Johnny laughed in Idaho's face and, shrugging his shoulders, turned and rearranged the glasses on the backbar: "All right; laugh an' be d—d!" he snorted; "but would you look at that shelf an' them glasses? Cuss any country that moves around like that. I bet I got some of them Dry Arroyo sand hills in them glasses!"
"There was plenty in th' hash this mornin'," said Idaho; "but it didn't taste like that Dry Arroyo sand. It wasn't salty enough. Gimme a taste of that."
"Just because you'll make a han'some corpse ain't no reason why you should be in any hurry," retorted Ed. "Here!" he snorted, tossing a pack of cards on the bar. "Go over an' begin th' wranglin' agin—'though th' Lord knows I ain't got nothin' agin' Nelson." He glanced out of the window. "Purty near blowed out. It'll be ca'm in another half-hour; an' then you get to blazes out of here, an' stay out till dark!"
"I wish I had yore happy disposition," said Idaho. "I'd shore blow my brains out."
"There wouldn't be anythin' to clean up, anyhow!" retorted Ed. "Lord help us, here comes Silent Lewis!"
"Hello, fellers!" cried the newcomer. "Gee but it's been some storm. Sand's all over everythin'. Hear about th' bank robbery?"
"Bank robbery?" queried Ed, innocently. "What bank robbery? Sand bank?" he asked, sarcastically.
"Sand bank! Sand bank nothin'!" blurted Silent. "Ain't you heard it yet? Why, I live ten miles out of town, an' I know all about it."
"I believe every word you say," said Ed. "Tell us about it."
