“You—you—you——”
“Look here, Lafe,” says I, “I hate to kill yuh—I hate to kill any man
who is crippled in the speech, but just as sure as the Lord made little
apples I’m going to do it if yuh don’t lay that gun down. Who made this
strike?”
“Ha—Ha—Ha—Hair-Tut—Tut—Tut——”
“Hair-Trigger?” I asks, and he nods.
We looks foolish-like at each other, and I fumbles for uh smoke.
“Where’s Hair-Trigger?” I asks, but Lafe looks blank-like at me for uh
minute, and then starts—
“I—I—I—I—I——”
“If yuh don’t know, shake your danged head!” I yelps, and he shakes.
“Well,” says I, “if this property is good I’m uh third-owner,
Lafayette,” but he shakes his head some more.
“You—you—you—ain’t gug—gug—gug—gug—got n—n—n—n—n—nothin’
tut—tut—tut—tut—to pup—pup—pup—prove it,” he orates, perspiring fluently
and waving his arms, and when I comes to consider it I finds that he’s
perfectly right.
“All right, Lafayette and So Forth Jones,” says I. “Far be it from me to
take what ain’t rightfully mine. Over in your cabin is uh coat what
belongs to me. I take what’s mine. Is that proper?”
“Uh—uh—uh—uh——”
“Shake or nod,” I advises, so he nods.
I gets my coat, and then pilgrims off down the trail. About uh mile from
the Golden Gob I hears somebody yell—
“Git off from here!”