Sortin' Things Out at Miss Marcia's

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: There seems to be some serious differences of opinion represented among the gathered company.  Ah's me, such is the way of the world.  I'll just reach over the table and grab hold of this sizeable fryin' pan that Miss Marcia served the squirrel fritters in, for it may serve as a weapon to resolve the present confrontations.

: Now, this Mister Peachpit who came tumblin' down the chimney has a death grip on the Sheriff and is about to lift his scalp with that bloody tomahawk  'cause the Sheriff has not paid for the pig he got.  It would be a cruel act, but I can't say as it would go against the purpose of one who follows the Indian ways, seein' as it is their gift to revenge slights to their honesty.  Nonetheless, this Peachpit appears to be of white blood, although it is not without reason to assume he may have a cross of blood somewhere in his past.

: Now then, Miss Twiggy appears to have lost her maidenly temper at the Red Haired Lass over the fact that they both have tender feelin's toward Mister Grapeshot Ramrod.  It is sad when gentle females come to blows over a gentleman's attentions, but again, it is the way of the gentle sex, and it is not for such as I to gainsay the right of one over the other in this matter.  Howsever, when blood begins to flow over their beauteous tresses and soft white arms, it seems only proper that someone should step in and stay the blows.

: Then there's Miss Katie, aweepin' in the chimney corner, feelin' spurned after arrivin' in the middle of the fight and not bein' greeted by nary a soul, when she's such a sociable and gentle lady and wants only to wish everyone well and pass the time of day in agreeable company.  

: Miss Marcia is showin' signs of going hysterical, as she often does, being a lady of gentle breeding and habits, no less than Miss Katie, and it is unconscionable to leave her screamin' and blushin' and palin' without informin' her that Miss Twiggy is not a rival for the affections of Sheriff Twigg, who may or may not survive the attack of Mister Peachpit.

: It behooves me as a gal without a cross to settle this matter in a way that will give honor to the present company, and since it is my gift to have a strong arm and a sharp eye, it appears it is left to me to use the we'pon available to me, that bein' this iron skillet which has come to hand by the will of  One Who Watches Over All.  Ah's me, it is a sad duty to wreak damage on the skull of a fellow bein', but someone's got to do it.  HOY THERE, MISTER PEACHPIT!

: WHANG!!

: Thud.

: SPLOP!!

: Yes, Hector, ye can lick up what's left o' the squirrel fritters.

: She Who Tracks La Longue Carabine


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