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"Go through nothin'," he explained. "They isn't touchin' me none whatever. Put her down fer argument that I'm damn fool enough to sprinkle lead 'round some, and that I gets away. What happens? Nex' time I drives stage some of these yere agents massacrees me from behind a bush. Whar do I come in? Nary bit!" The tenderfoot, struck by the logic of this reasoning, fell silent.
Keep an eye peeled an' gimme the office if any cop shows up." "Mebbe the lady's at home. I don't allow to rescue you none if she massacrees you," the world's champion announced, grinning. "Wrong guess, Cole. The boss of this hacienda is a man, an' he's in Chicago right now." "You're the dawg-gonedest go-getter I ever threw in with," Sanborn admitted. "All right. Go to it.
"Got to get gay and go projectin' round on the shoot after y'u got your orders to stay hitched. Anything to say for yo'selves?" If they had it was said very silently. "Now, Miss Messiter is going to pass it up this time, but from now on y'u don't go off on any private massacrees while y'u punch at the Lazy D. Git that? This hyer is the last call for supper in the dining-cah.
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