"'Which the joyous outcome of this tangle shows,' says Dan Boggs, as
he hammers his glass on the bar an' shouts for another all 'round,
'that you-all can't have too much talk swappin', when the objects of
the meetin' is to avert blood. How much better we feels, standin'
yere drinkin' our nose-paint all cool an' comfortable, an'
congrat'latin' the two brave sports who's with us, than if we has a
corpse sawed onto us onexpected, an' is driven to go grave-diggin'
in sech sun-blistered, sizzlin' weather as this.'
"'That's whatever,' says Dave Tutt; 'an' I fills my cup in approval,
you can gamble, of them observations.'"
CHAPTER XIII
Death; and the Donna Anna.
"Locoweed? Do I savey loco?" The Old Cattleman's face offered full
hint of his amazement as he repeated in the idiom of his day and
kind the substance of my interrogatory.
"Why, son," he continued, "every longhorn who's ever cinched a
Colorado saddle, or roped a steer, is plumb aware of locoweed. Loco
is Mexicano for mad--crazy. An' cattle or mules or ponies or
anythin' else, that makes a repast of locoweed--which as a roole
they don't, bein' posted instinctif that loco that a-way is no
bueno--goes crazy; what we-all in the Southwest calls 'locoed.
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