H. Bedford-Jones

“ Clinging to the bar with his left hand, Murphy looked down at his right, which was wounded.
"You got quite a reputation for workin' that play," said Robinson, backing away toward the swinging doors. "You're lucky I didn't make it worse, Brady, but bein's I'm a stranger here I ain't taking chances on local prejudices——"
The swinging doors were burst inward as a group of men rushed into the place, holding the doors open. Robinson calmly stood behind the inner door, which had opened against him and held him concealed from sight.
"Who's shootin' here?" demanded the foremost man. ”

“ Mike gave Murphy a glance of scorn.
"You sure bungled it!" he said raspingly.
Murphy swore appropriately. "Bungled it!" he repeated. "I was a cussed fool ever to try it on with that gent, I can tell you! Next time it'll be a Winchester and a hilltop!"
A sneer curled the bartender's lip. "Foine sort of a killer, you are!" he returned. "Oh, ye needn't to be scowlin' at me; I ain't bein' scart o' no man, and I got me fist on a gun to boot, Mister Murphy! Niver mind the scowl now. Have a drink an' forget it."
The doors were flung open again, and Buck strode into the place. ”

“ It does beat all how things happen, don't it? Here I come in, plumb peaceable and lovin' my neighbors, and, first thing I know, a ruckus gets started. Now, you gents look at Mr. Murphy, over yonder, who done got his hand ripped a little. Ain't even busted, is she?"
Murphy was not hurt to any great extent, and proved it by his voluble cursing.
"Ease off steam; that's right," said Robinson soothingly. "Satisfied, sheriff?"
"Plenty," said the officer.
Robinson put away his weapon. "Glad to meet you, Sheriff Tracy. Mike, give the gentlemen a drink and charge it to Mr. Murphy. ”