good. She looks as nice as a white mustang I see once on Black River.”
When the coffee came, Greenbrier put one foot on the seat of the chair next to him.
“You said it was a comfortable town, Longy,” he said, meditatively. “Yes, it’s a comfortable town. It’s different from the plains in a blue norther. What did you call that mess in the crock with the handle, Longy? Oh, yes, squabs in a cash roll. They’re worth the roll. That white mustang had just such a way of turning his head and shaking his mane—look at her, Longy. If I thought I could sell out my ranch at a fair price, I believe I’d—
“Gyar—song!” he suddenly cried, in a voice that paralyzed every knife and fork in the restaurant.
The waiter dived toward the table.
“Two more of them cocktail drinks,” ordered Greenbrier.
Merritt looked at him and smiled significantly.
“They’re on me,” said Greenbrier, blowing a puff of smoke to the ceiling.
