“Well,” says I, “since the old man left with his buckskin team and rattle wagon, and some heartless hombre has turned loose every bronc on the place, there ain’t no mode of locomotion in sight except them two burros up there at the cook-shack. Are yuh too proud to straddle a jackass, Calamity?’
“It’ll soon be dark, Henry. Many a man has done things in the dark that he wouldn’t do in the light. Let’s equip the shameful things and be on our way.”
We puts saddles on them long-eared things and pilgrims off down the road in the dusty dusk. When we comes opposite the Saunders place, I pulls up.
“Whow,” says I. “I got a mission to perform. We got to have a Miss Columbus for your pe-rade, Calamity, and I got to bear her the news.”
We goes up and knocks on her door, and informs her of the fact.
“My gosh, Henry!” says she. “I ain’t got nothing to wear!”
“Ma’am,” says Calamity, bowing low, “don’t you let that worry yuh. A figure like yours don’t need no clothes.”
The door shuts off the conversation, and we wanders back to our trusty steeds.
“Calamity, you been a lot of help to me this evening,” says I. “You sure cut our cinch with the widder Saunders.”
“I’m prostrated with grief,” orates the old pelican. “Anyway I don’t see what Columbus has to do with my homecoming, Henry.”