the train crew got busted up, nor how bad they didn't?" Purdy tapped
the bar with his glass as his black eyes fixed the other with a level
stare. "I came over fer a little talk with yeh, private. I'm a-goin'
to win that buckin' contest--an' yer goin' to help me--_sabe_?"

The bartender shook his head: "I don't know how I c'n help you none."

"Well yeh will know when I git through--same as Doc Godkins'll know
when I have a little talk with him. Yer both a-goin' to help, you an'
Doc. Yeh see, they was a nester's gal died, a year back, over on
Beaver Crick, an' Doc tended her. 'Tarford fever,' says Doc. But ol'
Lazy Y Freeman paid the freight, an' he thinks about as much of the
nesters as what he does of a rattlesnake. I was ridin' fer the Lazy Y
outfit, an' fer quite a spell 'fore this tarford fever business the ol'
man use to ride the barb wire along Beaver, reg'lar. Yeh know how
loose ol' Lazy Y is with his change? A dollar don't loom no bigger to
him than the side of Sugar Loaf Butte, an' it slips through his fingers
as easy as a porkypine could back out of a gunnysack. Well, that there
dose of tarford fever that the nester gal died of cost ol' Lazy Y jest
a even thousan' bucks. An' Doc Godkins got it."

The cowpuncher paused and the bartender picked up his glass. "Drink
up," he said, "an' have another. I do'no what yer talkin' about but
it's jest as bad to not have enough red licker in under yer belt when
y' go to make a ride as 'tis to have too much."

"Never yeh mind about the licker. I c'n reg'late my own drinks to suit
me. Mebbe I got more'n a ride a-comin' to me 'fore tonight's over."

The bartender eyed him questioningly: "You usta win 'em all--buckin',