John measured both champions critically, and exulted in the feeling that Steve was not so ready for the row with Lime as he thought he was.
After Steve had finished his story there was a chorus of roars: "Bully for you, Steve!" "Give us another," etc.

Steve, much flattered, nodded to the alert saloon-keeper, and said: "Give us another, Hank." As the rest all sprang up he added: "Pull out that brandy kaig this time, Hank.

Trot her out, you white-livered Dutchman," he roared, as Swartz hesitated.
The brewer fetched it up from beneath the bar, but he did it reluctantly.

In the midst of the hubbub thus produced, an abnormally tall and lanky fellow known as "High" Bedloe pushed up to the bar and made an effort to speak, and finally did say solemnly: "Gen'lmun, Steve, say, gen'lmun, do'n' less mix our drinks!" This was received with boisterous delight, in which Bedloe could not see the joke, and looked feebly astonished.
Just at this point John received such a fright as entirely took away his powers of moving or breathing, for something laid hold of his heels with deadly grip.

He was getting his breath to yell when a familiar voice at his ear said, in a tone somewhere between a whisper and a groan: "Say, what they up to all this while?
I'm sick o' wait'n' out there." Frank had become impatient; as for John, he had been so absorbed by the scenes within, he had not noticed how the frosty ground was slowly stiffening his limbs and setting his teeth chattering.