So lookee here, I just heard Red Johnnie's trying to put a spoke in my wheel with regards to my reputation. That no good, four-flushing, flannel-mouthed blowhard! Trying to run me on outta my own town with his bilk! Let me tell you what the real fuss was about, and you can take my story as sound on the goose. So, I'm just minding my no never mind, playing cards with Big Bill and Young Cal, when in walks this slick feller, dressed like he had on his best bib and tucker. It was only Tuesdy night! So I just gives Big Bill and Young Cal a nod with my chin and pointed it over yonder in this feller's direction. "Well, dang my hide, Bill, did I get roostered so bad that I woke up on Sundy? This city slicker here looks like he's ready to go to the Gospel mill." We all laughed, "Oh, that's rich!" they said. Well, this feller didn't take too kindly to me teasin' him and all and got his back up about it. I said,"There's no sense in getting all blown-up about it, dude. Pull yourself up to this table here and let's all play us some cards."
Well, he took off his little ole bolero and that's when we got a gander at his face. He shore ain't no looker. His eyes were beady and set too close together, and woulda put one of them hila monsters to shame! He had craters and pits in his face so deep that the grand canyon woulda been jealous. He smiled and showed teeth that were so crooked he could eat corn on the cob through a picket fence. With his crooked smile, he said," Well, my, my, miss. I would love it if I could join you for a hand or two." He mosied on up to the table and sat down all genteel like. I looked over at Big Bill and Cal and gave them a look in my eye that was atwinkling.
He said his name was Red Johnnie and proceeded to deal the first hand. It weren't long after that he was winning hands and grinning like a weasel in a hen house. After awhile, me and the boys were getting mighty suspicious, like he was trying to chisel his way outta this game. Sure enough, Red Johnnie laid down aces up, and moved his arm slightly to the left, and I swear to my mammie's ghost that I saw two cards peeking outta his sleeve. So, I called him a liar, a no-good four-flusher, and that he was as crooked as a dog's hind legs. Before I could get my trusty .45 calibur pistol outta my holster, he snatched up the bets and skedaddled on outta the saloon.
Now how in tarnation is he gonna go and scuttlebutt around saying that I was the one who tried to bilk him. That low-down good fer nothing cheat! That's my story and I'm a stickin' to it.
