“And you, Zeke?” he went on.
“The old pizen,” Zeke replied.
“And now, Joe, whisky for you and me—the square bottle,” he continued, with brisk cheerfulness.
In silence the bar-keeper placed the drinks before us. As soon as the glasses were empty Williams spoke again, putting out his hand to Zeke at the same time:
“Good-bye, old man, so long, but saddle up in two hours. Ef I don't come then, you kin clear; but I guess I'll be with you.”
“Good-bye, Joe.”
“Good-bye, Tom,” replied the bar-keeper, taking the proffered hand, still half-unwillingly, “if you're stuck on it; but the game is to wait for 'em here—anyway that's how I'd play it.”
A laugh and shake of the head and Williams addressed me:
“Now, sir, I'm ready if you are.” We were walking towards the door, when Zeke broke in:
“Say, Tom, ain't I to come along?”