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Updated: June 19, 2025
He looked at our dead an' said no more. "Captain dear," sez a man av the Tyrone, comin' up wid his mouth bigger than iver his mother kissed ut, spittin' blood like a whale; "Captain dear," sez he, "if wan or two in the shtalls have been discommoded, the gallery enjoyed the performinces av a Roshus."
"It is that, son; it's doing fine. The old thing is sittin' there like a broody hen spittin' at 'em, and the swine are running like hell." "God! Shorty, could one hit 'em with a gun?" The glazing eyes brightened; the lolling head straightened with a jerk. "Sure thing." Shorty looked at him, and understood. "Like to try, boy; you'd get the cocoa-nut, I'll bet." "That's it, Shorty; that's it.
But he was full o' queer notions: he would load his gun with the ramrod in the riglar way, instead o' doin' as we do, tumblin' in a drop powder, spittin' a ball out your mouth down the muzzle, and hittin' the stock on the pommel of the saddle to send it home.
"The Tyrone was pushin' an' pushin' in, an' our men was swearin' at thim, an' Crook was workin' away in front av us all, his sword-arm swingin' like a pump-handle an' his revolver spittin' like a cat. But the strange thing av ut was the quiet that lay upon. 'Twas like a fight in a drame except for thim that was dead. "Whin I gave room to the Oirishman I was expinded an' forlorn in my inside.
"I'll go out so as ter git thar at daybreak, and see if thar can be any trail found. It is spittin' now, but not much, and I guess we can find if we done any harm in our fire and maybe track the varmints," said old Huck. "And I'll go with you," said Landlord Larry. "Count me another," the doctor added.
Don't s'pose he understood half of 'em, but he could see plain enough I was spittin' mad. He'd kind o' edge up to me, grinnin' like and noddin', and fust thing I knew, one day, he'd fetched a pill and made me take it. I was mad enough to 'a' killed him easy, but 'fore I could get up to do it, I fell asleep somehow. And when I woke up I felt different. You feel different, don't you?"
Thar's been enough happen already to run y'u out of Arizona. "'Wal, you don't say! What, fer instance?, asked Isbel, quick an' sarcastic. "Thet made Bruce bust out puffin' an' spittin': 'Wha-tt, fer instance? Huh! Why, y'u darn half-breed, y'u'll git run out fer makin' up to Ellen Jorth. Thet won't go in this heah country. Not fer any Isbel.
He drew out his spectacles and peered at it, almost rubbing the paint with his great nose. "It's Andy!" he said with shrewd delight. "It's Andy! And it's the spittin' image of him!" He pushed up the glasses, beaming upon Andrew. Andrew returned the look somberly. "It's a good likeness, you think, do you?" "Fust-rate, Andy, fust-rate; couldn't be better."
"They've got to put me out of business before they can go on," he ruminated. "An Apache is a good deal of a coward when he's fighting for pleasure, but just corner him, and, great snakes and spittin' wildcats, what a game he does put up! I must save my cartridges; for one thing's sure, they won't waste any of theirs.
But it's hard for a young chap o' my build to cut traces from the world, th' flesh, an' the devil all uv a heap. Yet I stuck to it for a long time, while th' lads as used to stand about th' town-end an' lean ower th' bridge, spittin' into th' beck o' a Sunday, would call after me, "Sitha, Learoyd, when's ta bean to preach, 'cause we're comin' to hear tha." "Ho'd tha jaw.
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