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Updated: June 23, 2025
She tortured his proud spirit be recallin' th' time whin she used to flag him fr'm th' window iv th' room where Papa had locked her in. She aven wint so far as to dhraw on him th' last cow'rdly weapon iv brutal wives their tears. One time she thravelled to New York an' wan iv his frinds seen her. Oh, it was crool, crool.
"We don't find a man's saddle an' bridle for him," sez he. "I got mine cached over at Danders," sez I, recallin' the ones I had left there before I went into business. "What's your name?" sez he. "I ain't nowise choicy," sez I, "call me anything you want." "I guess you won't do," sez he, ridin' on into Danders. I reached it myself about two hours later, an' went to the hotel.
He towered up in grandeur and in wrath before me. He seemed almost like a offended male fowl when ravenin' hawks are angerin' of it beyond its strength to endure. I don't like that metafor; I don't love to compare my pardner to any fowl, wild or tame; but my frenzied haste to describe the fearful seen must be my excuse, and also my agitation in recallin' of it.
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