‘No, sir.’
‘I reckon you’ve been raised by hand,’ sighed the bartender. ‘Have another?’
Rex did. Hashknife was standing beside the doorway, listening for Red Eller to come back with the doctor, and he turned to watch Rex take his second drink.
‘Are you the feller who knocked out Spike Cahill?’ asked the bartender.
‘Yes,’ choked Rex. ‘Ah-h-h-h!’
‘They tell me you’re a fighter.’
‘I—I do very nicely, thank you.’
‘My Gawd!’ grunted the bartender. ‘You do nicely, eh?’
Hashknife studied the flushed face of Rex Morgan. The two drinks of powerful liquor were almost too much for the young man.
‘C’mere, Morgan,’ said Hashknife, and Rex came over to him, slightly unsteady on his feet.