"Better now?"
"I'm all right."
"Let me carry you."
"I can stand."
Cheyenne's good right arm caught him as he tottered and held him.
"I'm all right," said Dink gruffly.
Aided by Cheyenne, he went weakly back to the Green. At the steps Tough McCarty sprang up and advanced with outstretched hand, saying:
"Put her here, Dink; you're dead game!"
Stover put his hand behind his back.
"I don't want to shake hands," he said, flushing and gazing at Tough McCarty until the pupils of his eyes seemed to dwindle, "with you or any of you. I hate you all; you're a gang of muckers. I'll fight you now: I'll fight you to-morrow. You're too big for me now; but I'll lick you—I'll lick you next year—you, Tough McCarty—or the year after that; you see if I don't!"