“Hullo, boys!” said they invariably, “glad to see you back. Come in and have a drink on me.”
Well these men knew that one free drink would mean a dozen paid for. But the rivermen merely shook their heads.
“Huh!” sneered one of the girls. “Them's no river-jacks! Them's just off the hay trail, I bet!”
But even this time-honoured and generally effective taunt was ignored.
In the middle of the third block Orde wheeled sharp to the left down a dark and dangerous-looking alley. Another turn to the right brought him into a very narrow street. Facing this street stood a three-story wooden structure, into which led a high-arched entrance up a broad half-flight of wooden steps. This was McNeill's.
As Orde and his men turned into the narrow street, a figure detached itself from the shadow and approached. Orde uttered an exclamation.
“You here, Newmark?” he cried.
“Yes,” replied that young man. “I want to see this through.”
“With those clothes?” marvelled Orde. “It's a wonder some of these thugs haven't held you up long ago! I'll get Johnny here to go back with you to the main street.”
“No,” argued Newmark, “I want to go in with you.”