Yir Yellar

Wearing my John Wayne hat and neckerchief, I approached the jailhouse door.
“Yir yellar,” I said.
“I’m on fire.”
“That’ll make you go all orange and chiminy red, but yir still yellar.”
“Have pity,” he protested.
I adjusted the saddle on the horse I stole from the Injuns. He ain’t yellar.