They're not much in style or fit," he continued, trying to get a moonlight view of himself in the mirror behind the bar, "but that don't matter here." He filled another glass of spirits, jauntily settled himself back in his chair, and added, "I don't suppose there are any girls around, anyway." "'Cept your wife; she was down here this afternoon," said Patterson meditatively.
Mr.Tucker paused with the pie in his hand.

"Ah, yes!" He essayed a reckless laugh, but that evident simulation failed before Patterson's melancholy.

With an assumption of falling in with his friend's manner, rather than from any personal anxiety, he continued, "Well ?" "That man Poindexter was down here with her.

Put her in the _hacienda_ to hold possession afore the news came out." "Impossible!" said Tucker, rising hastily.

"It don't belong--that is"-- he hesitated.
"Yer thinking the creditors'll get it, mebbe," returned Patterson, gazing at the floor.