Finally back after the visit to Toronto...

My, my, you folks've been busy...mighty busy. Ah'm plumb im-pressed, Ah shorely am. Here are some ya done missed, though...

"VAMOOSE! Yew ornery sidewinder..."

"Skeedaddle! Yew no-account varmint..."

"He died with his boots on." (Well, duh! Who fights a gunfight in his stocking feet?)

"Hey, Hombre..."

"Thar's a stranger in town!" (Dum-Da-Dum-Dum!!!)

And last, but not least...

*** DRAW!!! ****

And, of course, *** Slap leather! ***

(The guys who yelled "Draw!" usually had the edge, cos it takes longer to yell "Slap leather!" Thus, as time went by, "Draw!" became the predominant expression, boot hill being full of graves containing the "mortal remains" of people whose last words had been "Slap lea----" or in some cases just "Sla---")

FAMOUS WESTERN MUSIC CLICHES:

Remember those piano chords they used to play when the Indians would appear on the next ridge! What were those chords?

In WWII movies a similar musical riff was used whenever the Japanese would appear on the horizon, but it was more "eastern" sounding as opposed to western. What were those chords?

The Walrus pointed out: "I don't like it, it's too quiet" At which point, of course, the speaker promptly turns into a human pin-cushion (how can the injuns always tell who said it and when?).

Wal, Walrus, them injuns has some downright spooky powers what ain't rightly Christian, and they KNOWS whut yer thinkin' afore ya even breaks wind. They's got their own idee 'bout when ta fight and when ta lay low, and they's a sneaky buncha varmints, thet's fer sure. Why, them red devils has been knowed ta wait half the night fer some sodbuster t' say "Ah don't like it, it's too quiet...", jest so's they kin fill the pore soul full of arrows raght then and there, jest fer spite...

As a former Indian (previous life), I can vouch for the truth of this. In one incident I clearly recall, I and the other 30 or so braves in our party spent a stupefying eight hours in the cold and dark with our bowstrings stretched taut till our arms were damn near falling off...and what do we hear? Gossip about the whores in El Paso. Complaints about the long hours and low pay. Complaints about the son-of-a-bitch trail boss. Complaints about the lousy food. Whining, griping, belching, and spitting from these stinking cowboys...BUT NOT ONE WORD ABOUT IT BEING "too quiet". Unbelievable!

Finally, at about 4:45 AM this cowpoke with a prominent Adams apple and a face only a mother can love scratches his crotch for the 85th time and says "I don't like it, it's too quiet out there."

Geronimo!!! We filled that sucker so full of arrows, it would have made a porcupine look butt naked. We took no prisoners. We were fed up with that outfit.

- LH