And Jim Legg was glad the messenger had lied about the physical proportions of the man who had attacked him. Jim wondered what had become of Geronimo, but did not ask any one. And then Jim Legg ran into the three men from the AK outfit. Their pockets were lined with a month’s pay, and they were happily inclined toward all humanity.
Oyster Shell, backed against the Oasis bar, was the first to see Jim Legg. His eyes opened wide and he spurred Johnny Grant on the calf of his left leg.
“My ——, Johnny,” he said softly. “Do m’ eyes deceive me?”
Johnny looked upon Jim Legg with much the same expression that a scientist might exhibit upon finding the fossil egg of a dinosaur.
“Welcome,” said Johnny. “I welcome you to Blue Wells.”
“How do you do?” smiled Jim. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” said Johnny, “We have one like this every thirty days. What grade of poison does yore stummick stand?”
Jim Legg had never drank anything more potent than a small glass of beer, but he knew that he was now in Rome, so he said:
“Oh, anything you gentlemen are drinking.”
“Hooch!” exclaimed Eskimo, and the busy bartender sent the bottle spinning down the bar, followed by four glasses.