Whew, them flapjacks smell like a plain trail to payday.

Just think of th' nice maple juice we used to get up to Cheyenne on them frosty mornings." "Get out of here an' lemme alone! 'What do yu allus want to go an' make a feller unhappy for?
Can't yu keep still about grub when yu knows I ain't had my morning's feed yet ?" Asked Mr.Connors, much aggrieved.
"Well, I'll be back directly an' I'll have them cayuses or a scalp.

Yu tend to business an' watch th' herd.

That shorthorn yearling at th' end of th' line"-- pointing to a young man who looked capable of taking risks--"he looks like he might take a chance an' gamble with yu," remarked Mr.Cassidy, placing Mr.Travennes in front of him and pushing back his own sombrero.

"Don't put too much maple juice on them flapjacks, Red," he warned as he poked his captive in the back of the neck as a hint to get along.