"Where you been so long, Price?" asked Clayton, as a salutation.
"Oh, just shiftin' about. That cow wrastler raised th' devil in th' hotel," Price replied. "Old fool! They brought him mutton, an' he wanted to clean out th' place. Said he 'd as soon eat barb' wire. They 're feedin' him hash an' canned stuff, now."
"He 'll get hurt, if he don't look out," remarked Clayton. "Who is he, anyhow, Price?"
"Don't know his name; but he 's from Arizona, on his way to th' Pecos country. Says he 's a friend of Buck Peters an' Waffles. To use one of his own expressions, he 's a old mosshead."
"Friend of Waffles, hey?" exclaimed Towne.
"Yumpin' Yimminy!" cried Oleson, in the same breath.
"Well, if he knows when he's well off, he 'll stay away from here, an' keep his mouth closed," said Clayton.
"Aw, let him alone! He's one agin' th' whole town—an' a good old feller, at that," hastily assured the bartender. "It ain't his fault that Waffles buffaloed you fellers out of th' Hills, is it? He's goin' on early tomorrow; so let him be."
"You 'll get yoreself in trouble, Jimmy, m' boy, if you inserts yoreself in this," warned Towne. "It was us agin' a whole section, an' we got ours. Let him take his, if he talks too much."
"Shore," replied Price. "I heard him shoot off his mouth, an hour ago, an' he's got altogether too much to say. You mind th' bar an' yore own business, Jimmy. We ain't kids."