“Yeh. Three dollars.”
A steely glint came into Diamond Tooth Lil’s eyes.
She tossed her cigarette into the cuspidor, went to her room, picked up her six-gun, saw that it was loaded and hurried to her rival’s.
A rap on the door brought the dark beauty to the porch. “Listen dearie,” Diamond Tooth Lil began. “This is a union town. I hear you’re scabbing.”
The hot Latin temper flared. “I run my business to suit myself....”
“And you won’t raise the price?” asked Diamond Tooth Lil.
“Never!” Suddenly the exotic one looked into hard steel and harder eyes.
“Okay. You’re through. Start packing,” ordered Lil.
Something in the eyes behind the six-gun told the madam that surrender was wiser than a funeral and the scab house closed forever.
A wayfarer in Greenwater announced that he was so low he could mount stilts and clear a snake’s belly, but being broke, he could only sniff the liquor-scented air coming from Bill Waters’s saloon and look wistfully at the bottles on the shelves. Then he noticed that Bill Waters was alone, polishing glasses. A sudden inspiration came and he sauntered in. “Bill,” he said, “gimme a drink....”