He required only five. Bad-eye Connelly,
who was suspected of having cut Mr. McNeil's lariat while that
gentleman tarried at the Occidental for some slight refreshments while
on his way home, was very promptly rendered a fit hospital subject by
an inquisitive cowman who happened upon the scene.
On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings the Miners' Retreat was a
scene of wild hilarity, for it was then that Mr. Moffat, gorgeously
arrayed in all the bright hues of his imported Mexican outfit, his long
silky mustaches properly curled, his melancholy eyes vast wells of
mysterious sorrow, was known to be comfortably seated in the Herndon
parlor, relating gruesome tales of wild mountain adventure which paled
the cheeks of his fair and entranced listener. Then on Tuesday,
Thursday, and Saturday nights, when Mr. McNeil rode gallantly in on his
yellow bronco, bedecked in all the picturesque paraphernalia of the
boundless plains, revolver swinging at thigh, his wide sombrero
shadowing his dare-devil eyes, the front of the gay Occidental blazed
with lights, and became crowded to the doors with enthusiastic herders
drinking deep to the success of their representative.
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