Thanking the landlord for his offer, the men dismounted and waited outside, while he brought forth two glasses, half-filled with the fiery stuff of the poetical name. One of the men took his and eagerly swallowed it. The other held his aloft, where under the bright sunlight it glowed crimson like blood. With his hand motionless for a moment, he slowly inverted the glass and allowed the liquid to run out on the ground.
“Max, I reckon you haven’t forgot when I done something like that some four years ago,” said the man, turning toward the astonished host.
CHAPTER XI
WAITING
“Wade Ruggles, as I’m alive!” exclaimed the delighted landlord, rushing forward and grasping his hand. Instantly the group closed in, and there was such laughing and handshaking that for a time nothing was clearly distinguished.
“I was suspicious,” remarked the parson; “but, though you both had beards when you went away, these have grown so much that they have greatly altered your appearance.”
He scanned the other man closely, but before the parson had identified him, several others had done so.
“It’s Al Bidwell!”