"This yere second Mexican is downed on the run-in. He shows a heap
of interest in our comin', an' takes to shootin' us up mighty vivid
with a Winchester at the time; an' so Enright, who's close in, jumps
some lead into him an' stretches him. He don't manage to do no harm,
nohow, more'n he creases my hoss a little. However, as this yere
hoss is amazin' low-sperited, an' as bein' burnt that a-way with a
bullet sorter livens him up a heap, I don't complain none. Still
Enright's all-wise enough to copper the Greaser, for thar ain't no
sayin' what luck the felon has with that little old gun of his if he
keeps on shootin'. Which, as I observes, Enright downs him, an' his
powder-burnin' an' hoss-rustlin' stops immediate.
"As for the other Mexican, which he's the party who jumps our ponies
in the first place, he throws up his hands an' allows he cashes in
his chips for whatever the bank says.
"We-alls ropes out our captive; sorter hog-ties him hand an' foot,
wrist an' fetlock, an' then goes into camp all comfortable, where we
runs up on our game.
"Jack Moore drops the loop of his lariat over the off moccasin of
the deceased Mexican, an' canters his pony down the draw with him,
so's we ain't offended none by the vision of him spraddled out that
a-way dead.
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