An' I've no use fer these four-flush cowboys thet 're always lookin' fer trouble an' talkin' gun-play.

Buck, I don't know much about you.

But every man who's lived along the Texas border remembers a lot about your Dad.

It was expected of you, I reckon, an' much of your rep was established before you thronged your gun.

I jest heerd thet you was lightnin' on the draw, an' when you cut loose with a gun, why the figger on the ace of spades would cover your cluster of bullet-holes.
Thet's the word thet's gone down the border.