It's all over long ago, an' I'm
glad the kyards falls as they do. Still, as I intimates, thar's them
moments of romance to ride me down, when I remembers my one lone
love affair with Polly Hawks, the beauty of the Painted Post.'
"Enright pauses, an' we-all sets still a moment out of respects to
the old chief. At last Dan Boggs, who's always bubblin' that a-way,
speaks up:
"'Which I'm shore sorry,' says Dan, 'you don't fetch the moosic of
that Purple Blossom's war-song West. I deems that a mighty excellent
lay, an' would admire to learn it an' sing it some myse'f. I'd shore
go over an' carol it to Red Dog; it would redooce them drunkards to
frenzy."'
CHAPTER XVIII.
Where Whiskey Billy Died.
"Lies in the lump that a-way," said the Old Cattleman, apropos of
some slight discussion in which we were engaged, "is bad--an' make
no doubt about it!--that is, lies which is told malev'lent.
"But thar's a sort of ranikaboo liar on earth, an' I don't mind him
nor his fabrications, none whatever. He's one of these yere amiable
gents who's merely aimin' to entertain you an' elevate your moods;
an' carryin' out sech plans, he sort o' spreads himse'f, an' gets
excursive in conversation, castin' loose from facts as vain things
onworthy of him.
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