It turns out like all sperit stories; when you approaches plumb close an' jumps sideways at 'em an' seizes 'em by the antlers, the soopernacheral elements sort o' bogs down.
"It's over mebby fifty miles to the southeast of Wolfville, some'ers in the fringes of the Tres Hermanas that thar's a sign-camp of Enright's brand.

Thar's a couple of Enright's riders holdin' down this corner of the Bar-B-8 game, an' one evenin' both of 'em comes squanderin' in,--ponies a-foam an' faces pale as milk,--an' puts it up they don't return to that camp no more.
"'Because she's ha'nted,' says one; 'Jim an' me both encounters this yere banshee an' it's got fire eyes.

Also, itse'f and pony is constructed of bloo flames.

You can gamble! I don't want none of it in mine; an' that's whatever!' "Any gent can see that these yooths is mighty scared.

Enright elicits their yarn only after pourin' about a quart of nosepaint into 'em.
"It looks like on two several o'casions that a handful of cattle gets run over a steep bluff from the _mesa_ above.