Position is everything, you bet your neck.
So up speaks Mr. Long Jim, that I've called a gentleman, loud and clear.
"You're _right_," says he, and bangs his fist into his other hand.
"You're dead right, old horse," says he; "and we'll try this
son-of-a-gun now and here."
"Sure!" says everybody, which didn't surprise me so much. I told you I
was used to handling sheep.
After a little talk with his friend, Long Jim comes up and says: "Will
you preside, Colonel?"
"I have a friend here who is a lawyer," I suggested, waving my hand
toward Burton.
The speaker rubbed his chin.
"I guess this isn't a case for a lawyer," he says. "The gentleman
might give us a point or two, but we'd prefer you took charge. You
see," he says to Burton and me earnestly; "there's been a heap of
skul-duggery around here lately--horse-stealin', maimin' cattle, and
the like--till we're dead sick of it. This bucco made the most
bare-faced try you ever heard of--'twas like stealin' the whiskers
right off your face--and us fellers in my neighbourhood, old man and
all, have saw fit to copper the deal from the soda-card. We ain't for
doin' this man; we're for breaking up the play--'tain't a case of law;
it's a case of livin'--so if you'll oblige, Colonel?"
"All right, sir; I'll do the best I can. Who accuses this man?"
"I," says a straightforward-looking young man of about twenty odd.
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