“Money my foot! What’d she buy with it? Mules? She longs for love, and all she wants ye to give up is a little love-talk.”
Joshua looked doubtfully at Bill, then down at the table and blushed furiously.
“I’ve already called her dear twice,” he made announcement, “and once I—I put my arm around her.”
California Bill roared and pounded the table with his heavy fist. “Muy bueno!” he applauded. “Hi-yu skookum! He called her dear twice! Oh, Lord! And once he put his arm around her—seems! Sufferin’ snakes, Tony, don’t ye know how funny ye are? Ye’re funny just like a toad—who don’t know he’s funny a-tall!”
But Bill changed his tactics when he saw the brooding look in Joshua’s eyes.
“I’ll tell ye what ye do,” he said, laying a stubby hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You write Madge right away an’ let her know it’s turned out ye dassent go East; an’ if I’m not mistaken she’ll be lopin’ back soon’s she’s bought her trinkets. An’ then if ye don’t start a riot with her—get right down to business an’ make he-man love to her, th’ fightin’, faunchin’, rarin’, won’t-take-no-for-an-answer kind—why, then ye deserve to lose her. Now go on home an’ write to her so’s ye c’n get yer letter off to-morrow. I’m plumb disgusted with ye—seems. Go on—an’ leave Lee Sweet to a man that savvies men and women. Wait a minute!... I’ll buy th’ drinks before ye go.”
California Bill continued to sit at the table long after Joshua had ridden off on his dapple gray. He took a stiff drink of whisky now and then for the good of his soul, and rolled many brown-paper cigarettes. He kept his sharp eyes on the ever-growing crowd before the bar, until Lee Sweet, a little the worse for drink, staggered in with three of his punchers behind him. Then Bill left the place and went to The Golden Eagle.
In The Golden Eagle he lounged at the bar for a time, talking with acquaintances, then found a table and sat alone. His shrewd eyes roved frequently to Slim Wolfgang, presiding over the stud game, his green-celluloid eyeshield drawn low over his eyes, his coat off, displaying the sleeves of a garish silk shirt, his billiard-cloth vest and golden buttons making him as conspicuous as a parrot in a cage of hawks.
Bill saw Slim’s girl when she danced with some heavy-footed construction stiff, watched her while she hung over Slim’s chair, or ogled some one to buy her a drink for the good of the house and her own percentage.