“You want a wash?” asked Johnny, meaning a glass of water or soda.
Jim Legg glanced at his hands and looked at himself in the back bar.
“No,” he said finally. “I don’t think so.”
The three cowpunchers exchanged quick glances. Fate had sent them something to play with. Eskimo poured out a full glass for their new playmate, who almost strangled over it. But he got it down.
“That’s liquor,” declared Johnny, smacking his lips.
“It’s gug-good,” whispered Jim Legg.
He cleared his throat and wondered at the warm glow within him.
“I’m buyin’,” declared Oyster, spinning a dollar on the bar, which got them four clean glasses.
Again Jim Legg managed to swallow the liquor, but this time it did not strangle him. He laughed gleefully at nothing in particular and rested a hand on Johnny Grant’s shoulder.
“My name’s Legg,” he told them. “Jim Legg.”