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Updated: June 12, 2025
What's that the crazy galoot's after saying?" The question came from a thickset man, of about middle age, upon whose upper lip bristled a fringe of reddish hair. His eyes were blue, narrow and evil, and his face was scarred in half a dozen places. "Why, Hickey, my amigo, he says that the place is haunted," laughed Ramon.
"Guess I didn't hear any glass smash. Likely I missed it," and he chuckled fiendishly. Lablache sat gazing moodily at the building. Then the half-breed's voice roused him. "Hello, wot's that?" He was pointing at the house. "Why, some galoot's lightin' a bonfire! Say, that's dangerous Lablache. They might fire your place." But the other did not answer. His eyes were staring wide with horror.
Why, man, Peter Retief is buried deep in that reeking keg, and no slapsided galoot's goin' to pitch such a crazy notion as his resurrection down my throat. Retief? Why, I'd as lief hear that Satan himself was abroad duffing cattle. Bah! Where's the 'hand' that's gulled you?" Lablache eyed the old man curiously.
There was runnin' and cursing but Jim yelled out, Over all the infernal roar, "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last galoot's ashore." Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat Jim Bludso's voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussedness, And knowed he would keep his word.
Just then I heard an ominous click and in a second I was gazing down the barrel of a .45, and he said, "Now will you send it? You'd better or I'll send you to a home that will be a permanent one." A .45, especially when it is loaded, cocked and pointed at your head, with a half drunken galoot's finger on the trigger, is a powerful incentive to quick action.
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