Their tongues was out, and every once in a while they'd stick in a chuck-hole.

Then a man would get down and put his shoulder to the wheel, and everybody'd take a heave, and up they'd come, all a-trembling and weak.
Tim and I rode down just to take a look at the curiosity.
A thin-lookin' man was drivin', all humped up.
"Hullo, stranger," says I, "ain't you 'fraid of Injins ?" "Yes," says he.
"Then why are you travellin' through an Injin country all alone ?" "Couldn't keep up," says he.

"Can I get water here ?" "I reckon," I answers.
He drove up to the water trough there at Texas Pete's, me and Gentleman Tim followin' along because our trail led that way.

But he hadn't more'n stopped before Texas Pete was out.
"Cost you four bits to water them hosses," says he.
The man looked up kind of bewildered.
"I'm sorry," says he, "I ain't got no four bits.

I got my roll lifted off'n me." "No water, then," growls Texas Pete back at him.
The man looked about him helpless.
"How far is it to the next water ?" he asks me.
"Twenty mile," I tells him.
"My God!" he says, to himself-like.
Then he shrugged his shoulders very tired.
"All right.