The Songbird of Santa Fe

We employed as Hoppelong Cassidy and then declared as California. What's our story this time, Harvey? Well, this one I call the song Bird of Santa Fe. All the way from the Rio Grande we'd been running into signs of the festival, passing wagons covered with bunning filled with grinning grown-ups and kids.

For the time we reached the plaza of the town, we were stirrup to stirrup with hundreds of roistering cow punches and hardfoot to avoid crowding into the happy people on foot. But California and I weren't in Santa Fe for the Fiesta.

We were there because of a promise. A solemn promise made to a dying man. Gotta get set, Destrel. He's coming this way. Sure, it's the right man. All I know is what I heard. And I heard this fella ask how to get to Mac Kylie.

Which hotel do we go to? The Grand. Good. One thing though. He don't look like no jeweler. Oh? Who's on the desk, Charlie Gilson? Charlie Gilson? Yeah. That was the one who handed out the directions.

As soon as I heard this fellow ask for Mac Kylie. You gave it to him, right? Water street I told him, next to McGone's Cuprich. Well, yes, this is what we've been waiting for. How man with the ring?

Well, I've done my job so I'm leaving. Wait a minute. He said this man didn't look like a jeweler. What does he look like? Range rider. He's a big fella dressed all in black. He's wearing twin guns.

Is there anyone with him? with him. Yeah, another punch, or he'd call a big feller Hoppy. Hoppy, yeah? You were right about a being no jeweler. You know I'm decimal? Right of him. Probably Hoppy long Cassidy. If it is, he knows how to use those guns. Yeah? Would you say he's faster than I am? I wouldn't want to bet, Camden, either way. Maybe we'll find out.