"I ain't no prophet," declared the giant, "but I can spot a man that's
dry. What'll you have, bud?" And to the bartender he added: "Leave him
be, pardner, unless you're all set for considerable noise in here."

"Long as his drinks are paid for," muttered the bartender, "here he
stays. But these floaters do make me tired!"

He jabbed the bottle across the bar at Donnegan and spun a glass noisily
at him, and the "floater" observed the angry bartender with a frightened
side glance, and then poured his drink gingerly. When the glass was half
full he hesitated and sought the face of the bartender again, for
permission to go on.

"Fill her up!" commanded the giant. "Fill her up, lad, and drink
hearty."

"I never yet," observed the bartender darkly, "seen a beggar that wasn't
a hog."

At this Donnegan's protector shifted his belt so that the holster came a
little more forward on his thigh.

"Son," he said, "how long you been in these parts?"

"Long enough," declared the other, and lowered his black brows. "Long
enough to be sick of it."

"Maybe, maybe," returned the cowpuncher-miner, "meantime you tie to
this. We got queer ways out here. When a gent drinks with us he's our
friend. This lad here is my pardner, just now. If I was him I would of