It had all
gone out of my head again as quickly as it had come, so that I could not
even repeat one they'd asked for.
"Hell, he's got a crying drunk the first thing!"
"Cheer up, old scout ... here's another cupful."
"No ... I don't want any more ... I'm never going to drink again."
And I knocked the cup out of Travers' hand with a violent drunken sweep
of negation.
"No use getting huffy about it," someone put in belligerently.
"If anybody wants to fight," it was Black Jim, huge and menacing and
morose, advancing....
Fight! knives! jails!...
Ah, yes, I was still in jail ... and Bud and the burly cotton thief were
at it....
I staggered to my feet.
"Wait a minute, Bud ... I'm coming." I gave a run toward a barrel, sent
it a violent kick, a succession of kicks....
"Wait a minute! I'm coming!"
"So am I!" grinned Black Jim belligerently, thinking I meant him and
advancing slowly and surely.
The barrel burst asunder, the beer sumped and gurgled about my ankles as
I stooped and picked up a stave.
"The damn fool's ruined a whole keg."
I was going to lick everybody in the jail, if I must.
"Put that stave down Gregory! put it down, for Christ's sake!"
"Good God! Grab Jim, someone!"
"Don't be a fool ... hold Gregory ... he's got the stave!"
"He'll kill Jim!"
"Or Jim'll kill him!"...
Then came a shout from nearby.
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