Saturday night, as was usual in a cow-town, was a gala night in Turquoise City. Every cowboy in the country came to town, thirsty, full of song and looking for excitement. Wind River had sobered and was repentant; but Horse-Collar Fields and Lovely Lucas were still having a wonderful time.
They had forgotten Jimmy Moran and their escapade at the sheriff’s office; but they had never gone near the Black Horse Saloon. The Ranger was their happy hunting ground. Both of them had long since run out of money and were spending their credit with great prodigality.
“We s’licit your votes, gen’lemen,” said Horse-Collar expansively. “Lovely’s runnin’ f’r gov’ner and I’m sheekin’ nomina-shun for pup-president. Long may she wave. How’s all your li’l’ cowlets and bullets? Have a drink on the bartender; he ain’t treated since Sittin’ Bull stood up.”
“Lemme ’lone;” pleaded Lovely, “Lemme ’tirely ’lone. I’m tryin’ to think why I came to town.”
“Tha’s right; be intelligent, ’f you can. ’F that bartender would only think, he’d know it’s his turn.
“O-o-o-oh, I feel as fresh as a big sunflower
That bends and nods in the bree-e-e-e-zus;
My heart’s as light as a drop of dew
That lays in the road and free-e-e-e-zus.”
“My word, what a shong!” exploded Lovely. “Lissen, mockin’-bird, I know what we came here for.”