"As for the other Mexican, which he's the party who jumps our ponies
in the first place, he throws up his hands an' allows he cashes in
his chips for whatever the bank says.

"We-alls ropes out our captive; sorter hog-ties him hand an' foot,
wrist an' fetlock, an' then goes into camp all comfortable, where we
runs up on our game.

"Jack Moore drops the loop of his lariat over the off moccasin of
the deceased Mexican, an' canters his pony down the draw with him,
so's we ain't offended none by the vision of him spraddled out that
a-way dead. This yere's thoughtful of Jack, an' shows he's
nacherally refined an' objects to remainders lyin' 'round loose.

"'No, it ain't so much I'm refined,' says Jack, when I compliments
him that he exhibits his bringin' up, an' him bein' too modest that
a-way to accept; 'it ain't that I'm refined none--which my nacher is
shore coarse--I jest sorter protests in my bosom ag'in havin' a
corpse idlin' 'round that a-way where I'm camped. Tharfore I takes
my rope an' snatches deceased off where he ain't noticeable on the
scenery.'

"Jack does it that gentle an' considerate, too, that when we passes
the Mexican next day on our way in, except he's some raveled an'
frayed coastin' along where it's rocky, an' which can't be he'ped
none, he's as excellent a corpse as when he comes off the shelf,
warm as the rifle Enright throws him with.

"'Whatever be we goin' to do with this yere hoss-thief pris'ner of