I'll
just scout out ahead an' see if I can locate their camp so we can slip
past without incurrin' notoriety."
"I should think," said Alice, with more than a trace of acid in her
tone, "that you had done quite enough scouting for one day."
"In which case," smiled the unabashed Texan, "I'll delegate the duty to
my trustworthy retainer an' side-kicker, the ubiquitous an' iniquitous
Baterino St. Cecelia Julius Caesar Napoleon Lajune. Here, Bat, fork
over that pack-horse an' take a siyou out ahead, keepin' a lookout for
posses, post holes, and grave-diggers. It's up to you to see that we
pass down this vale of tears, unsight an' unsung, as the poet says, or
off comes your hind legs. Amen."
The half-breed grinned his understanding and handed over the lead-rope
with a bit of homely advice. "You no lak' you git find, dat better you
don' talk mooch. You ain' got to sing no mor', neider, or ba Goss!
A'm tak' you down an' stick you mout' full of rags, lak' I done down to
Chinook dat tam'. Dat _hooch_ she mak' noise 'nough for wan night,
_sabe_?"
"That's right, Bat. Tombstones and oysters is plumb raucous
institutions to what I'll be from now on." He turned to the others
with the utmost gravity. "You folks will pardon any seemin' reticence
on my part, I hope. But there's times when Bat takes holt an' runs the
outfit--an' this is one of 'em.
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