“Sardines? Great Gilead! You tell ’im we have nothin’ but straight provisions here. We got pickled oysters, smokin’ tobacco an’ the best whisky he ever saw,” rapped out the Girl, proudly, and turned her attention to the slate.
“You bet!” vouched Trinidad with a nod, as Nick departed on his errand.
Finally, the Girl, having made her calculations, opened the counter drawer and brought forth some silver Mexican dollars, saying:
“Sonora, an’ Mr. Ashby, your change!”
Ashby picked up his money, only to throw it instantly back on the bar, and say gallantly:
“Keep the change—buy a ribbon at The Ridge—compliments of Wells Fargo.”
“Thank you,” smiled the Girl, sweeping the money into the drawer, but her manner showed plainly that it was not an unusual thing for the patrons of The Polka to refuse to accept the change.
Not to be outdone, Sonora quickly arose and went over to the counter where, pointing to his stack of silver dollars, he said:
“Girl, buy two ribbons at The Ridge;” and then with a significant glance towards Ashby, he added: “Fawn’s my colour.”
And again, as before, the voice that said, “Thank you,” was colourless, while her eyes rested upon the ubiquitous Nick, who had entered with an armful of wood and was intent upon making the room warmer.