"The
fella that did it is eatin' grass now," he muttered.
"Now, what's the matter with Miguel? Discovered any bullets nestin' in
your manly buzzum, Miguel?"
"I think no. But I lose something," replied Miguel, smiling.
"That so?"
"I did have the tobacco and papers here," he said, and he put his hand
on his chest. "Now I look and the pocket and some of the shirt is not
there--and my tobacco is gone, and the little papers."
"Is that all? Sad. I thought you'd lost a railroad or a steamship or
something. Cheer up! Things might be better."
"I think I like to smoke," said Miguel, quite seriously. "I will ride
back and get some tobacco and some more papers."
"That ain't all you'll get. Here, smoke up. You look fine in that
peek-a-boo shirt. Never knowed you had such a good shape. What size
gloves do you wear, pet?" And Pars Long passed tobacco and papers to
Miguel, who rolled a cigarette and smoked contentedly.
"Billy, you look sick," said Bud Light.
"Oh, no! I want to go to a dance, right away. Whoa!"
They drew rein. Williams, dismounting, was bending over his companion
Overland, who had suddenly slipped from the saddle.
"Where's he punctured?" queried Bud Light.
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