"Ah, gwan!" Jack Rosen pulled the cork from his bottle and took a long, rapturous sniff. "Only way to act drunk is to _git_ drunk. Me, I always git a glassy look in my eyes, and my face gits redder 'n hell. I can't git that way by pourin' three drops on my shirt front like it was perfumery. If I'm goin' to play drunken cowboy with no brains atall, I gotta put at least a pint under m' belt." "Rosy, you _can't_! When you're drunk you wanta fight and beller out everything you know. We gotta play this thing fine." The anxious author of the idea snatched the bottle and broke it against the manger. "Say, you can git soused to the eyebrows when this play-actin's over. We'll _all_ git drunker'n fools. Ain't that enough to make a man stay sober, if he's got to, in order to block their play? Come alive here, boys. We got a good chance t' make Palmer's gang show their hands. Do we go after 'em, or do we belly up to the bar and make hawgs of ourselves?" "Oh, shut up! I'll bet yo're drunk before the rest is, Tony. No use addin' to our misery by chewin' the rag about it, is they?" Bob Leverett poured whisky into his palm and proceeded to wash his face with it. "Gawd, that's coolin'!" he exclaimed afterwards, licking his lips as far back as his tongue would reach. "Refreshin'est thing in the world! Betcha there ain't a feller in the outfit dast try it--wallop it all around your mouth without lettin' any go down. Betcha I'm the damnedest strong-minded cuss in the outfit!" "Betcha five dollars," cried Mark Hanley, and swept off his hat to give his hair a whisky shampoo. Jack Rosen washed face, neck, ears and hair, and saturated his handkerchief as a final flourish. "By golly, that shore _is_ refreshin'!" he testified earnestly, with his face lifted ecstatically to the hot wind. "Gimme some more. Tony went an' got fresh and busted mine. You owe me two bottles, don'tcha fergit that; one fer smashin' mine, and one fer misjudgin' yore betters." They went swaggering through the barn and stopped at the office, where Delkin's three visitors still sat talking of the one big subject. The four leading citizens sniffed and leaned away. "That's stage settin's," Tony informed them equably. "Overdone," Bradley snorted, waving a hand before his face. "They'll think you fell into the barrel." "Damned refreshin'," Bob told them soberly. "You fellers oughta try it in hot weather. You wouldn't never wash in nothin' else." They backed out and went weaving across the street, arm in arm and stepping high. Apparently they were the drunkest punchers that ever spent money over a saloon bar, and their aloofness was all forgotten. They entered the Elkhorn singing raucously a sentimental ditty which must never see print, and Jack Rosen on the outside of the group stopped and attempted to embrace Palmer in almost tearful joy at seeing him. The others pulled him along to the bar and Tony swung round upon the crowd.