THERE was more than a fair sprinkling of customers in the Happy Heart Saloon. Tom Dowling of the 88, Racey Dawson of the Cross-in-a-box, and Telescope Laguerre of the Bar S were draped against the bar earnestly engaged in lowering the tide in a bottle of Old Crow. Four of the Hogpen outfit and a skinny gentleman hailing from the Double Diamond A were absorbed in draw at the table in the far corner. At the other table, near the door, sat Johnny Ramsay of the Cross-in-a-box. He was a tall, lean young man, with a cool, sardonic gray eye and a sunburned face.Taking infinite pains, he built himself a cigarette. But instead of lighting the slim, white roll, he crushed it between his brown fingers, blew away the clinging grains of tobacco, and clasped his hands behind his head. He glanced at his three friends braced at the bar and yawned. He gazed at the card players, and his yawn became wider. He tilted back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.Then, because he was bored, he brought the front legs of the chai --This text refers to the Kindle Edition edition.