that decision might be. I understood, too, enough of the Western spirit
to know that he would take no unfair advantage of me. I therefore
uncocked the revolver and put it back into my pocket. In the meantime
Zeke had got up from his resting-place in the corner and had made his
way sleepily to the bar. He had taken more to drink than was good for
him, though he was not now really drunk.

"Give me and Zeke a glass, Joe," said Williams; "and this gentleman,
too, if he'll drink with me, and take one yourself with us."

"No," replied the bar-keeper sullenly, "I'll not drink to any damned
foolishness. An' Zeke won't neither."

"Oh, yes, he will," Williams returned persuasively, "and so'll you, Joe.
You aren't goin' back on me."

"No, I'll be just damned if I am," said the barkeeper, half-conquered.

"What'll you take, sir?" Williams asked me.

"The bar-keeper knows my figger," I answered, half-jestingly, not yet
understanding the situation, but convinced that it was turning out
better than I had expected.

"And you, Zeke?" he went on.

"The old pizen," Zeke replied.

"And now, Joe, whisky for you and me--the square bottle," he continued,
with brisk cheerfulness.