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When the stranger an' pilgrim comes in, says he first off: 'Why'n snakes they got that weathercock horse upside down why? says he. 'Why-not, says you, and the drinks is on the pilgrim. "That all went very lovely till some gesabe opens up a placer drift on the far side the divide, starts a rival camp, an' names her Because.
"I have not wasted any thoughts on you at all, so far, Mr. Clark," I replied. "Why'n the hell didn't you fill my order yesterday?" "Was it your order?" "'Course it was. Wrote it out myself, every bit of it." "Well, you're a rotten writer, Mr. Clark." "Oh! can it. What kind of a tin-pot way of doin' business was that?
I couldn't help laffing, but pretty soon Pa began to squirm and he said, 'Why'n 'ell don't you warm them feet before you come to bed, and then he hauled back his leg and kicked me clear out in the middle of the floor, and said if he married again he would marry a woman who had lost both of her feet in a railroad accident.
"I'd like to know who passed the word around amongst outlaws that Casey Ryan is the only original easy mark left runnin' wild, an' that he can be caught an' made a goat of any time it's handy! Look at the crowd of folks bunched on that crossing this afternoon! Why didn't yuh pick some one else for the goat? Outa all them hundreds uh people, why'n hell did yuh have to go an' pick on Casey Ryan?
I couldn't help laffing, but pretty soon Pa began to squirm and he said, 'Why'n 'ell don't you warm them feet before you come to bed, and then he hauled back his leg and kicked me clear out in the middle of the floor, and said if he married again he would marry a woman who had lost both her feet in a railroad accident.
Despite the hunter's order, given as he stood there, gun drawn and ready, Folsom wheeled back again, savagely to throw the deck of cards in Belllounds's face. He cursed horribly.... "You spoiled brat of a rich rancher! Why'n hell didn't you tell me thet varmint-hunter was Wade." "I did tell you," shouted Belllounds, flaming of face. "You're a liar!
"Oh, Lord!" he gasped between stiffening lips: "It's Tex, an' Jack Purdy, an' they've fit over Cinnabar Joe's gal!" He turned wrathfully toward Bat. "Why'n you tell me who it was up here, so's I could a gathered a man's-size posse?" he demanded. "Whichever one of them two has shot up the other, they hain't goin' to be took in none peaceable.
"It is all here waiting for you," I shouted back, striking a match on my much maligned breeches and lighting my briar pipe leisurely. "Well, why'n the devil don't you bring it aboard?" "Why don't you come and fetch it?" I cried. "I'm a store-keeper, Mister Joe Clark, not a delivery wagon. I sell f.o.b. the veranda." And I smoked on. He jumped out of the boat and rushed up the beach like a madman.
Then an elderly man with a square gray beard spoke up. "Well," said he deliberately, "airy man so low down and shif'less and miserable as to go to stealin' boots and shirts and tobacco in this camp is shore outside my corral. He sure must be a miserable person. Why'n hell didn't Buck and Missou give him a few lifts with the toes of their boots, and not come botherin' us with them?"
In Texas we'd shoot a man full of little holes that 'ud try it." "Why'n you stay in Texas, then?" growled the other. The cowman drank his liquor and refilled the glass. "Most fat men," he imparted irrelevantly, "are plumb mindful that they're easy hit, an' consequent they're cheerful-hearted an' friendly.
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