"You ain't the only ones," he said to his companion at the bar. "They's
a man in town who says they don't turn out any two men in this range
that could give him action."
"The hell!" grunted he of the red hair. And he looked down to his
blunt-knuckled hands.
"'S matter of fact," continued Haw-Haw easily, "he's right here now!"
He looked again towards Mac Strann and remembered once more the drink
which Mac might so easily have purchased for him.
"It ain't Pale Annie, is it?" asked the black haired man, casting a
dubious glance up and down the vast frame of the undertaker.
"Him? Not half!" grinned Haw-Haw. "It's a fet feller down to the end of
the bar. I guess he's been drinkin' some. Kind of off his nut."
He indicated Mac Strann.
"He looks to me," said the red-haired man, setting his jaw, "like a
feller that ain't any too old to learn one more thing about the range in
these parts."
"He looks to me," chimed in the black haired brother, "like a feller
that might be taught something right here in Pale Annie's barroom.
Anyway, he's got room at his table for two more."
So saying the two swallowed their drinks and rumbled casually down the
length of the room until they came to the table where Mac Strann sat.
Haw-Haw Langley followed at a discreet distance and came within earshot
to hear the deep voice of Mac Strann rumbling: "Sorry, gents, but that
chair is took."
The black-haired man sank into the indicated chair.
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