"Look who's telling me I can't drink any more!" he taunted, so that
nearly every man in the room turned to look at him, "It's my guardian
angel gentlemen--Will Bransford, of the Double A! Will Bransford--ha,
ha, ha! Will Bransford! Come an' look at him, gentlemen! Says I
can't drink any more booze. He's running the Double A, Bransford is.
There's a lot I could tell you about Bransford--a whole lot! He
ain't----"
His maudlin talk broke off short, for Sanderson had stepped to his side
and placed a hand over his mouth. Owen struggled, broke away, and
shouted:
"Damn you, let me alone! I'm going to tell these people who you are.
You're----"
Again his talk was stilled. This time the method was swift and
certain. Sanderson took another step toward him and struck. His fist
landed on Owen's jaw, resounding with a vicious smack! in the sudden
silence that had fallen, and Owen crumpled and sank to the floor in an
inert heap.
Sanderson was bending over him, preparing to carry him to his room,
when there came an interruption.
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