A group of three ranch hands leaned against the centre of the bar.
Their glasses were empty and none of them seemed anxious to command
their refilling. They were talking earnestly. And their voices were
unusually modulated. Just beyond these a slight, good-looking man in
chapps, with a face of particularly refined but somewhat debauched
appearance, was obviously interested in their talk, although he took no
part in it. On the other side of them, away at the far end of the bar,
leaned a solitary, tough-looking drinker, who seemed to take no
interest whatever in his surroundings. Every man in the place, the
dozen or so occupying the card tables included, was fully armed in the
customary fashion prevailing in this distant corner of the ranching
world, and it would have needed no second thought to realize that these
heavy, loaded weapons were not by any means intended for decorative
purposes.
"Wal, anyways they're a long time fixin' things," observed one of the
three at the centre of the bar, with a yawn that displayed a double row
of gleaming white teeth.
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