"What happened?"
"Butch came in drunk, as I was saying, which he generally is, but he wasn't giving no trouble at all, and nobody felt particular called on to cross him and ask questions. He was real sociable, in fact, and that's how the mess was started."
"Go on. I don't get your drift."
"Everybody was treatin' Butch like he was the king of the earth and not passin' out any backtalk, all except one tenderfoot——"
But here a stream of tremendous profanity burst from Nash. It rose, it rushed on, it seemed an exhaustless vocabulary built up by long practice on mustangs and cattle.
At length: "Is that damned fool in Eldara?"
"D'you know him?"
"No. Anyway, go on. What happened?"
"I was sayin' that Butch was feelin' pretty sociable. It went all right in the bars. He was in here and didn't do nothin' wrong. Even paid for all the drinks for everybody in the house, which nobody could ask more even from a white man. But then Butch got hungry and went up the street to Sally Fortune's place."
A snarl came from Nash.