“What do you think I am, Aleck? If I hang I hang, but I’m damned if I’ll be a traitor.”
The sheriff gave him up. “All right, Sam. It’s your say-so, not mine. Got everything you want here so you’re fixed comfortable?”
“You’re treating me fine. I ain’t used to being corralled so close, but I reckon it would be onreasonable to ask for a hawss and a saddle and an open range in your calaboose.”
As the sheriff passed down the corridor he heard Sam’s tin-pan voice chirruping bravely:
“There’s hard times on old Bitter Creek
That never can be beat;
It was root, hog, or die,
Under every wagon sheet.
We cleared up all the Indians,
Drank all the alkali,