till you've learnt never to insult no Texas man by offerin' to trade no
rat-tailed, ewe-necked old buzzard fodder fer a top Texas horse.

"Drop that mallet! An' don't go reachin-' around in under that bar,
'cause if you find what you're huntin' fer you're a-goin' to see fer
yourself if every cloud's got a silver linin'. 'Tend to business now,
an' set out a bottle of your famous ol' Las Vegas stummick shellac an'
while I'm imbibin' of its umbilical ambrosier, I'll jest onscrew your
nose an' feed it to the cat."

Sweat stood out upon the forehead of the heavy-paunched proprietor as
with a flabby-faced grin he set out the bottle. But the Texan caught the
snake-like flash of the eyes with which the man signalled to the croupier
across the room. Gun in hand, he whirled:

"No, you don't, Toney!" An ugly blue-black automatic dropped to the
floor and the croupier's hands flew ceilingward.

"I never seen such an outfit to be always a-reachin'," grinned the
cowpuncher. "Well, if there ain't the ol' eagle-bird wheel! Give her a
spin, Toney! They say you can't hit an eagle on the fly with a six-gun,
but I'm willin' to try! Spin her good, 'cause I don't want no onfair
advantage of that there noble bird. Stand back, Greasers, so you don't
get nicked!"

As the croupier spun the wheel, three shots rang in an almost continuous
explosion and the gamblers fell over each other in an effort to dodge the
flying splinters that filled the powder-fogged air.

"Little black bull slid down the mountain,