Do you know who that feller you larruped was?"
"No, sir, I didn't stop to inquire his name."
"He was Johnnie Mackey, mayor of this town, and owner of the biggest gamblin' house and dance-house-saloon here."
Texas received the information with unmoved countenance. He sat staring out into the street, his legs stretched comfortably in his new boots, as if what he had heard was the lightest of incidental gossip. Uncle Boley watched him covertly, turning his sly old eyes. He liked the way Texas took it; that was a mighty good sign of a man.
"Well, sir, I reckon I had better buy me a gun," Texas said at last, very softly.
Uncle Boley nodded, and smoked on. It was past sunset, and with the cool of the day a freshness had come that invigorated man and beast, and stiffened the drooping leaves of plantain and burdock like a shower.
People were beginning to stir about in numbers surprising compared to the somnolence that had prevailed over Cottonwood when Texas arrived. Some went by with a look of drowsiness about them, as if they had just roused from sleep and were out foraging supper, and these Texas knew by their marks for gamblers and game-tenders, saloon employees and the dusty butterflies wihch flitted under the dance-hall lamps.
