"'Look at me!' says he, breathin' hard between his teeth. 'And take
care!' says he. 'I'm a man no man can monkey with. I'm a man that'll go
through. I'm stained with crime. I've waded through seas o' blood.
Nothin' in heaven or earth or hell can stop me. A month from now rubes
like you'll be glad to crawl at my feet--an' wipe their dirty mugs on
the hem o' that there woman's skirt.--Now listen,' says he. 'Get the
hell into that there box o' yourn over there and be quiet.'
"Crazy as a loon. I hope to die! the guy was _dangerous_. I see that. It
come to me it's best to humor him, and I go into the coop again. I sit
there countin' my fingers and listenin' to Denver tellin' back them car
numbers to Limon again. By and by I'm jumpy as a cat. I get up and stick
a record in the old machine.--That's what brings the whole thing back to
mind. That record is this 'Paragon Park.'
"First thing I know I'm out in the waitin' room again. And what you
think I see? I give you a hundred guesses."
"I'll take one," I said to him. "What you saw was the finest exhibition
of the 'Shimmie' you ever clapped an eye upon. Am I right?"
The young fellow's mouth hung open. He stared at me.
"Half undressed! Honest! That nigger woman! Horse blanket, feed sack,
ar'tics--where was they? Shimmie? Say! Can you imagine, in that there
prairie depot at three in the mornin', and a wind howlin' under the
floor? Say! Well, I can't tell you, but talk about _Shimmie_! Say, she's
like a dead one come to life.
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