As it is, I'm conversin' with a gent who's standin' hard by.
"'At my elbow is posted a shaggy an' forbiddin' outlaw whose name is Yuba Tom, an' who's more harmonious than me.

He wants to listen to "Rosalie the Prairie Flower." Of a sudden, he w'irls about, plenty peevish.
"'Stick a period to that pow-wow," observes Yuba; "I wants to hear this prima donna sing." "'Bein' gala with the five libations, I turns on Yuba haughty.

"If you're sobbin' to hear this songstress," I says, "go for'ard an' camp down at her feet.

But don't come pawin' your way into no conversations with me.

An' don't hang up no bluff." "'Which if you disturbs me further," retorts Yuba, "I'll turn loose for shore an' crawl your hump a lot." "'Them foolhardy sports," I replies, "who has yeretofore attempted that enterprise sleeps in onknown graves; so don't you-all pester me, for the outlook's dark." "'It's now that Yuba,--who's a mighty cautious sport, forethoughtful an' prone to look ahead,--regyards the talk as down to cases an' makes a flash for his gun.