It was fun. I can
shoot straight as hell--an' quick! See that mouse over by the wall?"
Before the words were out of his mouth his Colt roared. The bartender
stared wide-eyed at the ragged bit of fur and blood that was plastered
against the base-board where a moment before a small mouse had been
nibbling a bit of cheese. The men at the card table paused, looked up,
and resumed their game.
"Man, that's shootin'!" he exclaimed. "Have one on me! This geezer
that you bumped off--self defence, I s'pose?"
"No. He was a bar-keep over on the Marias. He made the mistake of
takin' ondue notice of a pair of black eyes I'd got--somehow they
looked mirthful to him, an'--" The Texan paused and gazed
reproachfully toward a flick of a white apron as the loquacious one
disappeared through the back door.
A loud shouting and a rattling of wheels sounded from without. The
card game broke up, and the players slouched out the door. Through the
window the Texan watched the stage pull up at the hotel, watched the
express box swung off, and the barn-dogs change the horses; saw the
exchange of pouches at the post office; saw the stage pull out slowly
and stop before a little white cottage next door to the steepleless
church. Then he reached for the bottle, poured another drink, and
drank it very slowly.
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