Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune by Jr. Horatio Alger (e books free to read .TXT) 📖

A stout, black-bearded man stood in front of the hotel to welcome the stage passengers. He took a clay pipe from his lips and nodded a welcome.

“Glad to see you, strangers,” he said. “Here, Peter, you black rascal, help the gentlemen with their baggage.”

The door was thrown open, and the party filed into a comfortless looking apartment, at one end of which was a rude bar.

One of the passengers, at least, seemed to know the landlord, for Col. Warner advanced to greet him, his face beaming with cordiality.

“How are you, John?” he said. “How does the world use you?”

The landlord growled something inaudible.

“Have a drink, colonel?” was the first audible remark.

“Don't care if I do. It's confounded dry traveling over these mountain roads. Walk up, gentlemen. Col. Warner doesn't drink alone.”

With the exception of Herbert and George Melville, the passengers seemed inclined to accept the offer.

“Come along, Melville,” said the colonel; “you and your friend must join us.”

“Please excuse me, colonel,” answered Melville. “I would prefer not to drink.”

“Oh, nonsense! To oblige me, now.”

“Thank you; but I am traveling for my health, and it would not be prudent.”

“Just as you say, Melville; but a little whisky would warm you up and do you good, in my opinion.”

“Thank you all the same, colonel; but I think you must count me out.”

The colonel shrugged his shoulders and beckoned Herbert.

“You can come, anyway; your health won't prevent.”

Melville did not interfere, for he knew it would give offense, but he hoped his young clerk would refuse.

“Thank you,” said Herbert; “I won't object to a glass of sarsaparilla.”

“Sarsaparilla!” repeated the colonel, in amazement. “What's that?”

“We don't keep no medicine,” growled the landlord.

“Have you root-beer?” asked Herbert.

“What do you take me for?” said the landlord, contemptuously. “I haven't got no root-beer. Whisky's good enough for any man.”

“I hope you'll excuse me, then,” said Herbert. “I am not used to any strong drinks.”

“How old are you?” asked the colonel, rather contemptuously.

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen years old and don't drink whisky! My young friend, your education has been sadly neglected.”

“I dare say it has,” answered Herbert, good-naturedly.

“Gentlemen,” said Col. Warner, apologetically, “the boy is a stranger, and isn't used to our free Western ways. He's got the makings of a man in him, and it won't be long before he'll get over his squeamishness, and walk up to the bar as quick as any one of us.”

Herbert and Melville stood apart, while the rest of the company emptied their glasses, apparently at a gulp. It was clear that their refusal had caused them to be regarded with dislike and suspicion.

The accommodations of the Echo Gulch Hotel were far from luxurious. The chambers were scarcely larger than a small closet, clap-boarded but not plastered, and merely contained a bedstead. Washing accommodations were provided downstairs.

Herbert and George Melville were assigned to a single room, to which they would not have objected had the room been larger. It was of no use to indulge in open complaints, however, since others had to fare in the same way.

“This isn't luxury, Herbert,” said Melville.

“No,” answered the boy; “but I don't mind it if you don't.”

“I am afraid I may keep you awake by my coughing, Herbert.”

“Not if I once get to sleep. I sleep as sound as a top.”

“I wish I did; but I am one of the wakeful kind. Being an invalid, I am more easily annoyed by small inconveniences. You, with your sturdy health, are more easily suited.”

“Mr. Melville, I had just as lief sleep downstairs in a chair, and give you the whole of the bed.”

“Not on my account, Herbert. I congratulate myself on having you for a roommate. If I had been traveling alone I might have been packed away with the colonel, who, by this time, would be even less desirable as a bedfellow than usual.”

The worthy colonel had not been content with a single glass of whisky, but had followed it up several times, till his utterance had become thick, and his face glowed with a dull, brick-dust color.

Col. Warner had been assigned to the adjoining chamber, or closet, whichever it may be called. He did not retire early, however, while Herbert and George Melville did.

Strangely enough, Herbert, who was usually so good a sleeper,