Jimmy laughed at the obvious lie. "Well, a gal's a gal out here," he replied. "Twenty for a pair," he remarked. He wondered, as he pegged, if it was necessary to take along an escort when one went courting on the Tortilla. The idea of Brazo and Longhorn tolerating any rival or any company when courting struck him as ludicrous. "An' which is goin' to win out, do you reckon?"
"Longhorn—he 's bad; an' a better gun-man. Twenty-three for six. Got th' other tray?" anxiously grinned the Boss.
"Nothin' but an eight—that's two for th' go. My crib?"
The Boss nodded. "Ugly as blazes," he mused. "I would n't court her, not even in th' dark—huh! Fifteen two an' a pair. That's bad goin', very bad goin'," he sighed as he pegged.
"But you can't tell nothin' 'bout wimmen from their looks," remarked Jimmy, with the grave assurance of a man whose experience in that line covered years instead of weeks. "Now
