I didn’t dare to fall off, so I done my dangdest. I got a view of scared faces as we made a mulligan of a perfectly healthy poker game and then I went up and jammed my head through the bale of a hanging-lamp, and took it with us, hanging around my neck.
The back door was partly open and we took it away, hinges and all, and then we’re out in the open again, with Piperock, et cettery, howling in our rear. I banged the bronc with my hat and swung him back toward the street, where I runs into Dirty, backing across the street, shooting every direction. I skids that bronc to a standstill, and yells—
“Get up behind me!”
Dirty stubs his heel and falls down and danged near shot me. Then he gets to his feet and runs up to me.
“Get on behind you?” he yells. “How in —— can I? You’re as far back as you can get! I’ll get on in front.”
Dirty got on. The first jump that bronc made landed him up on its neck, where he locks his legs around under its jaws and away we went, me way back on its rump and him almost on its head, while Piperock fired salutes and cheered in a loud voice.
We turned a corner and bucked around and around until we slammed up against the jail, where my cinch slid down around the bronc’s hind legs and I got kicked in the belly with both hind feet. Then the bronc whirled sideways, and slammed Dirty against the corner of the building. He just lets loose and drops like a suit of clothes, while the bronc whistles again and hits for the open country.
I ain’t got no ambition left, but I’ve got sense enough to throw the saddle and Dirty Shirt Jones inside the jail, and then fall in after him. I kicked the door shut, but Piperock cometh not. There ain’t no sign of pursuit. Pretty soon Dirty’s lips open and he begins singing:
“—le-e-e-ft up your voice and see-e-e-e-ng. Ho-o-o-o-o-sa-a-na-a——”
“Shut up!” I croaks. “You ain’t dead—yet.”