“You can put up your gun, Buck,” he said, with an assumption of geniality that deceived no one, and Buck least of all. “Quit your racket, gals,” he went on. Then he added with the sarcasm he generally fell back on in such emergencies: “Guess this gentleman feels the same as Curly—only he ain’t as—hasty.”
The girls went slowly back to their seats, and Buck, lowering his guns, quietly restored them both to their holsters.
Beasley watched him, and as he saw them disappear his whole manner changed.
“Now, Mister Buck,” he said, with a snarl, “I don’t guess I need either your dollars or your company on my premises. You’ll oblige me—that door ain’t locked.” And he pointed at it deliberately for the man to take his departure.
But Buck only laughed.
“Don’t worry, Beasley,” he said. “I’m here—till you close up for the night.”
And the enraged saloon-keeper had a vision of a smile at his expense which promptly lit the faces of the entire company.