It wasn't any pretty thing to see.

The tenderfoot, he turned to the bar again.
"'If you don't mind,' he says, 'I think I'll switch my order and take that whisky instead.

I seem to need it.' "'Son!' says I, 'there ain't nothin' in the house you can't have for the askin'.

Try some of this!' "And I pulled out a bottle of my private stock--you know the stuff; I've had it twenty-five years, and it was ten years old when I got it.

That ain't as much of a lie as it sounds.
"He takes a glass of it and sips it, sort of suspicious, like a wolf scentin' the wind for an elk in winter.