.

While they conversed, McGregor backed gradually, as if by accident,
until he was almost touching Phil. Finally he got the heel of his boot
squarely on Phil's toe, and he kept it there, pressing harder and
harder every second, still talking loudly to those around him and
apparently all oblivious of his action.

Even then Phil had no definite notion that it was not merely the
clumsy accident of a half-intoxicated cowboy.

At last he poked the man in the back.

"Excuse me," he said, "but when you are finished with my foot I should
like to have it."

"What'n the--Oh!" exclaimed the red-haired man, grinding his full
weight on Phil's toe as he got off. "Was I standin' on you? Hope I
didn't hurt you!" he grinned maliciously.

The pain was excruciating, but still Phil forebore with an effort,
accepting the man's half-cocked apology.

Suddenly a new diversion appeared in the shape of a half-witted boy of
about twelve years of age, who slouched in evidently on the look-out
for any cigar ends that might be lying about the floor.

The boy was clad raggedly and wore a perpetual grin.

"Hullo, Smiler!" cried one of the men. "Come and have a drink."

The boy shook his head and backed away.

McGregor made a grab at him and caught him by the coat collar. He
pulled the frightened youngster to the counter and, picking up a
bottle of whisky, thrust it under the lad's nose.

"Here, kid;--big drink! Ginger-beer;--good stuff!"

The boy caught the bottle in his hands, tilted it and took a gulp.
Then he coughed and spluttered, and spat it out, almost dropping the
bottle as McGregor, laughing hilariously, laid hold of it.

"Come on, Smiler!--you got to finish this. Say, Stitchy,--let's make
him drunk. Here!--you hold him."

The boy made that inarticulate cry which dumb people make when seized
suddenly with fear.

Only then did it strike Phil Ralston that the lad was dumb, as well as
half-witted.

The man whom McGregor addressed as Stitchy caught the boy and held him
securely by the arms, tilting his head backward until he was unable
to move. McGregor brought the bottle and was on the point of forcing
the helpless Smiler to open his mouth, when the bottle was sent flying
out of his hands and he staggered back against the counter from a blow
on the side of the face from Phil's fist.

"Leave the boy alone!" he cried angrily, his face pale as he laboured
to stifle his excitement.

He had refrained from interfering as long