Rowdy of the "Cross L"
"Thanks, boys—not any for me," he said, and apologized to Miss Conroy with his eyes.
The man rose and confronted him unsteadily. "Dat's a hell off a way! You too proud for drink weeth us? You drink, now! By Gar, I make you drink!"
Rowdy's eyelids drooped, which was a bad sign for those who knew him. "You're forgetting there's a lady present," he reminded warningly.
The man turned a brief, contemptuous glance toward the stove. "You got the damn' queer way to talk. I don't call no squaw no lady. You drink queeck, now!"
"Aw, shut up, Frenchy," the man at his elbow abjured him. "He don't have to drink if he don't want to."
"You keep the face close," the other retorted majestically; and cursed loud and long and incoherently.
Rowdy drew back his arm, with a fist that meant trouble for somebody; but there were others before him who pinned the importunate host to the table, where he squirmed unavailingly.
Rowdy buttoned up his coat the while he eyed the group disgustedly. "I guess we'll drift," he
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