"It's the women make half the trouble in the world," mused young Riley
Tyler, who had received the mitten from his girl of the period, the
restaurant waitress, and was a misogynist in consequence.
"You're wrong," said Shotgun Shillman. "They make all of it."
"All?"
"All. And not only that--they make all the good, too. Yep, Riley, you
can put down a bet there ain't a thing happens to a feller--good, bad
or indifferent--that you won't find a woman at the bottom of it. A
good man goes to hell or heaven--it depends on the woman."
"That's right, dead right," corroborated young Riley.
"Those fatal blondes!" grinned Shotgun; for the waitress was decidedly
of that type.
"They're all deceivers," muttered Riley Tyler, reddening to his ear
tips.
"Ain't it the truth!" said Shotgun Shillman. "They can lie to you with
a straighter face than a government mule. Like that jail lady in the
Bible who put the kybosh on a feller named Scissors by nailing his head
to the kitchen floor with a railroad spike. Yeah, her. Hugging him
she was ten minutes before using the hammer. Oh, that's their best
bet; kiss you with one hand and cut your throat with the other."
"That's news," said Riley Tyler. "Where I come from the gent kisses
with his mouth, and if he has to cut your throat he uses the butcher
knife."
"Did that hasher do all those things?" Shotgun asked instantly.
Riley made believe not to hear. Shotgun chuckled.
"Billy's coming back," observed the latter, gazing through the window.
"Where did he go?"
"Walton's, he said."
"I thought he liked Hazel Walton."
"He likes 'em all." Thus Riley, thinking of the scornful waitress who
did not like him. "'Lo, Bill, remember to wipe your feet on the mat.
Li'l paddies all cold?"
"She's a-thawing," replied Billy Wingo, kicking the snow from his
boots. "But I need a large, long, hot drink alla same. Where is that
bottle?"
When the bottle and the three glasses had been returned to their
appointed place between the horse liniment and the spare handcuffs,
Riley moved listlessly to the front window and drummed on the pane.
"Oh, the devil," Riley groaned. "Here's work for li'l boys. As if
there wasn't enough to do in summer."
"Good thing to-day's a chinook," remarked Shillman, without interest.
Billy joined Riley at the window. "Looks like Simon Reelfoot. It's
Simon's horse, anyway. It is Simon. I can see his long nose."