front, and said:

"Gawd! yes, stranger; I was one myself."

The plot thickened so fast that I was losing much, so I became more
deliberate. "Do the boys come into town often?" I inquired further.

"Oh yes, 'mos' every little spell," replied the butcher, as he reached
behind his weighing-scales and picked up a double-barrelled shot-gun,
sawed off. "We-uns are expectin' of they-uns to-day."

And he broke the barrels and took out the shells to examine them.

"Do they come shooting?" I interposed.

He shut the gun with a snap. "We split even, stranger."

Seeing that the butcher was a fragile piece of bric-a-brac, and that I
might need him for future study, I bethought me of the banker down the
street. Bankers are bound to be broad-gauged, intelligent, and
conservative, so I would go to him and get at the ancient history of
this neck of woods. I introduced myself, and was invited behind the
counter. The look of things reminded me of one of those great green
terraces which conceal fortifications and ugly cannon. It was boards and
wire screen in front, but behind it were shot-guns and six-shooters hung
in the handiest way, on a sort of disappearing gun-carriage arrangement.
Shortly one of the cowboys of the street scene floundered in. He was
two-thirds drunk, with brutal, shifty eyes and a flabby lower lip.

"I want twenty dollars on the old man. Ken I have it?"