The last time the gyard gets downed.
"No, the stage driver ain't in no peril of bein' plugged. Thar's
rooles about stage robbin', same as thar is to faro-bank an' poker.
It's onderstood by all who's interested, from the manager of the
stage company to the gent in the mask who's holdin' the Winchester
on the outfit, that the driver don't fight. He's thar to drive, not
shoot; an' so when he hears the su'gestion, 'Hands up!' that a-way,
he stops the team, sets the brake, hooks his fingers together over
his head, an' nacherally lets them road agents an' passengers an'
gyards, settle events in their own onfettered way. The driver,
usual, cusses out the brigands frightful. The laws of the trail
accords him them privileges, imposin' no reestrictions on his mouth.
He's plumb free to make what insultin' observations he will, so long
as he keeps his hands up an' don't start the team none ontil he's
given the proper word, the same comin' from the hold-ups or the
gyards, whoever emerges winner from said emeutes.
"As I states, the last time Old Monte is made to front the iron, the
Wells-Fargo gyard gets plugged as full of lead as a bag of bullets.
An' as to that business of loot an' plunder, them miscreants shorely
harvests a back load! It catches Enright a heap hard, this second
break which these yere felons makes.
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