Mascola's men to come for his money. And
though he said nothing when he signed the pay-roll, Blagg nursed a
grouch against his employer. Mascola had cursed him out that morning
and no livin' dago could do that. He'd get square, or his name wasn't
Joe Blagg.

The bartender shoved a black bottle toward him as he pocketed his money.
"Boss's treat," he announced.

Blagg's animosity thawed sufficiently to permit him to accept the
proffered drink, then flared again under the influence of the fiery
liquor. He called for another and gulped it down. Then Mascola's whisky
began to talk. He'd make the dago eat his words. That's what he'd do.
Two more drinks and he decided to have it out with Mascola at once.

"Where's boss?" he inquired thickly.

The bartender jerked his shorn head in the direction of the frosted
glass enclosure.

Blagg drew back, his ardor somewhat chilled to find his quarry so near.
Perhaps it was better to figure out just what he was going to say before
he tackled the boss. Deciding that he could plan better in the open air,
he walked unsteadily to the swinging doors and staggered across the
street. There he leaned against the bulkhead and looked back at the Red
Paint.

A flash of light illumined the side-walk in front of the saloon office
and Blagg saw Mascola's figure silhouetted in the open doorway. He was
looking up and down the street. As the fisherman drew back into the
shadow the Italian disappeared to return a moment later shoving a burly
figure before him.

Blagg became even more discreet as he recognized Mascola's guest. Boris
was a bigger man by far than himself. And yet Mascola was putting him
out with no trouble at all. The observation had a sobering effect upon
the fisherman. His militant air changed quickly to one of craft. He'd
quit the boss and pull a lot of the boys along with him. He could hit
the dago better that way. They were all pretty sore at being bossed
around by a "furrinor" anyway. And work was plenty up around Frisco. He'd
round up a bunch of the boys right away.

With that idea in view he walked along the water-front and turned again
to the row of saloons. Then he noticed that Boris was lurching along
ahead of him. He saw the Russian push open the door of the "Buffalo" and
heard the derisive roar from within which greeted his entrance. Scenting
amusement at Boris's expense, Blagg followed. When he elbowed his way
through the press of fishermen who thronged the "Buffalo"