Wild Kelly, an introduction.

Evening Sheriff.

Kelly there is fall down drunk and spilt his damned whisky! Water of life all over his awful shoes… I’ll be… Got him about two days before it ets up all the upper to the soles. Damned Drunkard Kelly, passed out over yonder.

He says yesterday he was floatin dahn the Miss-ippi, and saw a wildcat along the shore. He picked up the rifle nearby on his barge and – POW POW – he had nailed the creature. Kelly, ol’ sick man as he is, only had two shots on him. Not clear of mind, hadn’t packed more. The cat was a layin’ there and Drunky steered his barge ashore to get that pelt. Mud to life that cat got up as he was approaching and pounced this old drunk fool – there at his neck, on dahn to his belly – lookit under his shirt there. Big blood red scratches. May stop callin him Drunky and could call him Wildcat.

Well, seeing as there’s no room upstairs and someone’ll only steal that dead wildcat on his barge, I suggest you pen him for the time being.

No sir, I can not know if there was a pelt, actually.

Thank you, Sheriff. I hope he’s not too much trouble in the morning.

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