The proprietor, a burly German, set his weight against it and tore the lock off.
Harold was dangerously quiet as he said: "You'd better let me out o' here.

Them greasers are stampeding the cattle.

It's a little trick of theirs." "Dot's all right; you go back to bed; I'll look out for dot greaser pisness," said the landlord, who thought him drunk.
"You let me out or I'll break you in two," the determined man replied, and a tremendous struggle took place.
Ultimately Harold was vanquished, and Schmidt, piling his huge bulk on the worn-out body of the young man, held him until his notion changed.
"Did you ever have a tree burn up in your head ?" he asked.
"Pring a policeman," whispered Schmidt to the girl, "and a doctor.

De man is grazy mit fevers; he aindt trunk." When the officer came in Harold looked at him with sternly steady eyes.
"See here, cap, don't you try any funny business with me.

I won't stand it; I'll shoot with you for dollars or doughnuts." "What's the matter--jim-jams ?" asked the officer indifferently.
"No," replied Schmidt, "I tondt pelief it--he's got some fever onto him." The policeman felt his pulse.