“No; I’m much obliged. I don’t wish to drink.[drink.]”
Turning to another gentleman, the old fellow said: “Take a drink, sir—with me?”
“No, sir; I thank you, I’ve just been to dinner,” and this man turned and walked away.
The little old man of the mountains looked annoyed and irritated, and turning from the bar, he walked across the saloon to where three or four gentlemen were conversing together: “Gentlemen,” said he, “you must excuse me, I’m a stranger here, but I never like to drink alone. Now, will you oblige me by all comin’ up and takin’ a drink at my expense? I’m one of your sociable kind, and never like to go in a drove by myself.”
Thinking the old fellow had drank about as much as was good for him, all declined the proffered treat. This exasperated the old chap. Jerking his cap off his head and slapping it against his thigh, he broke loose with: “Well, now, this beats my time! Not a man in this room that will drink with me! Damme! I’ll go forth into the street and bring in the rabble! I’ll be like that old rancher down in the Valley of Galilee, that the Bible tells of. He was one of my kind. When he had a frolic he wanted to see things whiz!”
“Which of the old patriarchs was that?” asked a gentleman present, who thought it might be worth while to draw the old fellow out.
“I’m not much of a biblist,” said the old man, “but I mean that jolly old cock that lived somewhere down in Galilee or Nazareth. The old gentleman, you know, that gave the big blow-out when his oldest gal got married. You recollect he killed a lot of oxen, and sheep, and calves, and goats, and had a tearin’ barbacue, invitin’ all the neighbors for miles round. But devil a one came near the house. All too durned high-toned! Then what does that old chap do but git up on his ear and swear the thing shall be a success. So he sends his hired man out to gather up all of the old bummers and deadbeats, the lame, halt, and blind, sayin: ‘Bring ’em all in, and we’ll have a regular tear—the big blow-out of the season!’
“Then the hungry and thirsty old bummers and guttersnipes all came charging in from the back alleys, and tumblin’ up from the lumber-yards, and they piled in and they made it hot for that lunch, and whiskey, and lager-beer, and they fiddled and danced till they all got blind drunk and broke up in a row. But the gal had a stavin’ lively weddin’ after all!
“Now that’s the kind of man I am. Ef you gentlemen won’t drink with me, damme, I’ll go out and bring in the rabble and we’ll eat up all the free-lunch, drink ourselves disorderly, and have a reg’lar weddin’ feast right hyar!”
This little oration had the desired effect. All in the room shook hands with the old chap and took a drink with him, when he exultantly exclaimed, bringing his fist down upon the counter, as he emptied his glass: “Damme, you don’t know Old Sol Winters down hyar; but he’s a pretty big Injun when he’s at home, up in Orion Valley!”