“Sheriffin’ does make a feller kinda dry,” admitted Slim. “I’ll go yuh once, if I lose all m’hair. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I’ll betcha Ralston is mad enough to gnaw a nail.”
“Well, he can go plumb to ⸺, as far as we’re concerned,” declared Nebrasky. “Any old time we go huntin’ criminals, it’ll be when there ain’t nothin’ else to do. Anyway, I don’t look upon the shootin’ of Kelsey as a crime.”
They lined up at the bar and offered to sing a song for the drinks. But the bartender was a bit skeptical about the intrinsic value of anything they might sing.
“It’s all right with me, yuh understand,” explained the bartender. “But when Handsome starts checkin’ up the till at night—you know what I mean.”
“Oh, shore,” nodded Lonnie. “Some folks never appreciate talent. Howja like to have a free song?”
“Oh, I can absorb anythin’ that don’t hurt the rest of yuh. All I ask is that yuh don’t require my opinion. I’m honest.”
Angus McLaren came in and Lonnie invited him to share their hospitality. McLaren rarely drank anything, but no one had ever known him to refuse an invitation.
“We just got back from ridin’ with the deputy,” explained Nebrasky. “Ridin’ allus makes me dry.”
McLaren laughed and poured out a drink.
“Well, here’s hopin’ they never even catch sight of Joe’s dust,” said Leach.