The Birmingham age-herald., 1924-12-07

that you hot-footed out of that door-or has Sandy got double?"
 'Nope," said the other, wiping the last of the precipitation from his forehead. That's Sandy, all right"
 ':Au of which means" suggested Nash, "that Sandy has been hcked?'
 "Licked? No. he ain't been licked. but he's been plumb annihilated, washed off the map, cleaned out, faded. rubbed into the dirt; if there was some stronger way or putin it. l would. And the feler that downed Sandy was-a tenderfeot. Yep, {, greenhorn. Said his name was Anthon1 Bard"
 "Ah-h-h," drawled Nash softly. q thought so. Let's hear the story, Flanders"
 Ut was like this. Along about evening of yesterday Sandy was in here with a lighted-the glow was circulatin promis- cuous, in fact-when in comes feller about your height, Steve. but lighter. Good lookin', thin face. big dark eyes like girl. We'll, sir, he walks up to the bar: Can you make me very sour lemonade. MT. Bar tender?'
 II rolled an eye at Sandy, who was standin there with his jaw falling, and then I got busy with lemons and the squeezer, but pretty soon Ferguson walks up to the stranger.
 "'Did hear you askin' for a lemonade?' he asks.
 "'You did.'
 Would I seem to be a:kin' too many. questions says Sandy. terrible polite, If 1 inquiries if bar whisky ain't good enough for you?'
 "The tenderfoot, he stands there jest as easy as you an me stand here now, and he laughed.
 .'He says The bar whisky I've tastcd around this country is not very good 1or any one. unless, perhaps, after snake has bitten you.
 Sandy says after a minute: I'm the most quietest, gentle, innercent cowpuncher that ever rode the range, but I'd tell man that it rifles me to hear good bar whisky insulted like this. Look at me- Do look as if whisky ain't good for man?'
 "'Why,' says the tenderfoot, you look sort of funny to me-
 He said 1t as easy as if he was passin' the morning with Ferguson. but I seen that it was the last straw with Sandy. He hefted out both guns and trained 'em on the green horn.
 T yelled: Sandy, for eod's sake, don't be killin' tenderfoot.'
 elf whisky will kill him, he's goin' to die,' says Sandy. Flanders, pour out drink of rye for this gent
 But this chap, he smiles over to Sandy
 Listen re says, still grinnin, fin the old days 1 suppose this would have been pretty bluff but it won't work with me now You want me to drink that glass of very bad whisky, hut Pm sure that you dor-'> want it badly enough to shoot me. I take it for granted that you are bluffing, my friend, and one of my favorite occupati~~,s is calling bluff. You look dangerous, but I've an idea that you are as yellow as your moustache.
 Sandy, he sort of swelled up all o,ey like q poisoned dog.
 He says I begin to see your style. Ios want a clean man-handln'. which suits me uncommon we'll
 with that, he lays down his guns, soft and careful and puts up his fists, and goes for the other gent
 ''He makes his pass, which should have sent the other gent into kingdom come. But it didn't. No, sir. the tenderfoot, he seemed to eyaporate. He wasn't there when the fist of Ferguson come along. He ducks under Sandy's next punch, steps in, and wallops Sandy over the eye-that punci didn't travel more'n six inches. But it slammed Sandy down in a corner like he'd been shot.
 "He was too surprised to be much hurt, though, and drags himself up to his feet, makin' a pass at his pocket at the same time. Then he came again, silent and thinkin' of blood, s'pose, with knife in his hand.
 'This time the tenderfoot didn't wait He went in with sort of hitch step, like a dancer. Ferguson's knife carved the air beside the tenderfoot's head and then the