"Gosh ding yer, Carl, I believe yer swiped my hat, an'
if yer don't give it up I'll plant my toe whar it'll be felt
onpleasantly."
"Honest, Pud, I ain't your hat taking," said Carl distressfully. "Vhy, I
my hat losing too, yet."
"That's so, an' yer loaded down with truck. Throw them things inter ther
house an' help me hunt ther thief. Don' be standin' thar like a
sausage."
"Don'd you calling me a sissage," said Carl wrathfully. "I ain't feeling
mooch as having fun mit you now. I bring all dese dings mit der saddle
on, und I lose two or three every dime der pony makes his jumpings, und
get down kvick to pick dem up maype as fifty dimes."
"Oh, all right. Quit yer bellyachin', an' come an' help. We can't get
along without hats. That's a cinch."
Carl retired into the house with his bundles.
"Wow! Stop it, cuss ye," yelled Bud, as Carl came out of the cabin.
"I ain't didding noding," said Carl, backing away as Bud rushed upon
him.
"Yer did, yer fat galoot. Yer pulled my hair 'most out by ther roots."
"I ain't pulling no hairs," Carl persisted.
"Then who done it? Yer ther only person what I can see. It's a cinch
some one pulled my hair."
"Say, Pud."
"What?"
"Let us camp outside."
"What, an' freeze ter death before mornin'? Nixy. Not fer me."
"Ain't you heard about der shack?"
"No, I ain't, an' I don't want ter.
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