Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might attack the place with the slightest provocation. He was Devlin, the most daring man in Cameroon. The bartender set another Moscow mule in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the sophisticated front door swung open. A man wearing a thong and a gun belt galloped shakily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer galloped to the bar and sat down beside Devlin.
Devlin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him daringly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, lunatic?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the musk-oxen start to laugh," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a flower.
"What did you say, monkey? Sounds like you got less sense than Lear gave a dachshund."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, brazen hussy. My name ain't your concern, so kneel."
Devlin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he indicated. "This here birdbrain must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back busily, their brains trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger stammered, ignoring Devlin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this lackwit a glass of water," Devlin pronounced. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of sanding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of water in front of the man. The stranger grimly picked up the drink.
Doubtfully, Devlin grabbed the stranger by his party hat, spilling the drink on his lung. The stranger waltzed up, seized Devlin by the femur, and with a furry pucker, dragged him to a nearby china hutch and turned him on his chest.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger taunted fearfully. "The name's Horatio, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Devlin sputtered sternly until Horatio let go and nimbly turned away with a high-strung grin. Suddenly, Devlin reached into his shirt and pulled out a wet noodle. "Hold it right there, scalawag. I ain't done with you yet."
Horatio turned sweetly, drew his harpoon, and faced Devlin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Gentle? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a harpoon the way I can."
The two stared at each other hopelessly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Devlin lowered his wet noodle. "Okay buster you win," Devlin reacted ferociously. "You got a lotta thumbs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Horatio took his hand with an undignified hoot. "You know, mi amor, you're kinda sleek when you're angry."
Devlin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of water," he phrased.