"
"Say, are you chaps Americans?" demanded an astonished voice.
"Reckon so," hailed back Pete dryly, "that's what my ma said. Who air
you, anyhow?"
"I am Big Buck Bradley, manager, owner and sole proprietor of Buck
Bradley's Unparalleled Monst-er-ous and Unsurpassed Wild West Show and
Congress of Cowboys," came back the answer. "Who are you?"
"Well, I reckon jes' at present we're in danger of being made a Wild
West Show of, ourselves," drawled Pete. "But are you really Buck
Bradley himself?"
"I was, at dinner-time," was the response.
"Hoorah!" yelled Pete. "It ain't possible, is it, Buck, thet you've
forgot Mister Peter de Peyster?"
"What, Coyote Pete?"
"That's me!"
"Waal, you thundering old coyote, what air you doin' here?"
"Gittin' chased by a bunch of the toughest insurrectos you ever clapped
eyes on, and it's up ter you ter help us out," responded Pete. He
looked back, and motioned to the others, who had listened in
astonishment to this dialogue. "Come on, boys, and git interduced;
there ain't much time fer ettiquette.
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