“In coming back to the United States me and Andy stubbed our toes against a little town in Texas on the bank of the Rio Grande.  The name of it was Bird City; but it wasn’t.  The town had about 2,000 inhabitants, mostly men.  I figured out that their principal means of existence was in living close to tall chaparral.  Some of ’em were stockmen and some gamblers and some horse peculators and plenty were in the smuggling line.  Me and Andy put up at a hotel that was built like something between a roof-garden and a sectional bookcase.  It began to rain the day we got there.  As the saying is, Juniper Aquarius was sure turning on the water plugs on Mount Amphibious.

“Now, there were three saloons in Bird City, though neither Andy nor me drank.  But we could see the townspeople making a triangular procession from one to another all day and half the night.  Everybody seemed to know what to do with as much money as they had.

“The third day of the rain it slacked up awhile in the afternoon, so me and Andy walked out to the edge of town to view the mudscape.  Bird City was built between the Rio Grande and a deep wide arroyo that used to be the old bed of the river.  The bank between the stream and its old bed was cracking and giving away, when we saw it, on account of the high water caused by the rain.  Andy looks at it a long time.  That man’s intellects was never idle.  And then he unfolds to me a instantaneous idea that has occurred to him.  Right there was organized a trust; and we walked back into town and put it on the market.

“First we went to the main saloon in Bird City, called the Blue Snake, and bought it.  It cost us $1,200.  And then we dropped in, casual, at Mexican Joe’s place, referred to the rain, and bought him out for $500.  The other one came easy at $400.

“The next morning Bird City woke up and found itself an island.  The river had busted through its old channel, and the town was surrounded by roaring torrents.  The rain was still raining, and there was heavy clouds in the northwest that presaged about six more mean annual rainfalls during the next two weeks.  But the worst was yet to come.

“Bird City hopped out of its nest, waggled its pin feathers and strolled out for its matutinal toot.  Lo!  Mexican Joe’s place was closed and likewise the other little ’dobe life saving station.  So, naturally the body politic emits thirsty ejaculations of surprise and ports hellum for the Blue Snake.  And what does it find there?

“Behind one end of the bar sits Jefferson Peters, octopus, with a sixshooter on each side of him, ready to make change or corpses as the case may be.  There are three bartenders; and on the wall is a ten foot sign reading:  ‘All Drinks One Dollar.’  Andy sits on the safe in his neat blue suit and gold-banded cigar, on the lookout for emergencies.  The town marshal is there with two deputies to keep order, having been promised free drinks by the trust.