"Go ahead," laughed Bartley.
"I'm goin'--to-morrow mornin'. And you say you figure to stay here a spell?"
"Oh, just a few days. I imagine I shall grow tired of it. But to-night, I feel pretty well satisfied to stay right where I am."
Cheyenne rose and strode to the bar. After a short argument with the proprietor, he returned with a bottle and glasses. Bartley raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Once in a while--" And Cheyenne gestured toward the bottle.
"It's powerful stuff," said Bartley.
"We ain't far from the hotel," declared Cheyenne. And he filled their glasses.
"This ought to be the last, for me," said Bartley, drinking. "But don't let that make any difference to you."
Cheyenne drank and shrugged his shoulders. He leaned back and gazed at the opposite wall. Bartley vaguely realized that the Mexicans were chattering, that two or three persons had come in, and that the atmosphere was heavy with tobacco smoke. He unbuttoned his shirt-collar.
Presently Cheyenne twisted round in his chair. "Remember Little Jim, back at the Hastings ranch?"