"Here's my man at last!" she cried and quit her rough-shod partner cold.
"Not me," said Childress, trying to back out.
But he was not quick enough. The woman insisted that he dance with her, insisted even to the point of laying violent hands upon him. The group at the bar saw the attack and applauded.
"Better give in afore you offend the lady," advised one of his newly made acquaintances—the one with the pegleg. "Delores Doleroso drives a wicked knife and gen'ally gits what she thinks she wants."
"Come on, you big, beautiful horse thief," urged Delores. "I just love to waltz with a man what's wanted dead-or-alive." She turned to the two-piece "orchestra." "Start that number over!" she commanded.
None of them paid any particular attention to the Swede logger who had been ditched in the midst of a dance for which he already had paid. The mackinaw-clad giant stood mid-floor, rocking his huge frame backward and forward on the calks that studded the soles of his boots. The while he clawed at a blond-bushed chin, his sky-blue eyes shooting dangerous fires.
Although not in the least interested in the dark-eyed dance hall girl who had drafted him as partner, Childress could not be rough with a woman. Since she would not be shaken off gently, there seemed nothing to do but to dance with her. A skillful "stepper," despite infrequent indulgence, he swung her out upon the floor from which all but the deserted logger had retired.
From the Swede came a snarl. "You tank you can steal my girl—Sven Larsen's girl!" was his shout in bellicose basso. "I finish you now—once for sure."
On top of the threat came swift advance which left Childress no doubt that he was in for a fight.