“I’m the hungry wolf of the plains, and this is my night to howl--ee--you! I’m the rip-snortin’ sure-shot from Dead Man’s Gulch!” “I gif you my vort, you got in de wrong place. Dere’s a shootin’-gallery on de corner. Two shoots for a cent.” “Ee--zip! Ee--zip! You’re a shoemaker, ain’t you?” “I am if I live. Vat you vant, Mister? Dake de place. I don’t vant it. De rent is too high, anyvay, und I look for anoder place--you can haf it.” “I don’t want your place. I’m lookin’ for the coyote who deserted my sister.” “Coyotes? I don’t keep ’em. Go down to Somolus Levinsky’s. He’s got his life insured.” “My name is ‘Cactus Bill,’ and I’m all over ‘stickers,’ and I want a shoemaker to peg ’em in.” “Dot’s a good fellow,” pleaded Morris; “go on to de next place. I got de locomotor-attacks me, und I can’t use de hammer.” “Well, we’ll let it go at that. This Bowery booze is chain-lightning. I can drink a gallon of our Western booze, but this Bowery fire is burnin’ me up. I’m a stranger in a strange land. I’m a poor lost yearlin’ and I haven’t got a brand. I’m a ring-tailed broncho an’ I’m runnin’ away. Clear the range, pardner, for it’s my time to buck.” As he said this, the wild-looking cowboy fired another shot, which was harmless, save for a small piece of plaster knocked from the wall. The shoemaker began to tremble again, and begged him not to be so free with his shooting or the police would be down on them. Indeed, it was strange that the officers had not already made their appearance. So he begged the stranger not to be so free. “I’m not free. I’m tough, I am. You’ve got to be tough in the West. If ever you go there, trim yourself up with a beltful of guns and be as tough as the next one, or they’ll eat you alive. Whoop-ee! I’m goin’ out to find a graveyard. I’ve got to have a place to bury my dead.” Then the man turned and staggered toward the steps, firing two shots as he went. The shoemaker at first thought he would run and hide, but he ducked down behind his bench. “Nein, nein,” he muttered, “but I am tired.” The shoemaker still cowered behind the protecting bench when Dora and Loney returned, laughing happily. Dora saw her father’s pale face and asked: “Hello, papa. Was anyone here?” “Vas anyone here? You ought to haf seen that crowd. You’d t’ink it vos an auction sale and dey vant to buy out my place. Vy you ask me such foolish questions, Dora?” “Why, I did not know that was a foolish question. Was it foolish?” “No, mein chilt. It vos idiotics.” “Why, what is the matter, papa?” “I got it, vot you call dot tired feelings.” “Can I do anything for you?” “Yes, mein chilt. Go by de top of de steps und see if dere is a Vild Vest parade comin’ down de street.” “Why, papa, what is wrong? Are you out of your head?” “Out of mine headt! Come und touch it, dat I shall pe sure I haf von yet.” “Papa, papa!” said Dora, really alarmed. “What is the matter? Oh, are you sick?” “I t’ink I am deat, put I don’t know.”