As he's prancin' along at the head of his men where a great commander belongs, he's shore scandalised by hearin' his r'ar gyard firin' on the Yanks.

So he rides back, my old pap does, an' he says: "Yere you-all eediots! Whatever do you mean by shootin' at them Yankees?
Don't you know it only makes 'em madder ?" An' that,' concloods Dan, 'is how I feels about spectres.

I wouldn't go lammin' loose at 'em with no guns; it only makes 'em madder.' "It's the next day, an' Peets an' Enright is organised in the ha'nted sign-camp of the Bar-B-8.

Also, they've been lookin' round.

By ridin' along onder the face of the precipice, they comes, one after t'other, on what little is left of the dead steers.