“Kind of a nickname, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I like it better than Madge. Fits yuh better.”
Baggs went back to town in a towering rage, his horse all a-lather, and turned it over to the stable-keeper, who was a trifle particular how his stock was treated.
“Didja win the race?” he asked Baggs sarcastically, but the Lobo Wells lawyer strode away without any reply.
“Acts like he’d lost two bits,” reflected the stableman, as he rubbed down the horse.
Baggs went back to his office and filled his pipe, but he was too mad to smoke. Breezy Hill came sauntering along and stopped in the doorway. Baggs glared at the deputy and went back to his pipe.
“If Charley Prentice don’t lay off the booze, he’ll see a lotta pink snakes pretty soon,” said Breezy.
“Are you his keeper?” asked Baggs.
“Well, I ain’t been appointed yet,” said Breezy calmly. “But he’s goin’ to need one if he keeps drinkin’.”