“Oh, I knows ’em, Texas; now, come, what’s my appellations?”
“Old Negotiate,” answered the Texan, with a laugh.
A shout followed his reply, and the borderman said, in a lugubrious tone:
“By ther Rockies! Yer hev calt me, pard; I is gettin’ too darned well known in these parts; waal, what do you an’ yer pards drink?”
“We are one against many, and I believe in fair play, so you and your friends drink with us,” frankly answered the Texan, and turning to the crowd he continued:
“Gentlemen, join us; wine here, barkeeper.”
“Hold on, pard; let me sift ther dead beats out, fer——”
“No, no, Old Negotiate; I include all in my invitation; fill up all around, barkeeper.”
The corks popped, the wine went round, and the health of the handsome Texan was drunk with a cheer, after which Old Negotiate said:
“Pard, when last I see yer, thar were in your comp’ny a man by ther name o’ Kent King.”