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.' "He said it as easy as if he was passin' the morning with Ferguson, but I seen that it was the last straw with Sandy.

He hefted out both guns and trained 'em on the greenhorn.
"I yelled: 'Sandy, for God's sake, don't be killin' a tenderfoot!' "'If whisky will kill him he's goin' to die,' says Sandy.

'Flanders, pour out a drink of rye for this gent.' "I did it, though my hand was shaking a lot, and the chap takes the glass and raises it polite, and looks at the colour of it.

I thought he was goin' to drink, and starts wipin' the sweat off'n my forehead.
"But this chap, he sets down the glass and smiles over to Sandy.
"'Listen,' he says, still grinnin', 'in the old days I suppose this would have been a pretty bluff, but it won't work with me now.