'See that pile, my friend?
That's all like yourn,' sez he.

'It's worth about one simoleon a ton at th' coast.

They use it for ballast.'" "Aw! But this what I saw was gold!" exploded Tex.
"So was mine, for a while!" laughed Frenchy, nodding to the bartender for another round.
"Well, we're tired of punchin' cows! Ride sixteen hours a day, year in an' year out, an' what do we get?
Fifty a month an' no chance to spend it, an' grub that'd make a coyote sniffle! I'm for a vacation, an' if I goes broke, why, I'll punch again!" asserted Waffles, the foreman, thus revealing the real purpose of the trip.
"What'd yore boss say ?" Asked Frenchy.
"Whoop! What didn't he say! Honest, I never thought he had it in him.
It was fine.

He cussed an hour frontways an' then trailed back on a dead gallop, with us a-laughin' fit to bust.

Then he rustles for his gun an' we rustles for town," answered Waffles, laughing at his remembrance of it.
As Frenchy was about to reply his sombrero was snatched from his head and disappeared.