“Hello, young fellow,” I greeted him. “Got any idea which room your friend Bardell reposes in?”
He looked at me as if he had never seen me before.
“S’pose you find out for yourself. I’m through doing your chores. You can find yourself a new wet nurse, Mister, or you can go to hell!”
The odor of whisky came out with the words, but he wasn’t drunk enough for that to be the whole explanation.
“What’s the matter with you?” I asked.
“What’s the matter is I think you’re a lousy—”
I didn’t let it get any farther than that.
His right hand whipped to his side as I stepped in.
I jammed him between the wall and my hip before he could draw, and got one of my hands on each of his arms.
“You may be a curly wolf with your rod,” I growled, shaking him, a lot more peeved than if he had been a stranger, “but if you try any of your monkey business on me, I’ll turn you over my knee!”
Clio Landes’ thin fingers dug into my arm.
“Stop it!” she cried. “Stop it! Why don’t you behave?” to Milk River; and to me: “He’s sore over something this morning. He doesn’t mean what he says!”
I was sore myself.
“I mean what I said,” I insisted.