So me and the Masked Man, we decide to hook up and bring evildoers to justice, which is a pretty full-time occupation considering just how many of these momzers there are wandering the West. Of course, I don't work on Saturdays, but this is never a problem, since he's usually sleeping off Friday night's binge and isn't ready to get back in the saddle until about half past Monday.
We get along pretty well, though we don't talk much to each other--my English is a little rusty, and his Yiddish is non-existent--but we share our food when times are tough, and we're always saving each other's life, just like it says in the dime novels.
Now, you'd think two guys who spend a whole year riding together wouldn't have any secrets from each other, but actually that's not the case. We respect each other's privacy, and it is almost twelve months to the day after we form a team that we find ourselves answering a call of Nature at the very same time, and I look over at him, and I am so surprised I could just plotz, you know what I mean?
It's then that I start calling him Kemosabee, and finally one day he asks me what it means, and I tell him that it means "uncircumcized goy", and he kind of frowns and tells me that he doesn't know what either word means, so I sit him down and explain that Indians are one of the lost Hebrew tribes, only we aren't as lost as we're supposed to be, because Custer and the rest of those meshugginah soldiers keeps finding us and blowing us to smithereens. And the Kemosabee, he asks if Hebrew is a suburb of Hebron, and right away I see we've got an enormous cultural gap to overcome.
But what the hell, we're pardners, and we're doing a pretty fair job of ridding the West of horse thieves and stage robbers and other varmints, so I say, "Look, Kemosabee, you're a mensch and I'm proud to ride with you, and if you wanna get drunk and shtup a bunch of shikses whenever we go into town, that's your business and who am I to tell you what to do? But Butch Cavendish and his gang are giving me enough tsouris this month, so if we stop off at any Indian villages, let's let this be our little secret, okay?"
And the Kemosabee, who is frankly a lot quicker with his guns than his brain, just kind of frowns and looks hazy and finally nods his head, though I'm sure he doesn't know what he's nodding about.
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