The swing doors of the Wild
West saloon
crashed open and in came Little Pete, black with fury.
“All right!” he
raged, “all right! Who did it? What goldarned
varmint painted my
horse blue?”
The huge figure of Black Jake, notorious gunfighter and
town baddie
rose from a chair by the door.
“It was me, shrimp,”
he drawled, bunching his gigantic fists, “what
about it?”
“Oh,
well, er,” stammered little Pete wretchedly, “all I wanted to
say
was. . .when are you going to give it another coat?”