“Dog Rib hit you, honey,” says Mrs. Todd. “He stole your tickets and your gun.”
“I’ll git your ears for this, Dog Rib!”
“You’ll need ’em to replace the ones I got from you. While you’re at it, you might as well stock up on other parts of m’ anatomy, ’cause when I’m through with you, you’ll need plenty fixin’, Tombstone.”
“Did he git number eighty-one?” asks Tombstone of his wife.
“If I didn’t, I’m shore cockeyed,” laughs Dog Rib. “Folks, I’ve shore pulled the fangs out of this old sidewinder. He’s bossed Yaller Horse jist as long as he’s goin’ to. From now on, Dog Rib Davidson is—
Dog Rib is standin’ up to make his proclamation, when Telescope Tolliver, barytone of the Cross J quartette, flung a chair halfway across the room at Tombstone, and hit Dog Rib right on the head. Dog Rib shudders, folds up like a hat rack and disappears behind Tombstone Todd’s chair.
“Si-eye-lent ni-i-i-i-ight,” sings Telescope, startin’ in where he left off when Tombstone knocked him out.
“Set down!” snorts Muley Bowles. “We’re three murders and a homicide past that song, Telescope. Set down, before somebody kills you. This here peace on earth stuff means to keep down and protect your own head.”
“And Tombstone Todd still bosses Yaller Horse,” grunts Tombstone, as he helps himself to Dog Rib’s gun and his own, while Mrs. Todd recovers most of the tickets.
I can see and hear all this from my perch on top of the chimbley, where I’m swayin’ like a jaybird on a limb.