"How, Bud."
"How."
The two men drank and set down their half-emptied glasses.
The sharp ears of the saloon-keeper had caught the name "Bud," and he now stood racking his fertile brains to place it. But the stranger's identity entirely escaped him.
"Been times around here, ain't ther'?" Bud remarked casually.
And Ju promptly seized the opportunity.
"Times? Sure. Say, I guess you don't belong around. Jest passin' thro'?"
Bud nodded. Jeff had moved off toward the window, where he stood gazing out. The saloon-keeper's gaze followed him.
"Why, yes. We're passin' through," returned Bud, without hesitation.
"You see, we belong down south in the 'T.T.' an' 'O——' country."
"That so?" Ju reached a box of cigars and thrust them at the new customer. "Smoke?" he enquired. His generosity was by no means uncalculated.