"Ah--hotel." Bud's gaze wandered over the simple structure. It settled for a moment upon a certain display of debris, bottles, cases, kegs, lying tumbled at an angle of the building. Then it came back to Ju's hard face, and, in passing, it swept over the weather-boarding of the structure which was plastered thick with paint to rescue it from the ravages of drip from the shingle roof to which there was no guttering. "Then I guess we'll get a drink." By a curious movement Ju seemed to fall back from his position and become swallowed up by the cavity behind him. And Bud and his companion moved forward in his wake. The place was entirely empty of all but the reek of stale tobacco, and the curious, pungent odor of alcohol. The two customers lounged against the shabby bar in that attitude which bespoke saddle weariness. Ju stood ready to carry out their orders, his busy, enquiring mind searching for an indication of the strangers' identity. "Rye?" he suggested amiably, testing, in his own fashion, their quality. But these men displayed no enthusiasm. "Got any lager?" demanded Bud. "A long lager, right off the ice." "Ice?" There was every sort of emotion in the echo of the word as the saloon-keeper glanced vengefully across at a window through which the sun was pouring. "Guess we don't grow ice around these parts, 'cep' when we don't need it, an' I don't guess the railroad's discovered they hatched Orrville out yet. We got lager in soak, an' lager by the keg, down in a cool celler. Ef these things ain't to your notion I don't guess you need the lager I kep." "We'll have the bottled stuff in soak. Long." "Ther's jest one size. Ef that don't suit, guess you best duplicate." There was no offense in Ju's manner. It was just his cold way of placing facts before his customers, when they were strangers. He uncorked the bottles and set them beside the long glasses, and waited while Bud poured his out. Then he accepted the price and made change. Jeff silently poured out his and raised it to his lips. "How, Bud." "How." The two men drank and set down their half-emptied glasses. The sharp ears of the saloon-keeper had caught the name "Bud," and he now stood racking his fertile brains to place it. But the stranger's identity entirely escaped him. "Been times around here, ain't ther'?" Bud remarked casually. And Ju promptly seized the opportunity. "Times? Sure. Say, I guess you don't belong around. Jest passin' thro'?" Bud nodded. Jeff had moved off toward the window, where he stood gazing out. The saloon-keeper's gaze followed him. "Why, yes. We're passin' through," returned Bud, without hesitation. "You see, we belong down south in the 'T.T.' an' 'O----' country." "That so?" Ju reached a box of cigars and thrust them at the new customer. "Smoke?" he enquired. His generosity was by no means uncalculated.