Peets is fond of ampytations, that a-way, and he lops off said limb with zest an' gusto.
"'I shore deplores, Jose,' says Peets, 'to go shortenin' up a fellow scientist like this.

But thar's no he'pin' it; fate has so decreed.
Also, as some comfort to your soul, I'll explain to Sam Enright how you won't ride much when I gets you fairly trimmed.

Leastwise, after I'm done prunin' you, thar won't be nothin' but these yere woman's saddles that you'll fit, an' no gent, be he white or be he Greaser, can work cattle from a side-saddle.' An' Peets, hummin' a roundelay, cuts merrily into the wounded member.".