Suddenly, the tranquility of the cool barroom was broken by a wizened old man who ambled through the doorway wearing long, flowing robes. He sported a majestic white beard and his eyes twinkled like twin glazed hams.
"Mogey!" Smush whispered urgently. "Tis a wizard!"
"Aye," Mogey agreed as the wizard took a seat at the bar, "let's ask him for stuff."
"Excuse me, Mr. Wizard?" Smush said.
"Yes?" the wizard replied.
"My friend and I were wondering - are you able to conjure things out of thin air?"
"Afraid not," said the wizard. "I can only replicate objects already in my possession."
"But that's perfect!" Mogey interjected, pulling a leather pouch out of his pocket. "We have four gold pieces here - our entire life savings. If you could replicate those a few thousand times we'd be glad to split the profits with you."
"Indeed?" the wizard said, raising his eyebrows as he accepted the moneybag.
Just then, a crowd of doctors rushed into the saloon and seized the wizard by the shirtsleeves.
"Mr. Periwinkle!" one of the doctors cried. "Thank God you're all right. We were worried sick about you. How did you get out of your room, anyway?"
Without a word to Mogey and Smush, the Doctors bustled the old man - who still had their moneybag - out of the establishment.
"He wasn't a wizard, was he, Smush?" Mogey asked when they had gone.
"Nope," Smush replied, wincing as he took a long draft of sarsaparilla.
"That's the third time this month!" Mogey grumbled. "Who knew the wild west had so few wizards... and so many devious retirement home residents!"
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