"Somethin' seems to ail your throat."
"_Oui_, A'm swal' de piece tabac'."
"Well just hang onto it 'til it gets a little darker an' we'll have
supper," said the Texan, dryly, and resumed.
"So there was some talk disparagin' to the lynchin', an' the party
that's in, holdin' its tenure by the skin of its teeth, an' election
comin' on, sided in with public opinion an' frowned on the lynchin',
not as a hangin', you onderstand, but because the hangin' didn't
redound none to their particular credit--it not being legal an'
regular. All this is brewed while the dance is goin' on, an' by
breakfast time next mornin', there bein' a full quorum of Republican
war chiefs on hand, they pulls a pow-wow an' instructs their deputies
to round up the lynchers. This is done, barrin' a few that's flitted,
the boys bein' caught unawares. Well, things begun lookin' serious to
'em, an' as a last resort they decided to fall back on the truth. So
they admits that there ain't no lynchin'. They tells how, after they'd
got out on the bench a piece they got to thinkin' that the demise of
Purdy ain't a serious matter, nohow, so they turned him loose. 'Where
is he, then?' says a county commissioner. 'Search us,' replies the
culprits. 'We just turned him loose an' told him to _vamoose_. We
didn't stick around an' herd him!'" Again Bat coughed, and the Texan
glared at him.
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