take--the old
thing?"

The "old thing" meant his customary drink, of course.

The best known names in the Territory of Nevada were those belonging to
these long-tailed heroes of the revolver. Orators, Governors,
capitalists and leaders of the legislature enjoyed a degree of fame, but
it seemed local and meagre when contrasted with the fame of such men as
Sam Brown, Jack Williams, Billy Mulligan, Farmer Pease, Sugarfoot Mike,
Pock Marked Jake, El Dorado Johnny, Jack McNabb, Joe McGee, Jack Harris,
Six-fingered Pete, etc., etc. There was a long list of them. They were
brave, reckless men, and traveled with their lives in their hands. To
give them their due, they did their killing principally among themselves,
and seldom molested peaceable citizens, for they considered it small
credit to add to their trophies so cheap a bauble as the death of a man
who was "not on the shoot," as they phrased it. They killed each other
on slight provocation, and hoped and expected to be killed themselves
--for they held it almost shame to die otherwise than "with their boots
on," as they expressed it.

I remember an instance of a desperado's contempt for such small game as a
private citizen's life. I was taking a late supper in a restaurant one
night, with two reporters and a little printer named--Brown, for
instance--any name will do. Presently a stranger with a long-tailed coat
on came in, and not noticing Brown's hat, which was lying in a chair, sat
down on it. Little Brown sprang up and became abusive in a moment. The
stranger smiled, smoothed out the hat, and offered it to Brown with
profuse apologies couched in caustic sarcasm, and begged Brown not to
destroy him. Brown threw off his coat and challenged the man to fight
--abused him, threatened him, impeached his courage, and urged and even
implored him to fight; and in the meantime the smiling stranger placed
himself under our protection in mock distress. But presently he assumed
a serious tone, and said:

"Very well, gentlemen, if we must fight, we must, I suppose. But don't
rush into danger and then say I gave you no warning. I am more than a
match for all of you when I get started. I will give you proofs, and
then if my friend here still insists, I will try to accommodate him."

The table we were sitting at was about five feet long, and unusually
cumbersome and heavy. He asked us to put our hands on the dishes and
hold them in their places a moment--one of the