"Yes sir," he went on opening up his eyes triumphantly, "a widdy woman—says you owe her two-bits for some bread!"
He laughed uproariously at this pointed jest and clambered back to the plank sidewalk where he sat down convulsed in his chair.
"Aw, you make me tired!" said Rimrock shortly. "You know I don't owe no woman."
"You owe every one else, though," came back Hassayamp with a Texas yupe; "I got you there, boy. You shore cain't git around that!"
"Huh!" grunted Rimrock as he swung lightly to the ground. "Two bits, maybe! Four bits! A couple of dollars! What's that to talk about when a man is out after millions? Is my credit good for the drinks? Well, come on in then, boys; and I'll show you something good!"
He led the way through the swinging doors and Hassayamp followed ponderously. The card players followed also and several cowboys, appearing as if by miracle, lined up along with the rest. Old Hassayamp looked them over grimly, breathed hard and spread out the glasses.
"Well, all right, Rim," he observed, "between friends—but don't bid in the whole town."
"When I drink, my friends drink," answered Rimrock and tossed off his first drink in a month. "Now!" he went on, fetching out his sack, "I'll show you something good!"
He poured out a pile of blue-gray sand and stood away from it admiringly.
Old Hassayamp drew out his glasses and balanced them on his nose, then he gazed at the pile of sand.