“That’s mi-i-i-i-ine! I got sixte-e-e-e-e-en! Whooe-e-e-e-e!”
“Wait uh minute!” howls Chuck. “Maybe I was wrong, Ike, but take uh look at it the other way. If that ain’t uh nine——”
“That’s mine!” whoops Dirty Shirt. “Dog-gone, I knowed——”
“Looks like ninety-one,” says I.
“My number! My number,” whoops the judge. “Ninety-one wins!”
The judge comes clawing his way to the front, and the whole crowd starts milling around me.
“Ouch!” yelps Ricky, above the noise. “Let loose! Wow! That danged pelican bit me on the leg!”
“I claims that bird,” yells the judge. “Lead her out to me, Ricky.”
“Like —— he will!” howls Scenery, climbing up on the bar, and shaking his number under the judge’s nose. “Just because you misrepresents the law, Judge, it don’t give yuh no rights to take property away from honest men.”
“Let’s live in peace and harmony,” states Buck Masterson, sliding his double-barreled shotgun across the bar, and covering the crowd. “Everybody shut up and listen to me! Look at the tickets in the hat and maybe yuh can settle this argument.”