fixtures.

“Boys,” says Buck, “curb yore feelin’s fer this time. There’s uh heap uh sentiment agin’ yuh both here, and if yuh behave it’s bound to die out in uh little while. That Chink is still in th’ hospital at Helena.”

“Pshaw!” exclaims Ren. “That’s too danged bad. But I asks yuh, Buck, how was I to know that th’ Chink was behind that box, too? That Greaser ducks behind it and I never once thinks that there’s room fer two people. It surprises me so I lets th’ Greaser git away.”

“I allus told yuh,” stated Sig, “that you depends too much on th’ jump of that ol’ .41. Now, uh .45 is heavy enough that she don’t jump. To illustrate my point clearly——”

Right then Buck cuts in and talks ’em out of it. Uh six-gun demonstration ain’t no pink tea, especially when th’ demonstrator has about six scoops uh hooch under his belt.

They has a few more drinks and then decides to eat, so they ambles across th’ street to Jimmy Peyton’s Boston Chop House, th’ only eatin’ place in th’ town. There ain’t nobody in sight, so Ren yells—

“Jimmy, yuh lop-eared son-of-uh-sea-cook, bring us uh meenoo!”

Right then they gits uh surprise. Instead of Jimmy, with his dirty apron and a half-smoked cigaret hangin’ out uh one side of his mouth, out waltzes th’ swellest lookin’ female person they ever saw, and she single-foots right up to ’em with uh smile, and then out comes another she person, but this last one ain’t noways in th’ same class as Number One.

They’re both wearin’ li’l dinky white aprons and uh head full uh hair, but here th’ similarity ceases some abrupt. Th’ first one is packin’ class by th’ ton. She’s—well, she looks uh lot like th’ lady on th’ Empire Packin’ Company’s calendar, which ol’ man Padden has hangin’ over his bunk.

Th’ other is older by twenty years and seems sort-a sprung in th’ knees. She’s got uh forearm like Jefferies and needs uh shave. Th’ first one leans over th’ table and hands uh printed bill uh fare, but Ren don’t read it a-tall. He says, “Thanks, ma’am,” and puts it in his pocket.

Th’ older one grins at Sig and says, “Nice day.”

“Uh-huh,” agrees Sig. “It shore is. Don’t hardly look like it might rain.”

Ren just sits there lookin’ at th’ pretty one, like uh chickadee lookin’ at uh rattler. He ain’t able to even wink.

 Prev. P 2/15 next