As Bill dismounted in front of the "Victoria" he noticed that two men further down the street had evidently changed their conversation and were examining him with frank interest and discussing him earnestly. As a matter of fact they had not changed the subject of their conversation, but had simply fitted him in the place of a certain unknown. Before he had arrived they discussed in the abstract; now they could talk in the concrete. One of them laughed and called softly over his shoulder, whereupon a third man appeared in the door, wiping his lips with the back of a hairy, grimy hand, and focused evil eyes upon the innocent stranger. He grunted contemptuously and, turning on his heel, went back to his liquid pleasures. Bill covertly felt of his clothes and stole a glance at his horse, but could see nothing wrong. He hesitated: should he saunter over for information or wait until the matter was brought to his attention? A sound inside the hotel made him choose the latter course, for his stomach threatened to become estranged and it simply howled for food. Pushing open the door he dropped his saddle in a corner and leaned against the bar. "Have one with me to get acquainted?" he invited. "Then I ’ll eat, for I ’m hungry. An’ I ’ll use one of yore beds to-night, too." The man behind the bar nodded cheerfully and poured out his drink. As he raised the liquor he noticed Bill’s guns and carelessly let the glass return to the bar. "Sorry, sir," he said coldly. "I ’m hall out of grub, the fire ’s hout, _hand_ the beds are taken. But mebby ’Awley, down the strite, can tyke care of you." Bill was looking at him with an expression that said much and he slowly extended his arm and pointed to the untasted liquor. "Allus finish what you start, English," he said slowly and clearly. "When a man goes to take a drink with me, and suddenly changes his mind, why I gets riled. I don’t know what ails this town, an’ I don’t care; I don’t give a cuss about yore grub an’ your beds; but if you don’t drink that liquor you poured out _to_ drink, why I ’ll natchurally shove it down yore British throat so cussed hard it ’ll strain yore neck. Get to it!" The proprietor glanced apprehensively from the glass to Bill, then on to the business-like guns and back to the glass, and the liquor disappeared at a gulp. "W’y," he explained, aggrieved. "There hain’t no call for to get riled hup like that, strainger. I bloody well forgot it." "Then don’t you go an’ ’bloody well’ forget this: Th’ next time I drops in here for grub an’ a bed, you have ’em both, an’ be plumb polite about it. Do you get me?" he demanded icily.