"No, I never," came the response.
"What was it we struck?"
"I feel as though something had _struck me_," was the answer.
"My covies, we got it good."
"Did you? Well, I got it _bad_. Oh, how my head aches!"
"Who are they?"
"I'll never tell you, but it was the gal gave me my rap and she came
down on me with the force of a Goliah, and I went down--see? I'm down
yet."
"I don't understand," said the leader as he mopped the blood trickling
from the wound in his head with his handkerchief.
"I'll never explain it to you," said the humorist.
"Hang me, but I can't think."
"Neither can I. My thoughts are wool-gathering, and no wonder, eh? By
jiminy! what a settler I got, and I settled."
"They were playing us."
"Yes, they were playing us, and they had lots of fun rattling on my poor
conk."
"But who are they?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Giant, I reckon, and it came so quick that for a moment I
thought I was in a ship and a squall had blown the mast over on me. But
see here, pards, we'd better get up and git, or mebbe some of our
misdeeds may rise up in judgment against us. Instead of our putting the
dude in jail he may jug us."
"Right you are; let's scatter."
"Where will we meet?"
"In the city, and we'd better lay low. There is more in this little
experience than a crack on the head.
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