Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 110: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

676 saloon called the New York Bar. We dismounts and leaves our equines. “ It might be well,” said Shorty, ‘ to find the sheriff’s name and where he hangs out. A barkeep is my ideer of an info’mation bureau.” We pushes through the swinging doors and into a saloon with enough sawdust on the floor for a circus. A few idlers is making a half-hearted at- tempt to play pool on an old rickety table, with the green cloth partly ripped off, and the barkeep is breathing into the glasses, polishing them and then holding the result up to the light. “And after they’re all cleaned up, then a lot of drunkards like us make em all dirty again,” grinned Shorty. “We hates to interrupt an artist at his work, but we'd like to get a heap of dust out of our throats.” The barkeep was right there with: “ What will you have, gents?” I bet he could be overheard saying it in his sleep. He don’t wait for any an- swer, but pushes a quart toward us, and two big glasses. “We didn’t ask for no bath,” said Shorty. “ Put four fingers at the right of the glass and pour till you’re even with the top digit,’ he announces. ‘“ That’s what we give a customer for his money.” “ Ah,” says Shorty, “ now I see why you got the sawdust so thick—so you won't get hurt when you falls.”’ | We both pour an elephant-size drink, hold our breath, and let her flow down the gullet. Strange to relate, it is mel- low stuff, and I tell the barkeep so. “That’s mountain dew from the green grass country of Kentucky. Two drinks, and a jack rabbit is ready to fight a wild cat. Three drinks, and he turns his back on him with scorn com- plete. Four drinks, and he calls for more than one wild cat. Five, an—” ‘““We believe you, barkeep,” I says. “Set ’em up agin. That stuff nestles and sneaks around inside, and asks for his brother to join him.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Shorty pours himself a smaller one this time, and I’m a bit cautious and do likewise. But you can’t go into a man’s bar and start asking questions unless you appear a present buyer and possibly a future customer. Other- wise you'd be treated rude and scorn- ful. “ Barkeep,” I said, confidential like, “we has an engagement with the sher- iff, but we'll be back. I’d rather rest on the neck of this bottle than any place I know. What’s the name of the peace officer of Gorge City, and where does he hang out?” The man behind the bar looks re- gretful. “Tl wish I could say, boys, that he comes in here, but this ain’t his reg’lar place to imbibe his forty drops. He is later on in the night to be found at the Oriental Saloon—’”’ “That’s Boss rium?” I queries. “Yeah. But at this time of the eve- ning Sheriff Martin will likely be in his official shack next to the post of- fice. Right side of same. You won’t miss it; it’s painted white for purity.” He laughs, as if at something funny. “Will you gents dampen yer tonsils on the house, ’fore you leaves?” He pushes the bottle toward us and it would not be polite to refuse. We both takes a small one, just about cov- ering the bottom of the glass. We hoists, wipes our mouths on the backs of our hands, and says we will be back. “Our hosses is hitched outside,” I tell the barkeep. “Safe as in a bank,” he retorts. “This climate agrees with everything but hoss thieves. They can’t breathe here, not very long.” He chuckles and we leaves him, good-natured. Outside on the wooden sidewalk we observes that Gorge City hasn’t yet opened much for the night. Hosses are hitched here and there, and I see a few empty wagons with teams, but only a few cattlemen is in sight and Deveture’s empo- COPMNICGLOOOKS (C@