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Updated: May 3, 2025
One time it was right here in my barroom, Fatty " "The hell you say!" "Yep, that was before your time around these parts. But Fitz had a couple of jolts of red-eye under his vest and felt pretty strong. Mac Strann happened in and first thing you know they was at it. Well, Fitz was a big man. I ain't small, but I had to look up when I talked to Fitz.
Billy Dime might make it if he didn't get too much red-eye in him first. Bud ain't steady enough and it wouldn't look right if I was the only rider here to take a chance. I dunno." "What you gaspin' about?" queried Collie. "Nothin', kid. You can get hosses ready for all the ladies for to-morrow mornin' at six sharp. Sabe? I got orders to send you over with 'em. Mebby you're some proud now, eh?
Then it was that she began going far out on the thinnest branches, where he could not follow. Thus she might have got a breathing spell, but Red-Eye was fiendish. Unable to follow her, he dislodged her by shaking her off. With all his strength and weight, he would shake the branch back and forth until he snapped her off as one would snap a fly from a whip-lash.
Undoubtedly, had nothing happened, we would have soon mated, for our liking was mutual; but the something did happen. One morning, the Swift One not having put in an appearance, Lop-Ear and I were down at the mouth of the slough playing on the logs. We had scarcely got out on the water, when we were startled by a roar of rage. It was Red-Eye.
He stood up, and chattered, bristled, and showed his teeth. Red-Eye roared with rage. It was an offence to him that any of the Folk should dare to withstand him. His hand shot out and clutched Crooked-Leg by the neck. The latter sank his teeth into Red-Eye's arm; but the next moment, with a broken neck, Crooked-Leg was floundering and squirming on the ground.
The red-eye is classed among the flycatchers by some writers, but is much more of a worm-eater, and has few of the traits or habits of the Muscicapa or the true Sylvia. He resembles somewhat the warbling vireo, and the two birds are often confounded by careless observers. Both warble in the same cheerful strain, but the latter more continuously and rapidly.
Ef I had one, you-all kin gamble yer alce all bets would be off with them painted dance-hall beer jerkers, an' it would be out in th' brush fo' me while th' corks was poppin', gals cussin', red-eye flowin', an' chips rattlin'. That thar little ol' kid has my 'spects, an' ef airy o' th' Blue Mountain outfit tries to string him 'bout not runnin' with them oreide propositions, I'll hand 'em lead till my belt's empty."
An' Abe's wearin' it out, ridin' to Lazette for red-eye. I reckon if I was Abe, I'd quit while the quittin's good." He laughed, patting Patches' shoulder. "Shucks, a man c'n see another man's faults pretty far, but his own is pretty near invisible. You've rode the Lazette trail a heap, too, Patches," he said, "when your boss was hittin' red-eye.
The one downright bad thing I've ever done, Hervey. It was the infernal red-eye that made me a crazy man. You should of let me go back and see how bad he was hurt, Lew!" "Nope. I was right. Best thing a gent can do after he's dropped his man is to climb a hoss and feed it leather." "He didn't have a gun," groaned Jordan heavily. "But I forgot it. The red-eye got to working on me. I was losing.
It is musical and sweet; the more so for coming almost always out of a pine-tree. The vireos, or greenlets, are akin to the warblers in appearance and habits, and like them are peculiar to the western continent. It is worth mentioning, however, that the red-eye makes a short day; becoming silent just at the time when the generality of birds grow most noisy.
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