Steve, at this stroke, gave up, and clapped him on the shoulder
with a joyous chuckle. "You old son-of-a!" he cried
affectionately.

"Drinks are due now," said the Virginian. "My treat, Steve. But I
reckon your suspense will have to linger a while yet."

Thus they dropped into direct talk from that speech of the fourth
dimension where they had been using me for their telephone.

"Any cyards going to-night?" inquired the Virginian.

"Stud and draw," Steve told him. "Strangers playing."

"I think I'd like to get into a game for a while," said the
Southerner. "Strangers, yu' say?"

And then, before quitting the store, he made his toilet for this
little hand at poker. It was a simple preparation. He took his
pistol from its holster, examined it, then shoved it between his
overalls and his shirt in front, and pulled his waistcoat over
it. He might have been combing his hair for all the attention any
one paid to this, except myself. Then the two friends went out,
and I bethought me of that epithet which Steve again had used to
the Virginian as he clapped him on the shoulder. Clearly this
wild country spoke a language other than mine--the word here was
a term of endearment. Such was my conclusion.

The drummers had finished their dealings with the proprietor, and
they were gossiping together in a knot by the door as the