Forsaking my dignity I reached past my gunbelt and adjusted my junk. Too many trips to the punch bowl last night had left me hungover and hurting.
But I had a job to do.
I looked to Larry who adjusted his Stetson.
“Is this the place?”
He nodded and turned the handle. We burst in, pulling our tools from our holsters.
A circle of stunned men stared at us.
“Uh,” said one, “I’m pretty sure we ordered the cowgirls. And you’re certainly not putting that thing in me.