"Can't help that. Shouldn't have come at all. I can take a drink with others, on the square or in the mess. But I'm not going to stock it myself. I've got too many people ready to take a crack at me and I won't run any chances."
"But Hec', it's a crime to waste—"
"No!" said Hector, real determination in the negative.
Welland drew back, defeated, shrugged his shoulders, and looked at the trader with a sneer.
"Hell!" he exclaimed audibly. "'Course he wants it for himself. That goody-goody stuff is bluff. That's the way with these zealots—no liquor, no! But that just applies to you—not me!"
The tone surprised Hector. He had not expected this thrust from Welland.
"Will you come over and see me get rid of that whiskey?" he flashed.
But Welland only laughed derisively.
"Well, Randall will be witness enough," Hector declared. "Think what you please, and be damned!"
With that, he clanked fiercely out of the store.