"You've been playing hell enforcing it," retorted another.
"Now, don't get rough, my worthy," cautioned the bartender.
"Give us what we called for, and none of this damn slush then," cried one, toying with the gun at his holster. The bartender observed this and got closer to the bar for a purpose. Those about, being of the peaceful kind, began shifting toward the door.
"We've been breakin' the law to serve you," said the bartender "and you've been breaking the law after we done it. Now the last time you were here you pulled off a 'stunt' that caused trouble. So I'll not serve you whiskey, and advise you that if you try shooting up the town again, there'll be trouble."
"Oh, is that so?" cried the bunch. "Well," sniffed one, who was more forward than the rest, "we'll just show you a trick or two. And, remember, when we've shot your little chicken coops full of holes, we are going to return and be served." With a hilarious laugh, they went outside, got into the saddles and had their fun. The population took refuge in the cellars in awed silence.
It was over in a few minutes and the breeds, true to their statement, returned to the saloon, and stood before the bar.
"Whiskey," they cried, and couldn't repress a grin. Ordinarily they were cowards, and their boldness had surprised even themselves.
"Whiskey?" said the bartender, nodding toward the speaker.
"That's my order!" the other cried uproarously. The bartender arranged several bottles in a row. This they did not understand at first. They did, however, a moment later.
"Very well," he cried of a sudden as his eyes narrowed, whereupon, with deliberation he caught the bottles one by one by the neck and as fast as he could let go, threw the same into the faces before him with all the force he could concentrate quickly. So quickly was it all done that those before him had not time to duck below the bar before many had been the recipients of the deluge. Within the minute there was a wild scramble for the door—all but three. For while the others disappeared over the hill toward the creek, Dr. Slater took thirty stitches or thereabouts in the faces of the recalcitrants.