Don't go near him. It's ag'in the law in
Texas to brand calves lonely an' forlorn that a-way, without
stoppin' to herd 'em over to some well-known corral, an' the
punishment it threatens, bein' several years in Huntsville, makes a
gent when he's violatin' it a heap misanthropic, an' he don't hunger
none for folks to come ridin' up to see about whatever he reckons
he's at. Mebby later them visitors gets roped up before a co't, or
jury, to tell whatever they may know. So, as I says, an' merely
statin' a great trooth in Texas ettyquette, yereafter on beholdin' a
fellow-bein' with a calf laid out to mark, don't go near him a
little bit. It's manners to turn your back onto him an' ignore him
plumb severe. He's a crim'nal, an' any se'f-respectin' gent is
jestified in refoosin' to affiliate with him. Wherefore, you ride
away from every outcast you tracks up ag'inst who is engaged like
you says this onknown party is the day he fetches loose his
Winchester at you over by the Serrita la Cruz."
"That's what this Woodruff says," concloodes Jack, windin' up his
interruption, "about what's manners in Texas; an' when it's made
explicit that away, I sees the force of his p'sition. Woodruff an'
me buys nose-paint for each other, shakes hearty, an' drops the
discussion.
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