entrance, also, was not subject to charge. The initial drink at the door
was spiced to encourage thirst, so Milligan made money as fast, and far
more easily, than if he had been digging it out of the ground.

To the door of this pleasure emporium came Donnegan. He had transformed
himself into the ragged hobo by the jerking down of his cap again, and
the hunching of his shoulders. And shrinking past the bar with a hungry
sidewise glance, as one who did not dare present himself for free
liquor, he entered Milligan's.

That is, he had put his foot across the threshold when he was caught
roughly by the shoulder and dragged to one side. He found himself
looking up into the face of a strapping fellow who served Milligan as
bouncer. Milligan had an eye for color. Andy Lewis was tolerably well
known as a fighting man of parts, who not only wore two guns but could
use them both at once, which is much more difficult than is generally
understood. But far more than for his fighting parts Milligan hired his
bouncer for the sake of his face. It was a countenance made to
discourage trouble makers. A mule had kicked Lewis in the chin, and a
great white welt deformed his lower lip. Scars of smallpox added to his
decorative effect, and he had those extremely bushy brows which for some
reason are generally considered to denote ferocity. Now, Donnegan was
not above middle height at best, and in his present shrinking attitude
he found himself looking up a full head into the formidable face of the
bouncer.

"And what are you doing in here?" asked the genial Andy. "Don't you know
this joint is for white folks?"

"I ain't colored," murmured Donnegan.