There were few lights yet burning in Snowville when Bert again rode down its broad main street, but from within the saloons came sounds of drunken hilarity. Leaving the bridle reins dragging, Bert strode up to the door of the Mint Saloon, and after a moment of hesitation, stepped inside. Perhaps a dozen men were in the saloon. Bert gave them a swift, appraising glance, and then strode toward the bar, where Slant Wickison stood wiping glasses.
Wickison licked his suddenly dry lips, and the hand holding the towel dropped below the level of the bar. At the same time he jerked his head toward the rear of the room where Bummer Kelly was at the moment dealing a hand of poker.
“Never mind reachin’ for a g*n,” Bert said coolly. “Is Babe Colatta around here?”
A look of relief crossed the bartend
