"'I?' says the tenderfoot. 'Why, no. What makes you ask?'
"'Your damned funny way of talkin',' says Sandy.
"'Oh,' says the greenhorn, nodding as if he was thinkin' this over and
discovering a little truth in it. 'I suppose the way I talk is a little
unusual.'
"'A little rotten,' says Sandy. 'Did I hear you askin' for a lemonade?'
"'You did.'
"'Would I seem to be askin' too many questions,' says Sandy, terrible
polite, 'if I inquires if bar whisky ain't good enough for you?'
"The tenderfoot, he stands there jest as easy as you an' me stand here
now, and he laughed.
"He says: 'The bar whisky I've tasted around this country is not very
good for any one, unless, perhaps, after a snake has bitten you. Then it
works on the principle of poison fight poison, eh?'
"Sandy says after a minute: 'I'm the most quietest, gentle, innercent
cowpuncher that ever rode the range, but I'd tell a man that it riles me
to hear good bar whisky insulted like this. Look at me! Do I look as if
whisky ain't good for a man?'
"'Why,' says the tenderfoot, 'you look sort of funny to me.
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