Mansell, stepping on to the veranda, paused and looked the other full in the eye.
"Well," he said, after a moment's doubtful consideration, "what is it? 'Tain't like you givin' drink away—'specially to me. What monkey tricks is it?"
There was truculence in the sawyer's tone. There was offense in his very attitude.
"Are you coming to my room for that drink?"
Truscott spoke quite coldly, but he knew the curse of the man's thirst. He had reason to.
Mansell laughed without any mirth.
"Guess I may as well drink your brandy. It'll taste the same as any other. Go ahead."
His host at once led the way into the hotel and up the stairs to his room. It was a front room on the first floor, and comparatively luxurious. The moment the door closed behind him Mansell took in the details with some interest.
"A mighty swell apartment—fer you," he observed offensively.
Truscott shrugged as he turned his back to pour out drinks at the table.