Don't give this
away. Make tracks. Come in to Buck Canon in the Whetstones and
oblige.
Yours truly,
Henry Smith
Somebody showed me a handful of white rock with yeller streaks in
it. His eyes was bulgin' until you could have hung your hat on
them. That O'Toole party was walkin' around, wettin' his lips
with his tongue and swearin' soft.
"God bless the Irish and let the Dutch rustle!" says he. "And
the fool had to get drunk and give it away!"
The excitement was just started, but it didn't last long. The
crowd got the same notion at the same time, and it just melted.
Me and Dutchy was left alone.
I went home. Pretty soon a fellow named Jimmy Tack come around a
little out of breath.
"Say, you know that buckskin you bought off'n me?" says he, "I
want to buy him back."
"Oh, you do," says I.
"Yes," says he. "I've got to leave town for a couple of days,
and I got to have somethin' to pack."
"Wait and I'll see," says I.
Outside the door I met another fellow.
"Look here," he stops me with. "How about that bay mare I sold
you? Can you call that sale off? I got to leave town for a day
or two and--"
"Wait," says I.
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