"I ain't got no truck with you; I don't want no proposition from a man that plays into the hands of the damn police."
"You can cut out the rough stuff, Wolf, while there's a lady present."
Carney deliberately turned his shoulder to the scowling man, and said, "How d'you do, Miss Holt?" touching his hat. Then he added, "Seth, locate a bottle on the bar and deal glasses all round."
As Long deftly twirled little heavy-bottomed glasses along the plank as though he were dealing cards, Carney turned, surveyed the room, and addressing a man who sat in a heavy wooden chair beside a square box-stove, said: "Join up, stranger—we're going to liquidate."
The man addressed came forward, and lined up the other side of Jack Wolf.
"Cayuse Braun, Mr. Carney," Seth lisped past his fat cigar as he shoved a black bottle toward Bulldog.
"The gents first," the latter intimated.
The bottle was slid down to Cayuse, who filled his glass and passed it back to Wolf. The latter carried it irritably past him without filling his glass.
"Help yourself, Wolf." It was a command, not an invitation, in Carney's voice.
"I'm not drinkin'," Jack snarled.