At the entrance of Gabe and the two lads, several of the men glanced at them.
"Hi! Here's some strangers that haven't had a drink with me!" exclaimed a man, much the worse for liquor. "Step right up, strangers, and name your poison! Set 'em up, Bill. Give my unknown friends the best in the house."
"Don't have anything to do with him," advised Gabe in a low voice.
The man, however, walked up to Jed, and, placing his hand familiarly on the lad's shoulder said:
"Come on up, youngster, and have a drink with old Ned Haverhill! I like your looks! Name your poison!"
"Thank you," said Jed, quietly, "but I don't drink."
There was a moment of silence. The boy's remark seemed to be a novelty in that place.
"What's that?" cried Haverhill, as if he had not heard aright.
"I don't drink, thank you," said Jed again.
"Not drink! What! Not when Ned Haverhill asks you! Why, dynamite and copper-heads! You've got to drink! What! Why, what do you think of that?" and he turned to the men lined up in front of the bar.