XLI.

What could stop us? I grit my teeth; Think I pray'd--ain't sartin of thet; When, whizzin' an' singin', thar came the rush Right past my face of a lariat! "Bully fur you, old pard!" I roar'd, Es it whizz'd roun' the leader's steamin' chest, An' I wheel'd the mustang fur all he was wuth Kerslap on the side of the old steer's breast.