"Somethin' ye wanted?" he inquired, sourly.
"Breakfast," answered McKeever.
"This ain't no hotel. This here's a store," growled the proprietor.
"Never you mind about that. You cook breakfast—an' do it pronto. An' while you're doin' it you can tell me who's be'n here this mornin'."
"Wha' d' ye mean—be'n here? Ain't I jes' got up? Youse is the firs' ones I've see. 'Pears to me ye're almighty early, too. What's up?" The little eyes of the old man leered wickedly, as he threw some bacon into a frying-pan.
"You're lyin', Jap. Some day I'm goin' to have the fun of squintin' at you through the bars, at Dawson"
"'Tain't no crime to lay a-bed till four in the mornin'. Not as I've heerd tell, it ain't," sneered the man.
"Who's be'n here, I said?" snapped McKeever, ignoring the interruption.
"Ef any one's be'n here, they've passed on. I ain't saw no one—but my eyesight ain't no good no more—'special, when I'm asleep."
"Where's Cosgrieve?"
Again the little eyes leered wickedly: "Ef ye
