kens in the worl' layin'
reg'lar!"

"Have you got any left?"

"No--honest. Used 'em all up--for m' mince-meat!"

Ford knew he was lying. His eyes searched the untidy tables and the
corners filled with bags and boxes. Mose was a good cook, but his ideas
of order were vague, and his system of housekeeping was the simple one
of leaving everything where he had last been using it, so that it might
be handy when he wanted it again. A dozen bottles might be concealed
there, like the faces in a picture-puzzle, and it would take a
housecleaning to disclose them all. But Ford, when he knew that no
bottle had been left in sight, began turning over the bags and looking
behind the boxes.

He must have been "growing warm" when he stood wondering whether it was
worth while to look into the flour-bin, for Mose gave an inarticulate
snarl and pounced on him from behind. The weight of him sent Ford down
on all fours and kept him there for a space, and even after he was up he
found himself quite busy. Mose was a husky individual, with no infirmity
of the arms and fists, even if he did have a stiff leg, and drunkenness
frequently flares and fades in a man like a candle guttering in the
wind. Besides, Mose was fighting to save his whisky.

Still, Ford had not sent all of Sunset into its cellars, figuratively
speaking, for nothing; and while a man may feel more enthusiasm for
fighting when under the influence of the stuff that cheers sometimes and
never fails to inebriate, the added incentive does not necessarily mean
also added muscular development or more weight behind the punch. Ford,
fighting as he had always fought, be he drunk or sober, came speedily to
the point where he could inspect a skinned knuckle and afterwards gaze
in peace upon his antagonist.

He was occupied with both diversions when the door was pushed open as by
a man in great haste. He looked up from the knuckle into the expectant
eyes of Jim Felton, and over the shoulder of Jim he saw a gloating
certainty writ large upon the face of Dick Thomas. They had been
running; he could tell that by their uneven breathing, and it occurred
to him that they must have heard the clamor when he pitched Mose head
first into the dish cupboard. There had been considerable noise about
that time, he remembered; they must also have heard the howl Mose gave
at the instant of contact. Ford glanced involuntarily at that side of
the room where stood the cupboard, and mentally admitted that