Storm Watch Butte gunslinger I

there it was again. colt swallowed the words he was about to swap as the younger man began to speak in those near decorative words, which were unlike anything for which the uncultured cowboy could hope to have a frame of reference.
his gumline ached for a good strip or two of birch to be folded against it for the long chaw. he spat over the side of the butte, a bad and nasty habit, trying to gather the smattering of common spoken by his new friend.
"yeah. now yer with me." and he hoped it wouldn't be a bad idea after all. "fiynuss?" he attempted back?
fineness? the ragged mouth twisted in earnest humour. he slapped his chest, sending sand in outward trajectories. "colt. colt briggs. and yew is?"