"Give my horses a feed," he went on. "There's oats in this bag. I'll no be moved mysel'. Maybe you'll fetch me a tin of tea; I've got my own provisions." So he ate and drank in the zero weather.
"You'll took lil' drink of whiskey," said Peter, with commiseration, as Davie was starting away.
"I don't use it."
"You'll got for need some 'fore you'll see de Widow Green place. Dass twenty-tree mile."
"I will need it, then," said Davie, and was away.
Evening had closed in when the bunch of teamsters awaiting supper at Widow Green's rude inn heard sleigh-bells, and soon a shout outside:
"Come out, some one!"
That was an insolence in the teamsters' code. Come out, indeed! The Widow Green, bustling about with fried pork, felt outraged. To be called out!—of her own house!—like a dog!—not she!
"Come out here, somebody!" Davie shouted again.
"G' out and break his head one of you," said fighting Moses Frost. "To be shoutin' like a lord!" Moses was too great a personage to go out and wreak vengeance on an unknown.