"Dave's a friend of mine, that's why," answered Johnny. "My capacity is so limited that ol' Dailey could clean me out after my fourth drink. Them leather-bellies can drink me into a heap on th' floor, an' never know they'd been drinkin'."
"Shore," said Two-Spot, chuckling; "yo're a teethin' infant, a reg'lar suckin' calf—I've seen you put away a dozen an' not bat an eye. An' it's bad medicine; look at me. How long's that rope?"
"Eighty feet."
"Yo're another. There ain't a man livin' can throw such a rope an' ketch anythin'. I've seen some good uns, but I've never seen even a sixty-foot rope. Who fastened to you?"
"Yo're loco—plumb loco," said Johnny. "You want to forget them hallucernations—somebody might believe 'em."
"'Hallerlucinations'—humph! I'll have to remember that an' throw it at Dave. Where was you today?"
"Mindin' my own business," retorted Johnny. "What ever put you hangin' 'round a saloon, emptyin' boxes?"
"Whiskey," said Two-Spot "I was smart, like you, an' liked to hold up my end, drink for drink. Here's some more of that water you swum in—looks familiar."
"I'm goin' to drag you out to a ranch some of these days," threatened Johnny, "an' give you a job—an' whale th' skin from yore bones th' first time I see you takin' a drink. You got brains an' that ranch needs 'em."