A man in a far corner pushed back his chair, and approached the bar, scowling as he glanced at Youbet. "Gimme another," he ordered.
"Why, hullo, stranger!" exclaimed Youbet. "I did n't see you before. Have one with me."
The other looked him squarely in the eyes. "Ex-cuse me, stranger—I 'm a sheepman, an' I don't drink with cowmen."
"Well, ex-cuse me!" retorted Youbet, like a flash. "If I 'd 'a' knowed you was a sheepman, I wouldn't 'a' asked you!"
The sheepman drank his liquor and, returning to his corner, placed his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands, apparently paying no further attention to the others.
"If I can't get a job with Peters, I can try th' C-80 or Double Arrow," continued Youbet, as he toyed with his glass. "If I can't get on with one of them, I reckons Waffles, of th' O-Bar-O, will find a place for me, though I don't like that country a whole lot."
The bartender hesitated for a moment. "Do you know Waffles?" he asked.
"Shore—know 'em all. Why? Do you know him, too?"
"No; but I 've heard of him."
"That so? He 's a good feller, he is. I 've punched with both him an' Peters."