“Woke up, didn’t you, you old stager?  Y’ain’t so bad lookin’ when you’re alive.  Patty’ll have to get him a new pair of bridle reins.  Mebbe the whole town’ll look better if it’s woke up some.

“Y-e-e-e-e-o-w!  Cowboys a-comin’!”

A citizen or two paused on the street corner, a few Mexicans grinned as they drew back to allow the Gringo free access to the saloon, and a swarthy figure slipped unobserved across the street and blended into the shadow of the adobe wall.

“O-o-o-o-o-h, the yaller r-o-s-e of Texas!” sang the cowpuncher, with joyous vehemence.  As he stepped into the room, his eyes swept the faces of the gamblers and again he burst into vociferous song: 

“O-o-o-o-o-h, w-h-e-r-e is my wanderin’ b-o-y tonight?”

“Hey, you!  Whad’ye think this is, a camp meetin’?”

The Texan faced the speaker.  “Well, if it ain’t my old college chum!  Fatty, I stopped in a purpose to see you.  An’ besides which, by the unalien rights of the Constitution an’ By-laws of this here United States of Texas, a man’s got a right to sing whatever song suits him irregardless of sex or opportunity.”  The other glared malevolently as the cowpuncher approached the bar with a grin.  “Don’t bite yourself an’ die of hydrophobia before your eggication is complete, which it ain’t till you’ve learnt never to insult no Texas man by offerin’ to trade no rat-tailed, ewe-necked old buzzard fodder fer a top Texas horse.

“Drop that mallet!  An’ don’t go reachin-’ around in under that bar, ‘cause if you find what you’re huntin’ fer you’re a-goin’ to see fer yourself if every cloud’s got a silver linin’.  ’Tend to business now, an’ set out a bottle of your famous ol’ Las Vegas stummick shellac an’ while I’m imbibin’ of its umbilical ambrosier, I’ll jest onscrew your nose an’ feed it to the cat.”

Sweat stood out upon the forehead of the heavy-paunched proprietor as with a flabby-faced grin he set out the bottle.  But the Texan caught the snake-like flash of the eyes with which the man signalled to the croupier across the room.  Gun in hand, he whirled: 

“No, you don’t, Toney!” An ugly blue-black automatic dropped to the floor and the croupier’s hands flew ceilingward.

“I never seen such an outfit to be always a-reachin’,” grinned the cowpuncher.  “Well, if there ain’t the ol’ eagle-bird wheel!  Give her a spin, Toney!  They say you can’t hit an eagle on the fly with a six-gun, but I’m willin’ to try!  Spin her good, ’cause I don’t want no onfair advantage of that there noble bird.  Stand back, Greasers, so you don’t get nicked!”

As the croupier spun the wheel, three shots rang in an almost continuous explosion and the gamblers fell over each other in an effort to dodge the flying splinters that filled the powder-fogged air.

  “Little black bull slid down the mountain,
  L-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago!”

roared the Texan as he threw open the cylinder of his gun.