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Show 112 Tall Joe drew an outhouse in the air, walked in and sat down. Short Joe squeezed in behind. The miners roared with laughter. And chewed savagely. "Ignore them," I said to Tip. The two Joes continued their bullyragging just to see how long the other men would laugh. And they kept laughing and chewing and slapping their knees. We ignored them as much as possible, because that's what you do unless you are riding the horse. I had learned that from the cowboys in Rock Springs, Wyoming. We concentrated on our expensive moose steaks. I don't know about Tip's, but mine tasted like fried cardboard. In fact, I nearly choked on it. Short Joe was back at the bar, leading a chant. "The outhouse kids, the outhouse kids!" Soon all the miners joined in. They leaned back in their chairs, rocking and chanting. Pointing at us. It was a nightmare. At the far end of the room under a staircase, a miner stood up. He shuffled across the sawdust floor, carrying his granite-ware bowl of applesauce. No one paid any attention except Tip and me, because it was our crazy neighbor on the left. I nudged Tip. "Time to head out." But before we had a chance to move, that crazy nan stepped m> to the bar and dumoed his bowl of applesauce over Short Joe's |