“You’ve got a drink coming, Breezy.”
He meant that Baggs had told him to serve a drink to the deputy.
“All right, thanks,” Breezy replied. “Whatcha havin’, boys?”
“Same thing,” said Whispering, and Sailor nodded. The bartender tried to indicate that the order was for one drink, but Breezy ignored it. So they all had a drink on Amos Baggs.
Amos Baggs saw the old punchers drink and it made him so mad he almost forgot to draw cards. Breezy grinned gleefully. Unless these two old rangers got too drunk to navigate, it promised to be a big evening. Len came in, circled the opposite side of the room to escape Whispering, Sailor and Breezy, and sat down in another poker game, where Harry Cole was doing the dealing.
More cowboys drifted in, until the range was fairly well represented, and there was more or less confusion. Whispering and Sailor grew loud in their talk and just a little incoherent at times, but Breezy enjoyed it.
It was about eight o’clock when Hashknife and Sleepy rode in. They left their horses at the outskirts of the town and came in behind the east side of the main street. It was barely dark now. They came in behind the Oasis saloon and sat down against the side of an old shed.
There was a light in Harry Cole’s private office, which had a rear entrance. To the left of this entrance, twenty feet away, was the rear entrance to the Oasis.
From where the pair sat they could hear some of the noise in the saloon, the sound of people going in and out of the place. Both Hashknife and Sleepy had cultivated plenty of patience. They sat there like a couple of images, invisible in the dark.
Hashknife had warned Sleepy that they might be there most of the night and Sleepy agreed that it would be a nice night for it, not knowing what it was all about—nor caring.