“There—tell ’im that it hit the spot!” She laughed.
Nick roared with the others, but on the threshold of the dance-hall he paused, hesitated, and finally came back, and advised in a low tone:
“Throw around a few kind words, Girl—good for the bar.”
The Girl surveyed the barkeeper with playful disapproval in her eye. However advantageous might be his method of working up trade, she disdained to follow his advice, and her laughing answer was:
“Oh, you Nick!”
The peal of laughter that rung in Nick’s ears as he disappeared through the door, awakened Ashby and brought him instantly to his feet. Despite his size, he was remarkably quick in his movements, and in no time at all he was standing before the bar with a glass, which he had filled from the bottle that had stood in front of him on the table, and was saying:
“Compliments of Wells Fargo.”
“Thank you,” returned the Girl; and then while she shook the prairie oyster: “You see we live high-shouldered here.”
“That’s what!” put in Sonora with a broad grin.
“What cigars have you?” asked Ashby, at the conclusion of his round of drinks.