Billy Williams returned to the bar. Then he walked along it until he
was behind the recalcitrant possessor of the table. While his
aggrieved friends shuffled their feet uneasily to cover his approach,
he tiptoed up behind Jimmy and, with a nod, grasped that indignant
individual firmly by the neck while the others grabbed his feet. They
carried him, twisting and bucking, to the middle of the street and
deposited him in the dust, returning to the now vacant table.

Jimmy rested quietly for a few seconds and then slowly arose,
dusting the alkali from him.

"Th' wall-eyed piruts," he muttered, and then scratched his head for a
way to "play hunk." As he gazed sorrowfully at the saloon he heard a
snicker from behind him. He, thinking it was one of his late
tormentors, paid no attention to it. Then a cynical, biting laugh
stung him. He wheeled, to see Shorty leaning against a tree, a
sneering leer on his flushed face. Shorty's right hand was suspended
above his holster, hooked to his belt by the thumb-a favorite position
of his when expecting trouble.

"One of yore reg'lar habits?" he drawled.

Jimmy began to dust himself in silence, but his lips were compressed
to a thin white line.

"Does they hurt yu?" pursued the onlooker.

Jimmy looked up. "I heard tell that they make glue outen cayuses,
sometimes," he remarked.