“‘You was that atrocious vision what sneaked up from behint and shot me in the laig,’ says he.
“‘Shame on you, Chinook Bill,’ says I. ‘I was only tryin’ to save you from the vicious tusks o’ them elephants.’ Then there was some more skirmishin’ an’ parley an’ we agreed to shake hands over a glass of aguardiente and quinine.
“About sundown we discovered ancient ruins in the side o’ a cliff with heagern idols in shockin’ dissabille sittin’ on their hams a-grinnin’ pleasant from their pedestals. We passed the time o’ day with them, then Chinook Bill, like the great Balboa, poured aguardiente on the haid o’ one an’ dedicated our discovery in the name o’ the Society o’ Natural History and Palezoic Research. We proceeds thence deeper into the unknown by the pallid light o’ the moon. Ruins an’ heagern idols was now plentiful, an’ Chinook Bill opines we was nearin’ our goal fast, an’ the while the topography was gettin’ queerer. Chinook Bill, still with the fever in his eye, recites Shakespeare blatant an’ called to the wilderness to deliver his Desdemona to his grievin’ heart. I laughs scornful, an’ whilst we was rejoicin’ thus we was suddenly confronted by a pack o’ ha’f naked Injuns es rose up out o’ the cañon an’ begun to chunk poisoned arrows at us. Chinook Bill bids me stay my wrath an’ lifts a imperious hand.
“‘Hold!” says he, ‘noble red men. Do I address the illustrious descendants o’ the Montezumas?’
“‘Ickle-hickle-juicy-woosy, eat ’em alive,’ says one what wore a Queen Anne collar o’ his ancestor’s teeth an’ dances fantastic on his painted toes. Then a big fat one takes the boards an’ shows a covetable row o’ white molars in a kingly grin. Him an’ Bill swap secret lodge signs, then his Nibbs approaches an’ pinches Chinook Bill on the arm, then he dances on his toes like the one with the Queen Anne collar.
“‘Iggle-woggle-plenty-good-fer-soup,’ says he, an’ makes some more goo-goo eyes at Chinook Bill while Bill gets out that forbidden book an’ reads some heagern Sanscrit therefrom. His Nibbs rolls on the ground joyful, then he waves his spear an’ holds a animated confab with his faithful subjects.
“‘You maverick,’ says I to Chinook Bill, ‘what you givin’ these pore benighted sons o’ the forests?’
“‘I’m repeatin’ the golden text o’ the god Itchlatichlahoola,’ says Chinook Bill, ‘an’ they are plumb skally-dasted at my marvelous display o’ heagern eridition. We’re the children o’ the sun due to make a visitation to this world every hundred years to deliver the compliments o’ Itchlatichlahoola. Now we shall be conveyed into Poaquita with pomp an’ eat o’ the fat o’ the land.’
“After a hurried confab his Nibbs dances back an’ says es how glad he was to see us an’ pinches Chinook Bill on the arm again. Bill does the spine curvitoore an’ says es how glad he was to be back jest fer the sake o’ ol’ lang syne, but allowed it didn’t do his dignity no credit to be sampled as a special kind o’ eatable an’ wouldn’t be pinched no more, then elaborated es how he wouldn’t stand fer it, no how, he bein’ a natcheral high-strung, free American durin’ them decades es when he wasn’t employed by Itchlatichlahoola as a winged Mercury, an’ lived in the more temporal clime o’ Arizona by choice, all of which was evident mistook by his Nibbs who shies up to me an’ takes a pinch at my biceps. I succumbs to consumin’ wrath immegiate an’ lands the high chieftain between the eyes unceremonious. Then there was revolution an’ carnage in the air, an’ me an Chinook Bill went down before the heagern horde, but to show our bravery Bill recites Horatius at the Bridge an’ annihilates a portion o’ his Nibbs’ faithful subjects in his dramatic gesticulations o’ same. We was tied to a chariot which had no wheels but was drug like a snow-scrape over the ground an’ conveyed into Poaquita. We reached that metropolis about sun-up where we was tied to a stone pillar in the square an’ exhibited to a pack o’ screechin’ hags es played May-pole around us an’ jabbered worse nor green parrots. Of all wild things es live next to the bosom o’ natur there ain’t anything es beats the make-up o’ the gentle sex. They’re a four-flush always.
“‘What’s up?’ says I to Chinook Bill, who was gazin’ mournful on the heagern rites.