The Colonel's upper lip hangs down queer, like an ant-
eater's, an' he can't talk. It's all mighty amazin'.
"'What's all this toomult about?' I says.
"The short of the riot is this: The Colonel goes in for a swim, an'
he lays out his false teeth that a-way on a stone. When he comes for
his teeth they's shorely gone, an' thar stands Jerry puttin' it on
he's asleep. Them teeth is filed away in Jerry.
"Which the Colonel raves 'round frightful, an' wants to kill Jerry
an' amputate him, an' scout for the teeth. But I won't have it. I'm
goin' to need Jerry down further on the quicksand fords of the
Canadian; an', as I explains, them teeth is a wreck by now, an' no
good if he get's 'em ag'in; Jerry munchin' of his food powerful.
"After a while I rounds up the Colonel an' herds him back to camp.
Jerry has shore sawed off a sore affliction on that tenderfoot when
he takes in them teeth; I can see that. His lip hangs like a
blacksmith's apron, an' he can't talk a little bit; jest makes signs
or motions, like he's Injun or deef.
"It's mebby two weeks later when Jerry gets another shot at the
Colonel. It's the evenin' after the night Jerry sneaks into camp,
soft-foot as a coyote, noses open the grub-box, an' eats five
bottles of whiskey; all we has.
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