Cheyenne grinned. "I kind of hate to drink alone, 'specially when I'm
broke."

Bartley grinned in turn. "So do I. I suppose it is all right to leave.
The door is wide open and there doesn't seem to be any one in charge.

"She sure is an orphan, to-night. But, honest, Mr.--"

"Bartley."

"Mr. Bartley, nobody'd ever think of stealin' anything from Wishful.
Everybody likes Wishful 'round here. And strangers wouldn't last long
that tried to lift anything from his tepee. That is, not any longer than
it would take Wishful to pull a gun--and that ain't long."

"If he caught them."

"Caught 'em? Say, stranger, how far do you think a man could travel out
of here, before somebody'd get him? Anyhow, Wishful ain't got nothin' in
his place worth stealin'."

"Wishful doesn't look very warlike," said Bartley.

"Nope. That's right. He looks kind of like he'd been hit on the roof and
hadn't come to, yet. But did you ever see him shoot craps?"

"No."

"Then you've got somethin' comin', besides buyin' me a drink."