The figure made no reply.
“Have a drink,” offered the big man, finally extricating the whiskey.
“You can’t take that whiskey into camp,” said Darrell.
“Oh, I guess so,” replied Silver Jack, easily, hoping for the peaceful solution. “There ain’t enough to get anybody full. Have a taster, Darrell; it’s pretty good stuff.”
“I mean it,” repeated Darrell. “You got to go back.” He seized the horses’ bits and began to lead them in the reversing circle.
“Hold on there!” cried Silver Jack. “You let them horses alone! You old little runt! Let them alone I say!” The robe was kicked aside, and Silver Jack prepared to descend.
Richard Darrell twisted his feet out of his snow-shoe straps. “You can’t take that whiskey into camp,” he repeated simply.
“Now look here, Darrell,” said the other in even tones, “don’t you make no mistake. I ain’t selling this whiskey; I’m giving it away. The law can’t touch me. You ain’t any right to say where I’ll go, and I’m going where I please!”
“You got to go back with that whiskey,” replied Darrell.