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.
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