“Wild,” says he. “Wild like the writers tell us about. The kind of a West that Buffalo Bill knew. I’ve hunted for it loud and long, but she ain’t and that’s an end to it. Have another drink?”
“Mister,” says Dirty, “you came West but you never got there. Somehow you missed Piperock.”
“Whither lieth said Piperock?”
“Lieth is a good word,” nods Dirty. “In direction, she’s south of here and as the crow flies she’s a hundred miles.”
“Is that real West?”
“Man, that’s the West. All others is imitations and frauds.”
“You brings me great cheer,” says he. “Bartender, do your duty.”
“You bring cheer to two of us, the same of which makes three cheers.”
“I wouldst have you take me to this Piperock place.”
“Yeah?” says Dirty. “Me and Ike Harper are not taking anybody within sheriff-shot of Piperock, although our hearts are homesick for the old village of vice. We wouldst go there, pardner, but circumstances are against us. We’ll tell yuh some few things pertaining to that hamlet of horror, but that’s as far as we’ll go.