"Say, Lafe," he said, "there's a guy over to the Cowboys' Rest bawling his wife out powerful strong. I'd sure have smeared the road with that gen'l'man, only it weren't my business. Hey? Yes, I left 'em over there. They come off that El Paso train, the two of 'em."
"I'll step across," said the sheriff.
He threw down his cards and walked over to the rival saloon. The landlord, who had long forgiven the blow on the head and was now a staunch Johnson man, nodded at him and paused in his work of polishing glasses to point to the door of a rear room with the towel. Inside, a loud voice was raised in maudlin harangue.
"You come along now. I'll show you. You bet we'll stay here. What? I'll learn you who's boss right now. Didn't I send you your fare? Huh? And you done come ahead on the jump. But you're too good for me now all of a sudden, ain't you? I'll—"
Lafe found a man denouncing a young woman. She sat near the window, and showed no fear as she watched him storm up and down the floor, pouring out reproaches and abuse. She was pale, but perfectly collected, and she rested her chin in her palm, regarding her companion with a species of impersonal speculation. He was a florid, youthful person of very baggy clothes and with his hair parted in the middle. The shoulders of his coat projected beyond his real shoulders to an astonishing width, and he wore peg-top trousers; also, his shoes had beautiful sloping heels and flowing bows. An intense, nervous irritability kept his arms jerking about. She listened placidly.
"If you don't quit your fooling and come along with me—" he was saying, when she cautioned: "There's somebody behind you." He wheeled and beheld the sheriff.
"What's the trouble here?" Lafe asked.
"None of your business. That's what. When we want any help in a fam'ly dispute, we'll send for you."
The sheriff, by way of answer, selected a chair and placed his hat carefully on the floor.
"You're drunk," he said, with the utmost good-nature. "Let's be friendly, now, and get this thing settled."