Pretty soon he gets back on his feet and wobbles up to the bar.
“Buck, you got any caster ile?” he asks. “I had all that raffle money in my pocket, and I reckon that danged cross between uh greyhound and uh duck must uh ate it up with them tickets. I can’t find nothing but uh five-dollar bill in my pocket.”
“Let’s see the bill, Chuck,” says Buck, and Chuck hands it to him.
“Thanks,” says Buck. “It ain’t much but it will help to pay for that glass.”
“Dog-gone yuh, Buck!” wails Chuck, leaning against the bar, “that bird ain’t mine. It lays between Scenery Sims and Judge Steele.”
“The —— it does!” squeaks Scenery from the doorway. “That bird is too active to lay.”
He walks over to Magpie, and slams that yaller hat down over his head until his ears stand out like sails.
“Take your danged pot hat, Magpie!” he snaps. “Nobody ought to wear uh hat like that. Will some strong unwounded man go out and bring in the judge? He took that thousand-dollar bird, beast or reptile by the leg while I takes the hat off its head. I’d uh carried him in but I ain’t able to do much. I suppose I got to own that bird.”
“Don’t worry too much about it, Scenery,” advises Buck. “If the judge opines that his number wins you got to fight it out among yourselves. If the judge don’t survive I reckon he’s got an heir some place to take it up.”
“Air ——!” squeaks Scenery. “He was trying to get some when I left. That thing can give uh mule high, low and the game and win.”