"I'm due at home." "Home ?" came in two or three jeering voices.
Then several men came out of the saloon, laughing boisterously.
"Come back, Drake! We can't let you slip off like that.

You're too good a fellow to play the sneak with us.

Come on back!" "I---I tell you, I'm due at home," insisted Drake, though he spoke more weakly.
"Hey! Here's Drake---says he's going to slip home on us!" called one of the tormentors.
More men came out of the place, some of them staggering.

With the new arrivals came one whom Dick and his friends rightly guessed to be Miller---a thickset man, with swaggering manner, insolent expression and rough voice.
"What's this about your going home, Drake ?" demanded one of the new arrivals.
"I---I really ought to go home," Drake tried to explain.
"Cut that out," ordered Miller roughly.

"You're booked to spend the evening with us, and the evening has hardly begun." "I promised this young fellow I'd go home," said Drake slowly, "so I guess I will." "And what has this young feller got to say or do about it ?" demanded Miller angrily, as He pushed his way to Drake's side, then glared at Dick Prescott.
"And what have you got to say about his not going home ?" Dick asked hotly.