Parker Lowe borrowed one of Mose Doolittle's mules Monday evening, and rode from Temecula to Jake Levison's saloon at Maravilla. It was understood when he left the thresher's camp that he would probably "make a night of it," and Mose gave him a word of friendly warning and advice.
"You want to remember, Park, that the old man is down on the flowing bowl; an' from what I've heard of the family I think it'll pay you to keep yourself solid with the old man."
"I'm a-goin' up to the drug-store to get some liniment for Dave Montgomery's lame shoulder," returned Parker, with a knowing wink at his companion, as he flung himself into the saddle; "but I hain't signed no pledge yet--not by a jugful," he called back, as the mule jolted lazily down the road.
It was a warm night, and half a dozen loafers were seated on empty beer-kegs in front of Levison's door when Parker rode up. Levison got up, and began to disengage himself from the blacksmith's story as he saw the newcomer dismount; but the blacksmith raised his voice insistently.
"'There don't no dude tell me how to pare a hoof,' says I; 'I'll do it my way, or I don't do it;' an' I done it, an' him kickin' like a steer all the time"--
"He came down for Doc Patterson. That teetotal wreck on the west side o' the lake took a hem'ridge--I furget his name, somethin'-weather: pretty dry weather, judgin' from what I hear."
"Yes, Starkweather; I guess he's pretty low."
Parker started back to the post where his mule was tied. Then he turned and looked into the saloon. Levison had gone in and was wiping off the counter expectantly.
"It won't take but a minute," he apologized to himself.
It took a good many minutes, however, and by the time the minutes lengthened into hours Parker had ceased to apologize to himself, and insisted upon taking the by-standers into his confidence.
"I'm--I'm goin' to sign the pledge," he said, with an unsteady wink, "an' then I'm goin' to get merried,--yes, sir, boys; rattlin' nice girl, too,--'way up girl, temperance girl. But there's many a cup 'twixt the slip and the lip--ain't there, boys? Yes, sir, 'twixt the cup and the slip--yes, sir--yes, sir--ee." Then his reflections driveled off into stupor, and he sat on an empty keg with the conical crown of his old felt hat pointed forward, and his hands hanging limply between his knees.