W. C. Tuttle

“ Art drops his whip, wraps his lines around his arm and, in tryin’ to put more shells in his gun, swings his team off th’ road. They go good for about ten jumps and then they’re into th’ timber.
Natcherally th’ leaders goes on opposite sides of uh tree, with th’ result that th’ wheelers skid to one side and th’ stage turns uh handspring. I reckon that Sig’s bronc thinks it’s uh real party fer its benefit, ’cause it pitches right into th’ tangle and Sig lights sittin’ down through th’ glass door of th’ stage, which is reposin’ serenely on its side when he arrives. ”

“ Now, on Monday afternoon, you be up in them rocks, with uh mask on, and when Art drives out of th’ ford you throw down on him with yore rifle and yell, ‘Hands up!’ Mebby yuh better shoot once or twice so as to make th’ play good. We’ll pull th’ bullets out of some ca’tridges so nobody won’t git hurt. When you yells and shoots uh few times, here I comes across th’ ford ridin’ like th’ devil and starts throwin’ lead and you ducks, sabe? I’ll save th’ stage from bein’ held up and, bein’ as Rosalind is on th’ stage, I’ll be uh hero. Ren, are yuh game to help uh needin’ friend? ”

“ She went down to Curlew uh few days ago, and said she would be back Monday afternoon on th’ stage.”
“Likes heroes, eh?” mused Sig. “Jist about what causes uh man to be uh hero?”
“Uh heero,” states Ren, “is uh feller who does jist what any one else would have done in his place, but he beat ’em to it. Sabe? He allus saves th’ girl.”
“Saves th’ girl, eh?” Sig runs his fingers down th’ creases in his chaps and thinks deeply. ”

“ That bronc wasn’t noways gun broke, so it starts sun-fishin’ at th’ first shot and bores straight fer th’ stage. Sig sees Art Miller stand up in his seat and throw th’ whip to his leaders with one hand and fire both barrels of his riot gun with th’ other.
Sig ducks jist in time to save his life. Art shoots uh li’l high and when Sig ducks all he gits is th’ rakins of about six shot across his shoulder. One shot punctures th’ brone’s ear and it shore moves up and down a-plenty. ”

“ Every cloud has uh silver linin’, Sigismund Alexander.”
Th’ next mornin’, bein’ Sunday, Ren throws his saddle on his brown mare and points off across th’ hills towards Curlew, and on Monday mornin’ Sig puts his ridin’ gear on Old Man Padden’s best lookin’ bronc, polishes up his boots and slips off across th’ hills towards Hell Gate Cañon.
Sig breezes across th’ hills with joy in his heart, so much joy that he thumbs that bronc, with th’ result that he almost gits set on foot. He has time to burn, so he decides to go out of his way to say “hello” to Pete Gonyer. ”

“ Sig sits there fer uh few minutes collectin’ his thoughts, when he discovers that he’s sittin’ on somebody’s head.
“Rosalind!” is th’ first thought that comes into his head, so he slides part way out and takes said head between his hands. ”

“ And then like anybody else would, he opens it to see who to send it back to. He reads it through twice, takes off his hat and reads it again. It says:
Mr. Elberton:
In reply to your letter I can say that you’ve got more nerve than a mule. ”

“ Instead of Jimmy, with his dirty apron and a half-smoked cigaret hangin’ out uh one side of his mouth, out waltzes th’ swellest lookin’ female person they ever saw, and she single-foots right up to ’em with uh smile, and then out comes another she person, but this last one ain’t noways in th’ same class as Number One.
They’re both wearin’ li’l dinky white aprons and uh head full uh hair, but here th’ similarity ceases some abrupt. Th’ first one is packin’ class by th’ ton. ”