“I can’t help that. I knew nothing of his reputation as a fighter till the trouble was over, and then they told me he was the champion bad man of the river.”
“What have you to say about this, sir?” demanded Forest, turning on the foreman.
“I was drunk, that’s all—Pombere was drunk. We couldn’t see ter fight. Sometime, when I’m sober——”
“What?”
“I’ll settle with this smart young chap.”
“If you do try that while you are on the drive I’ll discharge you without notice. Mr. Merriwell is my friend and my guest. He is going down the river on the drift, and, as long as you remain with the crew, you will use him with the utmost courtesy. I want you to understand that. I shall be with the crew, and I’ll see all that goes on.”
The foreman was furious, but he was obliged to suppress his rage.
“We start to join the drive immediately after breakfast,” Forest went on. “I shall expect to find you and Pombere on duty when I get there. You may go.”
Giving Merriwell a savage look, Sullivan turned and walked round the hotel, disappearing from view.
Fred Forest surveyed Frank Merriwell from head to feet.