Moran stopped at the bar and looked around. The bartender showed mild interest, marking the page of his book by crimping a page. The two cowboys did not even show mild interest. One of them was very tall and thin, with a long, serious face, which just now he was stuffing with food. The other was of medium height, broad-shouldered, with very wide blue eyes and a deeply-lined face. Their well worn garb was typical of the cow-country.
“I’ll buy a drink,” invited Moran.
The tall cowboy swallowed heavily and shook his head.
“Thank you just the same,” he said pleasantly. “We tried it.”
“They don’t know good liquor,” said the bartender rather plaintively, and getting to his feet.
“I reckon that’s right,” nodded the tall one, digging into the salmon can with his pocket-knife.
“Beer?” queried Moran.
The tall one grimaced.
“Hot. There ain’t been no ice here since the glacial period.”
“What’ll you have?” asked the bartender.