But mebby 'Awley, down the strite, can tyke care of you."
Bill was looking at him with an expression that said much and he slowly extended his arm and pointed to the untasted liquor.
"Allus finish what you start, English," he said slowly and clearly. "When a man goes to take a drink with me, and suddenly changes his mind, why I gets riled. I don't know what ails this town, an' I don't care; I don't give a cuss about yore grub an' your beds; but if you don't drink that liquor you poured out to drink, why I 'll natchurally shove it down yore British throat so cussed hard it 'll strain yore neck. Get to it!"
The proprietor glanced apprehensively from the glass to Bill, then on to the business-like guns and back to the glass, and the liquor disappeared at a gulp. "W'y," he explained, aggrieved. "There hain't no call for to get riled hup like that, strainger. I bloody well forgot it."
"Then don't you go an' 'bloody well' forget this: Th' next time I drops in here for grub an' a bed,
