"Roarin' Bill's goin' to get himself killed one uh these days."
Hazel started, but it was only Jim Briggs in the doorway beside her.
"I guess you ain't much used to seein' that sort of exhibition where
you come from, Miss Weir," Briggs' wife put in over his shoulder. "My
land, it's disgustin'--men fightin' in the street where everybody can
see 'em. Thank goodness, it don't happen very often. 'Specially when
Bill Wagstaff ain't around. You ain't shocked, are you, honey?"
"Why, I didn't have time to be shocked," Hazel laughed. "It was done
so quickly."
"If them fellers would leave Bill alone," Briggs remarked, "there
wouldn't be no fight. But he goes off like a hair-trigger gun, and
he'd scrap a dozen quick as one. I'm lookin' to see his finish one uh
these days."
"What a name!" Hazel observed, caught by the appellation Briggs had
first used. "Is that Roaring Bill over there?"
"That's him--Roarin' Bill Wagstaff," Briggs answered. "If he takes a
few drinks, you'll find out to-night how he got the name. Sings--just
like a bull moose--hear him all over town. Probably whip two or three
men before mornin'."
His spouse calling him at that moment, Briggs detailed no more
information about Roaring Bill.
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