“I’m out of all them articles,” he stated and turned back to his work.
Skeeter Bill turned slowly and looked around. One of the largest articles on the list was flour, and on a central counter were at least ten sacks. His eyes turned to shelving behind the storekeeper, where there were canned goods, baking-powder, salt. On the counter beside him were several strips of bacon.
Skeeter Bill considered his list carefully, checking off the goods in sight. He knew that the store had declared an embargo on the sheep-men. It was a mean move and might be very effective, as Crescent City was the nearest supply point by at least thirty miles.
The storekeeper turned his head and favored Skeeter Bill with an ugly look.
“I told you once that I’m all out of them goods,” he repeated heatedly.
“I heard yuh,” grinned Skeeter, “but I thought I’d kinda hang around until yuh got a new supply.”
“Then you’ll have a ——long time, feller.”
“Oh!” grunted Skeeter. “I’ve got a mind not t’ trade with you a-tall. You look somethin’ like a storekeeper I knowed in Oklahoma, but I know you ain’t the same one, cause he got hung f’r givin’ short weight to a widder woman. I’ll leave the list with yuh, and I’m goin’t’ weigh everythin’ before I pay yuh for it.”
Skeeter turned on his heel and walked out of the door, while the irate storekeeper sprawled across the counter and tried to swear. The cowboys, who had suggested the embargo, went out slowly, solemnly, choking back their unholy glee at the discomfiture of the storekeeper.