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Go a leetle slow, Mister, an' don't forgit nothin'. You preposed to gimme the p'ar o' pistols fer the bacon an' meal an' salt, an' fer yer dinner an' hoss feed. I've done tole you as how Si Watkins don't never take no pay fer a dinner an' a hoss feed. So you can't offer me the p'ar o' pistols 'thout offerin' to pay fer yer entertainment of man an' beast, an' I won't have that, I tell you."
Whirling upon his adversary, he grappled him in his long arms, hugging like a grizzly, and shouting: "You, Gid Himes, wha'r's my specimens?" He shook the stranger savagely. "You an' Shade Buckheath you p'ar o' scoundrels give me back my silver specimens! Give me back my silver ore that shows about the mine for my little gal." "Uncle Pros!
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