“Wh-where’s the sheriff?” he whispers.
“Over by the piano. I sat on him until he got sentimental.”
“Where’s Peaceful?”
“My gosh! Think I’m night-herding everybody?”
“I ain’t thinking, Emily. Somebody hit my thinker so hard—say, woman,
you better get out of sight. You’re a walking scandal!”
I looks at myself and raises the ante. I’ve lost my skirt. Just then a
card-table seems to get up and walk. It walks into a corner of the bar
and out from under it comes Peaceful. He appears to have been hit
several times. In fact, I’d say that he had been hit all of the time.
He steadies himself against the bar and stares at us—mostly at me. He
shakes his head and looks around, but his eyes turn back to me. After
while he nods solemn-like and says:
“Dead and in ——! I knowed I had it coming to me.”