I'll say
right yere, son, Colonel Sterett an' his fellow editor an' the goat
wages the awfullest battle which I ever beholds. Which you shorely
oughter heard their expressions. Each of 'em lets go every load he's
got, but the goat don't get hit onct.
"When we-all counts twelve shots--six apiece--we goes out an'
subdoos the goat by the power of numbers. Of course, the dooel's
ended. The Red Dog folks borries a wagon an' takes away their man,
who's suffered a heap; an' Peets, he stays over thar an' fusses
'round all night savin' of him. The goat's all right an' goes back
to the Abe Lincoln House, where this yere Pete Bland is onreasonable
enough to back that shockin conduct of his'n.
"Which it's the last of the Red Dog Stingin' Lizard. That editor
allows he won't stay, an' Bland, still adherin' to his goat, allows
he won't feed him none if he does. The next issue of the Stingin'
Lizard contains this:
"We bid adieu to Red Dog. We will hereafter publish a paper in
Tucson; and if we have been weak and mendacious enough to speak in
favor of a party of the name of Bland, who misconducts a low beanery
which insults an honourable man by stealing his name--we refer to
that feed-trough called the Abe Lincoln House--we will correct
ourselves in its columns.
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