Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might comprehend the place with the slightest provocation. He was Randall, the most crazy man in Denver. The bartender set another beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the small front door swung open. A man wearing a coonskin hat and a denim skirt cantered later into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer dove to the bar and sat down beside Randall.
Randall turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him glumly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, lunatic?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the crows start to do nothing," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toolbox.
"What did you say, ninny? Sounds like you got less sense than Hoss gave a worm."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bandicoot. My name ain't your concern, so think."
Randall stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he mentioned. "This here lob-dotterel must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back queerly, their spinal cords trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger reasoned, ignoring Randall's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dope a sassafras tea," Randall exclaimed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of selecting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the sassafras tea in front of the man. The stranger briskly picked up the drink.
Stupidly, Randall grabbed the stranger by his feather boa, spilling the drink on his kneecap. The stranger trotted up, seized Randall by the hand, and with a nervous pout, dragged him to a nearby cupboard and turned him on his wig.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger pronounced crankily. "The name's Corbin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Randall sputtered warmly until Corbin let go and urgently turned away with a dignified shiver. Suddenly, Randall reached into his party hat and pulled out a syringe. "Hold it right there, maniac. I ain't done with you yet."
Corbin turned roughly, drew his lariat, and faced Randall. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. High-strung? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a lariat the way I can."
The two stared at each other defiantly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Randall lowered his syringe. "Okay buster you win," Randall rambled kindly. "You got a lotta veins for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Corbin took his hand with a playful fist bump. "You know, stinkums, you're kinda silly when you're angry."
Randall chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another sassafras tea," he fumed.