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I guess I'm nothin' but a rough-neck stagedriver an' prospector, clear into the middle of my bones. If I had the sense of a rabbit I never'd gone hellin' through life the way I've done. I'd amount to somethin' by now. As it is I ain't nothin' and I ain't nobody " "You're Casey Wyan! You make me sad when you say that!"
A clatter of hoofs was heard, and Orde looked up with vexation, but his brow cleared as a horseman halted under the porch. "Hellin Orde! just looked in to ask if you are coming to polo on Tuesday: we want you badly to help to crumple up the Krab Bokbar team." "Quite a little thoroughbred in all other respects," said the M.P., and Orde presented Mr.
"Well, yes, as you might say," the witness answered uneasily. "Carried a six-shooter for rattlesnakes, didn't you?" "I reckon, but I never went hellin' around with it." "Wore it to town with you when you went, I expect, as the other boys did." "Mebbeso." "What caliber was it?" "A .38, sawed-off." "Own it now?" The witness mopped his fat face. "No, sir." "Don't carry a gun in town?" "No, sir."
But I ain't no wild colt no more, runnin' loose an' never a halter mark on me. I'm bein' broke to harness, and it's stable an' corral from now on, an' no more open range fer Casey. The missus hopes to high-school me in time. She's a good hand gentle but firm, as the preacher says. And I guess it's time fer Casey Ryan to quit hellin' around the country an' settle down an' behave himself."
Now if it was me that was stealin' these hawses say, s'posin' I was aimin' to sell 'em over across the line I'd aim to take the best I could git holt of, because I'd be wanting 'em for good, all-round, tough saddle hawses. Them greasers, the way they're hellin' around over the country shootin' and fightin', they got to have good hawses under 'em. Er they want good hawses, if they can git 'em.
"Blister sure ropes an' hogties a heap of longhorn words." The justice scratched his bald poll and elucidated. "A s-sinecure, boys, is when a f-fellow rides the g-grub line habitual an' don't rope no d-dogies for his stack o' wheats an' c-coffee." He wagged a fat forefinger at Bob. "You gotta quit hellin' around now an' behave yorese'f like a respectable m-married man. You gotta dig in an' work.
"We got to adopt ourselves to new ways, old Sure-Shot," he ruminated aloud. "Got to quit hellin' around an' raisin' Cain. Leastways I have. You never did do any o' that. Yes, sir, I got to be a responsible citizen." The partner of the responsible citizen leaned back in a reclining chair which he had made from a plank sawed into five parts that were nailed together at angles.
But he was sick of punching other men's cattle. And he'd been maturing lately, getting full-grown ideas into his head. There wasn't any future for him, or for any man, hellin' around the country. But if a man was to settle down, that was the Dream! And he knew the place, back of Big Thumb Butte. Good pasture; not too big, but enough for any bunch he was ever likely to own.
At sight of her Rack Slimson's eyes opened wide, then they narrowed. "Hell," he muttered, turning a slightly worried look on Racey. "What you hellin' about?" Racey inquired, pleasantly. "You knowed about Swing Tunstall alla time," complained Rack Slimson. "What makes you think so?" Racey sidled his horse closer to Rack. "She told you." Thus Rack, bluntly. "'She? What she you mean?" "Aw, her."
"It's this way, I be'n thinkin' quite a bit the last couple of days there ain't a thing in hellin' around the country punchin' other folks' cattle for wages. It's time I was settlin' down. If that girl will take a long shot an' marry me, I'm goin' to rustle around an' start an outfit of my own. I'll be needin' a man about your heft an' complexion to help me run it, too savvy?"
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