Buck leaned with his
broad back against the bar, talking over his shoulder to the
bartender, but watching Tenspot Davis, who was assiduously engaged in
juggling a handful of Mexican dollars.
Up by the door Bigfoot Baker, elated at winning the buck-and-wing
contest, was endeavoring to learn a new step, while his late rival was
drowning his defeat at Buck's elbow. Lefty Allen was softly singing a
Mexican love song, humming when the words would not come.
At the table could be heard low-spoken card terms and good-natured banter,
interspersed with the clink of gold and silver and the soft pat-pat of the
onlookers' feet unconsciously keeping time to Lefty's song. Notwithstanding
the grim assertiveness of belts full of .45's and the peeping handles of long-
barreled Colts, set off with picturesque chaps, sombreros and tinkling
spurs, the scene was one of peaceful content and good-fellowship.
"Ugh!" grunted Johnny, walking over to Red and informing that person
that he, Red, was a worm-eaten prune and that for half a wink he,
Johnny, would prove it. Red grabbed him by the seat of his corduroys
and the collar of his shirt and helped him outside, where they
strolled about, taking pot shots at whatever their fancy suggested.
Down the street in a cloud of dust rumbled the Las Cruces-El Paso
stage and the two punchers went up to meet it.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131