“We’ll open with a prayer,” says Testament.
“Show your openers,” snorts Tombstone Todd. “And what’s a lot more, we never came up here to listen to prayers. If you’ve got any prayers to offer, go behind that curtain and offer ’em to Piperock. Ain’t that right, folks?”
“Yea verily,” says Dog Rib Davidson, of Yaller Horse, standin’ up. “I’d like to say a few words. I’ve got ten tickets on that raffle—”
“I’ve got eighty!” snaps Tombstone. “Set down, Dog Rib. I’ve done promised Mrs. Todd that autymobile.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” growls Hank Padden. “Better wait’ll you win it.”
Magpie went out on the platform. He’s got a basket with all the numbers in it.
“We’ll pull off the raffle, Testament,” he says. “No use prayin’ to or for that bunch of horsethieves. No use wastin’ your breath, ’cause the Lord would discount anythin’ you could say good about ’em, anyway.
“I’ve got all the numbers in this basket, folks. I’ll select somebody to draw a number, which will designate the winner. Judge, will you do the drawin’?”
“Not for mine, he don’t!” yelps Tombstone. “Not for mine. You’ve got to deal off the top of the deck to us this time, Magpie. I suggests that my wife draw the number.”