"I'd like to fight this here Dutchman myself," said the cowboy,
breaking a long silence.
Scully wagged his head sadly. "No, that wouldn't do. It wouldn't be
right. It wouldn't be right."
"Well, why wouldn't it?" argued the cowboy. "I don't see no harm in
it."
"No," answered Scully, with mournful heroism. "It wouldn't be right.
It was Johnnie's fight, and now we mustn't whip the man just because
he whipped Johnnie."
"Yes, that's true enough," said the cowboy; "but--he better not get
fresh with me, because I couldn't stand no more of it."
"You'll not say a word to him," commanded Scully, and even then they
heard the tread of the Swede on the stairs. His entrance was made
theatric. He swept the door back with a bang and swaggered to the
middle of the room. No one looked at him. "Well," he cried,
insolently, at Scully, "I s'pose you'll tell me now how much I owe
you?"