"I wouldn't speak to you if I met you in hell carryin' a lump of ice in your hand." "You're the softest _I_ ever see," sneers Pete.

"Don't they have any genooine Texans down your way ?" "Not enough to make it disagreeable," says Tim.
"That lets you out," growls Pete, gettin' hostile and handlin' of his rifle.
Which the man had been standin' there bewildered, the cup hangin' from his finger.

At last, lookin' pretty desperate, he stooped down to dig up a little of the wet from an overflow puddle lyin' at his feet.

At the same time the hosses, left sort of to themselves and bein' drier than a covered bridge, drug forward and stuck their noses in the trough.
Gentleman Tim and me was sittin' there on our hosses, a little to one side.

We saw Texas Pete jump up from his chair, take a quick aim, and cut loose with his rifle.