“Then you will not get it here, my lads, so go back to the place from whence you came,” said Mr Raydon, firmly. “Bread and meat, and butter or milk, you can have; nothing more.”
“But we want a drink,” said another man. “Here, we don’t want you to give it us. Look here,” he cried, taking some gold from, his pocket. “Now then, I’ll give you all this for a bottle of whiskey.”
“Ay, and I’ll give you this for another bottle,” cried a third man.
“Keep your stuff in your pockets, lads,” cried the first speaker, and I felt a kind of thrill run through me now, for I had recognised in him the big, fierce fellow who had wrestled with Gunson on board the boat, and threatened mischief next time they met. “Keep your stuff in your pockets; the old ’un is going to give us a bottle or two of the liquor he swaps with the Injuns for the bear-skins. Now then, old boy.”
“I am going to give you nothing, neither food nor drink,” said Mr Raydon, firmly. “You have only come down from the camp yonder this evening.”
“Well, who said we hadn’t? That’s right enough. We’ve got claims up there, and we’ve come to treat you all and have a drink with you.”
“I have told you that you will get no drink here.”
“Get out!” said the big fellow, whose voice I had first heard. “You don’t mean that. Come, get out the bottles. Come along, lads; we arn’t going to be served like this.”
“No,” came angrily in chorus; and the men pressed forward, but Mr Raydon and his party stood their ground.
“We’re going to take it, arn’t we, if he don’t fetch it out—eh, lads?”