Now you, you might a-got killed this afternoon packin' water.

But you're here, ain't you, a-gassin' with me an' likely to grow up an' be the father of a fine large family in Californy.

They say everything grows large in Californy." This cheerful way of looking at the matter encouraged me to dare sudden expression of a long covetousness.
"Say, Laban, supposin' you got killed here--" "Who ?--me ?" he cried.
"I'm just sayin' supposin'," I explained.
"Oh, all right then.

Go on.

Supposin' I am killed ?" "Will you give me your scalps ?" "Your ma'll smack you if she catches you a-wearin' them," he temporized.
"I don't have to wear them when she's around.