realm of romance and improbability--this country is mine, and I love
it, and I won't have it profaned by any growling, dyspeptic little
squirt from a land where they have pie for breakfast. I positively
forbid you to touch that water without my permission. I forbid you to
cuss my mozo without my permission, and I forbid you to damn this
country in my hearing. Just at this particular moment, Boston, the only
things which you have and which you can call your own, and do what you
please with, are your soul, your prickly-heat and your blistered heel.
I'm fully convinced that you're quite a little man back in Boston for
the reason that you're one hell of a small man out here, even if you do
wear a string of letters after your name like the tail on a comet.

"You were swelling around in San Berdoo, talking big and hollering for
an investment. I showed you samples of ore from my desert prospect and
you got excited. You wanted to examine my claim, you said, and if you
liked it you would engage to bring it to the attention of 'your
associates' and pay me my price. I offered to bring you in here as my
guest, and ever since you got off the train at Salton you've snarled
and snapped and beefed and imposed on my hospitality, and it's got
to stop. I don't need you; I don't care for you; I think you're a
renegade four-flusher, bluffing on no pair, and if I had known what a
nasty little old woman you are I'd never have opened negotiations with
you. Now, you chirk up, Boston, and smile and try to be a good sport,
or I'll work you over and make a man out of you. Savvy?"

Thoroughly squelched, the malingerer flushed, mumbled an apology and
held out his hand. The Desert Rat took it, a little sorry that he had
not been more temperate in his language.

"All right, we'll bury the hatchet" he said generously. "Maybe I'm a