human
No sense in runnin' our heads into a flyin' noose, said Sandy.
gpt
Plimsoll owns the sheriff. Married his sister. We'd be wrong whatever stahted. They'd frisk me of my roll an' we'd never see it ag'in, less we made a runnin' fight of it. Wondeh how much eddication costs nowadays, Sam? What you laffin' at?
human
Butch an' the rest of Plimsoll's gunmen holdin' up the shack, waitin' fo' us to come out, while Plim is huntin' that key.
gpt
Don't laff too hard till we git home, said Sandy.
human
It's eleven miles to the Three Star.
gpt
Good Luck