I hear a gang of buffalo hunters got together recently in a saloon in Dodge City to discuss ways and means of keeping their sculps onto their heads whilst collecting pelts, and purty soon one of ’em riz and said, ‘You mavericks make me sick. For the last hour you been chawin’ wind about the soldiers tryin’ to keep us north of the Cimarron, and belly-achin’ about the Comanches, Kiowas and Apaches which yearns for our hair. You’ve took up all that time jawin’ about sech triflin’ hazards, and plannin’ steps to take agen ’em, but you ain’t makin’ no efforts whatsoever to pertect yoreselves agen the biggest menace they is to the entire buffalo-huntin’ clan–which is Breckinridge Elkins!’