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Hendryx, James B., 1880-1963

"The Texan A Story of the Cattle Country"


But if you got to have ocular evidence, just hang out over the creek
there where it's still."
The operation was slow and painful. It seemed to Endicott as though
each separate hair were being dragged out by its roots, and more than
once the razor edge drew blood. At last the job was finished, he
bathed his smarting face in the cold water, and turned to the Texan for
approval.
"You look like the second best bet in a two-handed cat fight," he
opined, and producing his book of cigarette papers, proceeded to stick
patches of tissue over various cuts and gashes. "Takin' it by an'
large, though, it ain't so bad. There's about as many places where you
didn't go close enough as there is where you went too close, so's it'll
average somewhere around the skin level. Anyway it shows you tried to
look respectable--an' you do, from your neck down--an' your hat, too."
"I am certainly obliged to you," laughed Endicott, "for going to all
that trouble to provide me with clothing. And by the way, did you
learn anything--in regard to posses, I mean?"
The Texan nodded sombrely: "Yep. I did. This here friend of mine was
on his way back from Wolf River when I met up with him. 'Tex,' he
says, 'where's the pilgrim?' I remains noncommital, an' he continues,
'I layed over yesterday to enjoy Purdy's funeral, which it was the
biggest one ever pulled off in Wolf River--not that any one give a damn
about Purdy, but they've drug politics into it, an' furthermore, his'n
was the only corpse to show for the whole celebration, it bein' plumb
devoid of further casualties.


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