Then it was Mike’s turn to treat, and he, too, gave Morris the alternative of drinking or dying. The poor shoemaker drank, but protested:
“I’m afrait I’ll die if I don’t, und I’m afrait I’ll die if I do—so here she goes!”
Then he clapped his hands to his breast, saying:
“Oh, I know I vill die. Und I’m not insured. Vot vill Loney do?”
“The drinks are on me, gentlemen,” said Snakes, who knew how to make himself popular by a great display of generosity.
Morris tried to beg off this time, but to no avail. In their idea of having fun with a tenderfoot they had no mercy, and the same cold arguments were placed at his head, while Red Eagle looked at the man who had to be forced to drink.
The unaccustomed liquor began to overcome the poor shoemaker, taken, as it had been, upon a very empty stomach. He grew reckless and, drawing two of his pistols, said, somewhat unsteadily:
“Dot’s not so bad, after all. Maype you fellows take von off me, ain’t it?”
Then he tried, unsteadily, to point the pistols at the heads of the two nearest him, while all the men laughed noisily.
“Bully boy!” said Shoshone. “He is beginning to wake up. Set ’em up again.”