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Updated: May 15, 2025
He had come to Sleepy Trail to wait for the next stage, on a mere hope of some message from the Flying U. The bartender looked up, gave a little, welcoming whoop and leaned half over the bar, hand extended. "Hello, Irish! Lord! When did you get back?" Weary smiled and shook the hand with much emphasis.
Such is the way of women the world over. What Lance thought does not greatly matter. Such is the way of men that their thoughts sooner or later crystallize into action. The bartender would tell you that he went straight to sleep, with the fur coat pulled up over his ears and his legs uncovered, his modishly-shod feet extending beyond the end of the table.
The two men sat down at a big table, and the tavern-keeper clapped his hands together. "Hey you, there!" he cried. The bartender woke up and came to him. "What'll you have?" asked he. "Bring some olives and two cups of wine." A long pause followed. Señor Tomás with voracious pulls at his smoldering cigar set its tip glowing.
"Wait." Locke rose and went to the bar, where he called loudly for the singer; then, when the bartender had deserted the piano, he spoke to Anthony: "Keep it up, old man, you're doing fine."
He did not need eyes in the back of his head to know that the men at the bar would open fire at the drop of the hat! A bullet winged venomously over him. Another one whined three inches from his ear. At the same instant, a bottle, hurled by the bartender, smashed to fragments against the wall. But with one quick spring, Kid Wolf had his back against the green-shuttered door.
Well, one of the boys just telephoned me that he saw Johnny Black a few minutes ago in a down-town place with a beautiful sosh on, and that he was eating his checks because he was broke. He had swallowed five checks amounting to $2.30 before the bartender tumbled. That's a new one on me, and it's all right. My! but that boy Johnny is a sincere drinker. More Horse Sense
I'm tired of your muttering and growling at things." The employee stepped back and watched his employer. Had Joe ordered him out of the shop he would not have been surprised, and as he said later when he told Ben Head's bartender of the incident, would not have cared very much. The fact that he did not care, no doubt saved him. Joe was frightened.
"Guess you meant beer; you ain't used to drinking whiskey," grinned the bartender, derisively, and watching him closely. "I can drink as much whiskey as " and, muttering, Johnny slipped to the floor. "That wasn't whiskey!" cried Hopalong, sleepily, "that liquor was fixed!" he shouted, sudden anger bracing him.
His first impulse was to approach and speak to the man, who had not seen him as he came in and was now standing with his back partly toward him, tossing down a drink that he had poured out generously from the bottle the bartender placed before him.
"I'll scrub the floors for you," he said. "We have 'em scrubbed in the early morning," replied the man. "Well, let me come and do it," said Samuel. "Go on!" said the other. "You'll be ready for more feed then." "I'll come, just the same, sir." "If you take my advice," the bartender observed, "you'll get out of this town. Lockmanville's a poor place to hunt jobs in." Samuel started.
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