For the moment Jacques Valette did not answer, but glared at the youth in
an uncertain fashion,

"Why do you ask me questions?" he queried in French, and with several
hiccoughs.

"Let that liquor alone," went on Dave, now realizing that the French hunter
and trapper was more than half intoxicated. "Let it alone, I say!" And he
tried to force the jug from Valette's grasp. "Want a drink!" shouted the
man, holding tight. "Want a drink! Get me--me some more glass, boy!"

"I will not. Let the jug alone," and now Dave got it in his possession and
put it on a high shelf, out of the Frenchman's reach.

With a frightful imprecation in his native tongue Jacques Valette staggered
to his feet. He made a clutch for Dave's right ear, but the youth eluded
him. Then, in turning, he went sprawling over the puncheon bench, and his
head struck the floor, while his feet stuck up in the air.

It was a comical sight, but Dave did not laugh. He realized that he had an
ugly customer with whom to deal. He well knew how utterly lawless some of
these wild hunters and trappers were when half full of liquor, and knew
that they would do almost anything to get more drink with which to finish
their debauch. Running to the doorway, he called loudly for his father.

"Stop your noise!" shouted Jacques Valette. "Stop, or I make big trouble!"
And he shook his fist at Dave. He was on his feet once more, swaying
unsteadily from side to side.