I don't blame 'em none neither.

I sees this Caldwell seraph on one o'casion myse'f; she's shore a beauty! an' whenever she throws the lariat of her loveliness that a-way at a gent, she's due to fasten.
"It's a month followin' this division of the house of Hardrobe when I runs up on him in person.

I encounters him in one of the little jim-crow restauraws you-all finds now an' then in the Injun country.

Hardrobe an' me shakes, an' then he camps down ag'in at a table where he's feedin' on fried antelope an' bakin' powder biscuit.
"I'm standin' at the counter across the room.

Jest as I turns my back, thar's the crack! of a rifle to the r'ar of the j'int, an' Hardrobe pitches onto the floor as dead as ever transpires in that tribe.