“Let’s go over and dance, Harp,” he panted. “It’s too danged hot in here. I’m goin’ to git a string, if I can find one, and tie this imported necktie to the top button of my pants. Dang anybody that would sell a tie like this. Yuh got to be a civil engineer to even tie it. C’mon.” “Won’t she stay down, Banty?” queried Harp. “Stay ——! Every time I start talkin’ and kinda wigglin’ my throat, the darned thing comes up and bumps my lower lip.” Hank Stagg came past them and went to the bar. He was already half-drunk and talking loud. Ike Welden joined him at the bar, but Welden was still sober. Santel came in and walked past them, his eyes sweeping the smoke-filled room. Hank called to him, asking him to have a drink, but Santel either did not hear him or did not want to drink with him. “There’ll be —— to pay before mornin’,” declared Banty. “Yuh can’t put a gang like that together, along with plenty of hooch, and not have trouble. Whisky and six-guns don’t mix. —— this necktie!” “Why don’tcha pin it down to yore shirt?” “Yeah—and have it pull my shirt off, eh? Harp, you ain’t got no idea of the —— in this necktie. What I need is a collar with a pistol-grip finish instead of this ——ed slick thing.” “Cowboys goin’ to a dance, eh?” Slim Hunter stopped to look them over. “Introducin’ to you,” said Harp seriously, “the effect of tobacco and alcohol on the intestines.” “Jist when do I laugh?” asked Slim. “Next time yuh go to the bar.” “Uh-huh,” Slim grinned and went on. He had no idea what Harp meant. “What’ll make him laugh when he goes to the bar?” queried Banty. “He’ll be facin’ the bar,” said Harp wearily, “and the back-bar mirror ought to show him what I meant.” “Haw, haw, haw! Aw, —— this tie! Can’t even laugh. C’mon and help me find a guy-rope. By golly, I won’t stand for my own clothes slappin’ me in the mouth.” They crossed the street and procured a length of string at a general store, with which they secured the tie to a suspender button, much to Banty’s delight. Then they went upstairs into the dance hall, where the floor was rapidly filling for the first quadrille. It was possibly an hour later when Brick and Silent dismounted at the hitch-rack across the street from the Short Horn saloon. Whizzer had slept nearly all the way, but he was awake now and Silent turned him over to Brick. The music had just stopped in the dance hall, and a number of men were straggling across the street toward the Short Horn, laughing and talking. Brick heard Harp’s voice, arguing with somebody over the proper way to hold down a necktie. “C’mon,” said Brick softly. He hoisted little Whizzer up on his shoulder and walked boldly into the saloon. The place was filled with men, hazy with tobacco smoke. Brick shoved his way to the bar and stood Whizzer on its polished top.