"Yes; he was in here a few minutes ago. What 'd you say, Schultz?" the bartender asked, turning to the man who pulled at his sleeve.
"I said dot you vas nod right aboud vat you said de odder day. Chust now I ask Clayton, und he said you vas nod."
"All right, Dutchy—all right!" laughed the bartender. "Then it's on me this time, ain't it?"
Youbet walked to the bar. "Say, where do I get that grub? It's about time for me to mosey off an' feed."
"Next building—and you'll take mutton if yo 're wise," replied the bartender, in a low voice. "Th' hash is awful, an' the beef is tough," he added, a little louder.
"Mutton be damned!" snorted Youbet, stamping out. "I eat what I punch!" And his growls became lost in the street.
Schultz glanced up. "Yah! Und he shoot vat I eat, tarn him, ven he gan!"
"Oh, put yore ante in, an' don't talk so much!" rejoined Towne. "He ain't going to shoot you."
"It 'll cost you two bits to come in," remarked Clayton.
"An' two more," added Towne, raising the ante.