“This is a —— of a time to tell me!” wails Archie, and he goes across the street to a restaurant.
The next we sees of him he’s taking a picture of a rackful of broncs and then he goes over and photygrafts a greaser kid and a dog.
Me and Muley donates as much as we can to Mike’s game, and then quits. We wanders down to Art Miller’s barn, and sets down in the sun. We haven’t been there long, when we sees the stage drive up to the depot. They dumps some stuff off, and then drives down to the barn. Beside Art is old man Warner’s son Chuck, and when he sees us he grins all over his homely face. Art sees us, and they both whoops.
“Awful funny,” says Muley. “Haw, haw!”
“Any time yuh don’t think it was yuh got another think coming,” whoops Chuck, hanging on to a front wheel. “Haw! Haw! Haw! Left the danged fool up a—haw, haw, haw—tree!”
Art leans against one of his wheelers, and the tears runs out of his eyes.
“Some—haw, haw, haw—picture!” gargles Art. “I ain’t laughed so much in my whole life!”
Him and Chuck looks at each other, and busts out laughing again.
“What seems to be tickling yuh?” asks Muley. “Is it a secret?”
“Oh, glory!” gasps Chuck. “Listen, you fellers. That’s going to be some picture. Telescope held up that stage, but nobody will ever see that picture. Haw! Haw! Haw! We drives out of the crossing, and he stops us, just like a regular bandit. Of course we know he’s got blanks in his gun, but we elevates our hands to make the play good, He’s got a sack over his head, so yuh can’t see his face, and I got a false mustache on so he won’t know me. I made it myself.