Piperock ain’t what a stranger would call a paradise on earth, and she don’t qualify for the milk and honey, but she’s a man’s town—all up and down the street.
Me and Lodestone pilgrims through the dust up to “Buck” Masterson’s saloon, and I goes inside. Buck and “Tellurium” are there, and they welcomes me like a lost brother. Buck salutes me with the proper ingredients, and we exchanges pleasantries.
After we sort of gets used to each other again Buck hauls out a sheet of paper, and smooths it out on the bar.
“Take a look at that, Ike,” says he. “There’s something new.”
I sizes her up. It’s what resembles a newspaper—in some respects—but I can’t seem to read it none to speak of. The label across the top resembles this—
TOLIP KCOREPIP EHT
The rest of the page is smears and blots.
“Looks like a Russian proclamation, Buck,” says I. “Where did it come from?”
“Right here, Ike; that ex-pardner of yours published it.”
“Magpie?” I asks, and they both nods. “That’s his first edition,” replies Buck. “He took over the office when a few of the local boys ran the editor across the border for slandering the community. That paper invades this here country about a month after you leaves, and she runs high along until the editor gets a call to uplift the community. Yesterday he beat the posse across the line, and Magpie gets out his maiden sheet. This here feller speaks feelingly of lawlessness, and even goes so far as to make personal remarks about our morals. What he said about the town of Paradise was awful.”