I pushes my hoss up ontil his nose is right by that No'thern party's y'ear.
Steadyin' myse'f, I makes a wallop at him an' misses.

I invests so much soul in the blow that missin' that a-way, I comes within' a ace of clubs of goin' off my hoss an' onto my head.

An' still that exasperatin' Yank goes rackin' along, an' if anything some faster than before.

At that I begins to lose my temper ag'in.
"'I reorganises,--for at the time I nearly makes the dive outen the stirrups, I pulls the hoss to a stop,--an' once more takes up the pursoot of my locoed prey.

He's a pris'ner fair enough, only he's too obstinate to admit it.