"Go to Hell," screamed Mickey, "You'll pay me more than two dollars to get this leg back."
"Pipe down, Mickey," shushed Evelyn, "If Guts hears you, he'll raise Hell right."
"A thousand pardons, Senoritas, but what is this trouble—and you—what are you doing with the Senor's leg?" came the voice of Guts from behind the trio.
"You seen me come in here with this guy, didn't you, Guts? He paid for the room, didn't he? Well, after he had his fun he refused to pay me my two dollars, and I'm damned if I ain't taking his false leg for the bill—and come to think of it, what have you got to say about it? Are you for me, or are you against me? You remember, I know of a couple of dirty deals I could tell the Custom and Federal authorities about—and by God, you know me, Guts," frothed Mickey.
"Ah, Senorita—I am so sorry. Why you did not call me before? You are my friend, and no one can say different," answered Guts, as he pulled his enormous belly up, and with a scowl on his near-black face, started down the hall toward the half-opened door.
"Take that leg away from that slut," ordered the man, leaning against the dresser to support himself, as Guts and the three girls came into the room.
"Why have you refuse to pay the Senorita?" asked Guts.
"Refuse to pay her—why, the damn liar—I have paid her."
"You are just lying because there's some other people here. You ain't give me a red cent, and what's more, you are giving me ten dollars or I'm taking the leg. Ain't I right, Guts?"
"Si, Senorita, you are right."