“And who might have gave you to understand such?” shot in Robinson. The sheriff made no answer, but bit his mustache. “Turned dumb, have you? It does beat all how things happen, don’t it? Here I come in, plumb peaceable and lovin’ my neighbors, and, first thing I know, a ruckus gets started. Now, you gents look at Mr. Murphy, over yonder, who done got his hand ripped a little. Ain’t even busted, is she?”
Murphy was not hurt to any great extent, and proved it by his voluble cursing.
“Ease off steam; that’s right,” said Robinson soothingly. “Satisfied, sheriff?”
“Plenty,” said the officer.
Robinson put away his weapon. “Glad to meet you, Sheriff Tracy. Mike, give the gentlemen a drink and charge it to Mr. Murphy. Guess I’ll be on my way, gents. Got to be in Laredo in two days, and I sure have lost time here. So long.”
He was gone. The sheriff and his two deputies looked at each other irresolutely, glanced at Galway Mike, and then retired likewise, without their drink. Mike gave Murphy a glance of scorn.
“You sure bungled it!” he said raspingly.
Murphy swore appropriately. “Bungled it!” he repeated. “I was a cussed fool ever to try it on with that gent, I can tell you! Next time it’ll be a Winchester and a hilltop!”
A sneer curled the bartender’s lip. “Foine sort of a killer, you are!” he returned. “Oh, ye needn’t to be scowlin’ at me; I ain’t bein’ scart o’ no man, and I got me fist on a gun to boot, Mister Murphy! Niver mind the scowl now. Have a drink an’ forget it.”
The doors were flung open again, and Buck strode into the place.