The minute he lost a fight he wasn't
worth so many pounds of salt pork. Take a hoss; a fine hoss is often
jest the same. Long as it wins nothin' can touch some of them blooded
boys. But let 'em go under the wire second, maybe jest because they's
packing twenty pounds too much weight, and they're never any good any
more. Any second-rater can lick 'em. I lost five hundred iron boys on a
hoss that laid down like that."
"All of which means," suggested Nash, "that Sandy has been licked?"
"Licked? No, he ain't been licked, but he's been plumb annihilated,
washed off the map, cleaned out, faded, rubbed into the dirt; if there
was some stronger way of puttin' it, I would. Only last night, at that,
but now look at him. A girl that never seen a man before could tell that
he wasn't any more dangerous now than if he was made of putty; but if
the fool keeps packin' them guns he's sure to get into trouble."
He raised his glass.
"So here's to the man that Sandy was and ain't no more."
They drank solemnly.
"Maybe you took the fall out of him yourself, Flanders?"
"Nope.
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