Pritchard. Is it? Hush!

Sandy (without, singing),--


Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
Drink him down!
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
Drink him down!
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
All alive and just a-snortin'!
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
Drink him down!


Pritchard. We don't propose to run him in yer, cept we're took, or
yer unaccommodatin' to the boys.

Oakhurst. And if I refuse?

Pritchard. Why, we'll take what we can get; and we'll leave Sandy
Morton with you yer, to sorter alleviate the old man's feelin's
over the loss of his money. There's nothin' mean about us; no! eh,
boys? (Going toward safe.)

Oakhurst. Hear me a moment, Henry Pritchard. (PRITCHARD stops
abreast of OAKHURST.) Four years ago you were assaulted in the
Arcade Saloon in Sacramento. You would have been killed, but your
assailant suddenly fell dead by a pistol-shot fired from some