]
"Ain't a word of truth in it," indignantly denied the assailed,
his unfinished nose and chin giving him a pathetic, whipped puppy
look. "Sho! I was just looking up saddles. Can't a fellow buy a
new saddle without asking leave of Denver?"
"Cyarpets used to begin with a C in my spelling-book, but saddles
got off right foot fust with a S," suggested Mac amiably.
"He was ce'tainly trying to tree his saddle among the C's. He was
looking awful loving at a Turkish rug. Reckon he thought it was a
saddle-blanket," derided Denver cheerfully.
"Huh! Y'u're awful smart, Denver," retaliated Reddy, his
complexion matching his hair. "Y'u talk a heap with your mouth.
Nobody believes a word of what y'u say."
Denver relaxed into a range song by way of repartee:
"I want mighty bad to be married, To have a garden and a home; I
ce'tainly aim to git married, And have a gyurl for my own."
"Aw! Y'u fresh guys make me tired. Y'u don't devil me a bit, not
a bit. Whyfor should I care what y'u say? I guess this outfit
ain't got no surcingle on me." Nevertheless, he made a hurried
end of his breakfast and flung out of the tent.
"Y'u boys hadn't ought to wound Reddy's tender feelings, and him
so bent on matrimony!" said Denver innocently.
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