"At last I'm made posted of impendin' events. Across the wide
Caliente comes a faint but f'rocious war song. I glance over that a-
way, an' thar through the oak bresh comes Prince Hal. An' although
he's a mile off, he's p'intin' straight for this yere invader,
Hotspur. At first I thinks Prince Hal's alone, an' I'm marvellin'
whatever he reckons he's goin' to a'complish by this return. But
jest then I gets a glimmer, far to Prince Hal's r'ar, of that
reedic'lous Pistol, the milk-white steer.
"I beholds it all; Falstaff is comin'; only bein' a dark brown I
can't yet pick him out o' the bresh. Prince Hal has travelled over
to Long's Canyon an' told the giant Falstaff how Hotspur jumps into
the Caliente an' puts it all over him that a-way. Falstaff is
lumberin' over--it's a journey of miles--to put this redundant
Hotspur back on his reservation. Prince Hal, bein' warm, lively an'
plumb zealous to recover his valley, is nacherally a quarter of a
mile ahead of Falstaff.
"It's allers a question with me why this yere foolhardy Hotspur
don't stampede out for safety. But he don't; he stands thar lookin'
onusual limp, an' awaits his fate. Prince Hal don't rush up an'
mingle with Hotspur; he's playin' a system an' he don't deviate
tharfrom.
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