And Parson Jones was shouting: "The tiger and the buffler _shell_ lay down together! You dah to say they shayn't and I'll comb you with this varmint from head to foot! The tiger and the buffler _shell_ lay down together.

They _shell!_ Now, you, Joe! Behold! I am here to see it done.

The lion and the buffler _shell_ lay down together!" Mouthing these words again and again, the parson forced his way through the surge in the wake of the buffalo.

This creature the Latins had secured by a lariat over his head, and were dragging across the old rampart and into a street of the city.
The northern races were trying to prevent, and there was pommelling and knocking down, cursing and knife-drawing, until Jules St.-Ange was quite carried away with the fun, laughed, clapped his hands, and swore with delight, and ever kept close to the gallant parson.
Joe, contrariwise, counted all this child's-play an interruption.

He had come to find Colossus and the money.