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Updated: May 27, 2025
By the time the coroner's inquest and the funeral in town were over it was three o'clock of the afternoon. As I only occasionally managed Soda Springs I felt no inclination to hurry on the return journey. My intention was to watch the Overland through, to make some small purchases at the Lone Star Emporium, to hoist one or two at McGrue's, and to dine sumptuously at the best and only hotel.
To prevent it I took him firmly by the arm and led him across to McGrue's. He was shivering as though from a violent chill. The multitude trailed interestedly after; but I took my man into one of McGrue's private rooms and firmly closed the door. "Put that under your belt," I invited, pouring him a half tumbler of McGrue's best, "and pull yourself together." He smelled it.
Back through McGrue's bar we trailed like one of these moving-picture chases and into the back room. "Well, here we are home again," said I. The stranger grabbed a glass and filled it half full of soothing syrup. "Here, you aren't going to drink that!" I yelled at him. "Didn't you hear Sol tell you the dose is a spoonful?" But he didn't pay me any attention.
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