Blaine, have been selected referee because, bein' from Chawed Ear, I got no prejudices either way. Are you all ready? Time!"
MCVEY HAULED ME OFF my stool and pulled off my bathrobe and pushed me out into the ring. I nearly died with embarrassment, but I seen the fellow they called O'Tool didn't have on more clothes than me. He approached and held out his hand, so I held out mine. We shook hands and then without no warning, he hit me an awful lick on the jaw with his left. It was like being kicked by a mule. The first part of me which hit the turf was the back of my head. O'Tool stalked back to his corner, and the Gunstock boys was dancing and hugging each other, and the Tomahawk fellows was growling in their whiskers and fumbling for guns and bowie knives.
McVey and his men rushed into the ring before I could get up and dragged me to my corner and began pouring water on me.
"Are you hurt much?" yelled McVey.
"How can a man's fist hurt anybody?" I asked. "I wouldn't have fell down,
Weell, the story's writ in hillbilly talk, an' if ya'll aint averse ta such truck, y'moght injoy it.
A youngster from the hills is sent to town to get a letter for his dad. The trip does not go well. There's an Indian, desperados, a bare-knuckle boxing match, and a lot of shooting to no effect.
It should be read as entertainment, not a historical account. It's a man's story, there ain't a woman to be seen, and rightly so.
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