THE MAN WHO TOOK WATER
the lights of the stores and the Texas Saloon opposite began to show themselves. Men that were passing stopped to speak with others. Sam Grant, the bar-tender opposite, came out on the side-walk. I saw his white shirt-front as he leant against a post. A little hum rose outside. I saw a boy running. A yellow dog sat in the dusty road and scratched himself. I heard voices, and though I could distinguish no words I knew what they said.
"Sage-brush is in there with Ben Williams."
The fat old Dutchman who kept a quarter dollar hash-house stepped inside and put his lamp out. He wasn't the man to take chances.
And all this time I was looking at Sage-brush. He was long and thin and very hard, so men said. They reckoned at Red River that he was a very "stout" man, and in the language of the great West "stout" means strong. Ben was dark and ruddy, but Sage was fair and had long tawny moustaches. His eyes were small and grey, his jaw heavy, his forehead overgrown with
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