“Ba-a-a-rr!” blats that steer, like it hurt all over, and right up that room it comes, romping regardless of life or limb.
I know it was Chuck’s voice that yelled—
“Sandy Claws has come.”
“Ho-o-old fast!” yells a puncher, and just then the steer lams into poor Maud S, scattering the punchers. Hair Oil Heppner tries to bulldog that locoed animal, but he might as well ’a’ tried to bulldog a box-car.
Then Maud S gets enervated again, and things begin to boil a-plenty.
“Ba-a-a-a-w!” bawls the steer.
“Ha-a-a-a-w!” sings Maud, and the both of them starts gamboling toward the stage.
“Git ba-a-a-ck!” yowls Pete Gonyer. “Daw-w-w-gone yuh, git back!”
Rip-i-i-p! The steer gets its horns into the curtain, rips about twenty feet of it loose, and starts to climb the stage.
Crash! The moon went down, and the danged old oil lamp inside exploded.