to a halt an’ the smoke cleared, I says: