“Yes,” he shouted; “this is the sort of place any one would pick out to wait for a train!”
In front of David's nose he shook a fist as large as a catcher's glove. “Don't you lie to ME!” he bullied. “Do you know who I am? Do you know WHO you're up against? I'm—”
The barkeeper person interrupted.
“Never mind who you are,” he said. “We know that. Find out who HE is.”
David turned appealingly to the barkeeper.
“Do you suppose I'd come here on purpose?” he protested. “I'm a travelling man—”
“You won't travel any to-night,” mocked the red-haired one. “You've seen what you came to see, and all you want now is to get to a Western Union wire. Well, you don't do it. You don't leave here to-night!”
As though he thought he had been neglected, the little man in riding-boots pushed forward importantly.
“Tie him to a tree!” he suggested.
“Better take him on board,” said the barkeeper, “and send him back by the pilot. When we're once at sea, he can't hurt us any.”