kissin' you good-bye. In the mornin', when we're ready to go and I'm
about to fix up the vouchers for our host, you break away and ride
like the devil. We'll all tear off a few shots and foller in a
hurry, leavin' the farmer hopin' that the villain is recaptured and
the girls tearfully prayin' that the gallunt and misguided youth
escapes."

It seemed to be about our only resort, as the country was full of bad
men, and we were liable to get turned down cold if we didn't have
some story, so we decided to try it on.

We rode up to a ranch 'bout dark, that night, me between the others,
with my hands tied behind me, and Jim called the owner out.

"I want a night's lodgin' fer my deputies and our prisoner," he says.
"I'm the sheriff of Guadalupe County, and I'll fix up the bill in the
mornin'."

"Come in! Come in!" the feller says, callin' a man for the horses.
"Glad to accommodate you. Who's your prisoner?"

"That's Texas Charlie that robbed the Bank of Euclid single-handed,"
answers Jim. "He give us a long run clean across the State, but we
got him jest as he was settin' over into the Indian Territory.
Fought like a tiger."

It worked fine. The feller, whose name was Morgan, give us a good
layout for the night and a bully breakfast next morning.

That desperado game was simply great. The other fellers attended to