All
his life he had fought furiously to uphold the empty shell of his
dignity in the eyes of his comrades, yet always morbidly conscious of
the difference in his body. Whisky had been his solace, his
sweetheart. It changed him, raised and beatified him into the
likeness of other men, and now, as he pondered, he was aware of a
consuming thirst engendered by the heat of his earlier emotions.
Undoubtedly it must be quenched.
He rose and stole quietly out into the big front room. Perhaps the
years of free life in the open had bred a suspicion of walls, perhaps
he felt his conduct would not brook discovery, perhaps habit,
prompted him to take the two heavy Colts from their holsters and
thrust them inside his trousers band.
He slipped across the room, silent and cavern-like, its blackness
broken by the window squares of starry sky, till he felt the paucity
of glassware behind the bar.
"Here's to Her," It burned delightfully.
"Here's to the groom." It tingled more alluringly.
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