ar price. So, just you skin
off six hundred an' thirty bucks, an' eighteen more, an' pass 'em acrost.
An' do it _pronto_ or somethin' might happen to Fatty right where he's
thickest." The cowpuncher emphasized his remarks by boring the muzzle
even deeper into the unctuous periphery of the proprietor. The croupier
shot a questioning glance toward his employer.

"Shell it out! You fool!" grunted that worthy. "Fore this gun comes out
my back. An', besides, it's cocked!" Without a word the croupier
counted out the money, arranging it in little piles of gold and silver.

As the vagabond swept the coins into his battered Stetson the Texan gave
a final twist to the six-gun. "If I was you, Fatty, I'd rub that there
thirteen number off that wheel an' paint me a tripple-ought or mebbe,
another eagle-bird onto it."

He turned to the man who stood grinning over his hatful of money:

"Come on, Pedro, me an' you're goin' away from here. The licker this
_hombre_ purveys will shore lead to bloodshed an' riotin', besides which
it's onrespectable to gamble anyhow."

Pausing to throw the bridle reins over the horn of his saddle, the Texan
linked his arm through that of his companion and proceeded down the
street with the big black horse following like a dog. After several
minutes of silence he stopped and regarded the other thoughtfully.

"Pedro," he said, "me an' you, fallin' heir to an onexpected legacy this
way, it's fit an' proper we should celebrate accordin' to our lights.
The common an' onchristian way would be to spliflicate around from one
saloon to another 'till we'd took in the whole town an' acquired a couple
of jags an' more or less onfavourable notoriety. Then, in a couple of
days or two, we'd wake up with fur on our tongue an inch long an' our
wealth divided amongst thieves. But, Pedro, such carryin's-on is
ondecent an' improvident. Take them great captains of industry you read
about! D'you reckon every pay-day old Andy Rockyfellow goes a rampin'
down Main Street back there in Noo York, proclaimin' he's a wolf an' it's
his night to howl? Not on your tintype, he don't! If he did he'd never
of rose out of the rank an' file of the labourin' class, an' chances is,
would of got fired out of that fer not showin' up at the corral Monday
mornin'! Y'see I be'n a-readin' up on the lives of these here saints to
kind of get a line on how they done it. Take that whole bunch an' they
wasn't hardly a railroad nor a