cash hawkins leaned against the bar and maliciously took in the silence that followed his entrance into the saloon. he knew he was feared; he had made more than one man there feel his power. malignity was marked in his demeanor and in the physiognomy of his face. he was lithe and straight, with wiry, steel-like muscles. he had a small head with a shock of tawny hair that he wore much longer than is usual with ranchmen. the rawhide strap of his hat hung under his chin, and his face, with its long, pointed wolf jaw, suggested that animal in its expression of ferocious keenness. when he grew excited his mouth moved convulsively, like an ugly trap ready to devour its prey. his hands were curiously beautiful—long and slender, with almond-shaped nails. the care he bestowed on them to keep their beauty in the midst of his rough life, the gorgeousness of his leather chaps with their mounting of silver, and the embroidery on his waistcoat betrayed his salient weakness—inordinate vanity. he was handsome in a cruel, hard fashion. of his power as an athlete there was no question. in the saloon many could testify to the devilish cunning of those supple hands.

"got a bottle of ink handy, nick?" he said, when he had insolently surveyed the assemblage, who, after a pause, were beginning to talk and settle down to new games.

nick, who wished to be friendly with all who patronized him, answered:

"ink? ink is a powerful depressing drink, cash."

"drink!" cash's face grew livid with rage. "you see here, nick, don't you joke with me; i ain't in the humor for it. people has to know me intimate to joke with me—savvy? you get me a pen and a bottle of ink p.d.q. i'm buying some cattle of tabywana, the ute chief—savvy? and he's got to put his mark to the contract."

with swaggering gestures cash announced his business so that all could hear him. bill whispered to the boys, who, going on with their game, were still listening and watching cash intently:

"you know what that skunk's up to now. he's got tabywana drunk—been at it for days—in order to swindle him out of his cattle."

shorty, with all of the cow-boy's intolerance of the red man's rights, snapped, "well, it don't make much difference about injins."

"no," growled grouchy, "guv'ment supports 'em anyway."

nick had unearthed a bottle of ink.

"well," he said, as he handed it across the bar, "that was ink once, cash. 'ain't had no use for it sense my gal throwed me. gits more people into trouble. often wisht i was illiterate." nick's dry humor betrayed his descent from the emerald isle.

cash paid no attention to nick's attempts at conversation. he was filling his glass and surveying the crowds at the various tables. it annoyed him that no one had greeted him with any particular show of enthusiasm. save for a "how d'ye," or a nod from some of the hangers-on, no one had particularly noticed him. he stood against the bar, and without turning his body directed his words towards big bill and jim's men at a table near him. with a truculent swagger he blew his cigarette smoke through his nostrils.

"there's just one thing i can't stand for," he began, "and that's an englishman." there was a movement from jim's men, but it was quickly controlled. cash went on: "he's a blot on any landscape, and wherever i see him i shall wipe him off the map. he is distinctly no good. we whipped 'em once, and we kin do it again. they 'ain't never whipped nuthin' but niggers and savages. the englishman is a coward and any american who works for him is a cur."

with one movement andy, shorty, and grouchy rose and their hands went to their guns, but almost before they had clutched them bill was towering over them. with one hand he pushed grouchy, and with the other gripped the shoulders of shorty and andy, until he forced them down into their chairs.

"leave him to me," was all he said, and the men sullenly subsided under their foreman's orders.

bill stood looking at cash. he wanted to gain time and not take any notice of insults from him until it was so directly levelled that they could no longer endure it. he wished jim would come; it was time for him. he wanted to finish some details of the shipping and then get their men to leave maverick.

cash saw bill's command of the men; he ground his jaw with ugly grating sounds from his big white teeth. looking directly at bill, he said, "there is a certain outfit been a circilatin' reports derogitory to my standin' in this here kummunity, and before the day is over i will round up said outfit and put my brand on 'em." as he spoke he touched his gun.

"same as you been a-puttin' it on their cattle?" bill remarked, coldly.

this was what cash wanted; but he saw tabywana coming along the platform, and there was too much at stake to allow him to gratify his feeling of anger against bill then. he gave a low, chuckling laugh.

"a remark i overlook for the time bein', as i ain't agoin' to take advantage of the absence of the furrin gent that owns you."

he came towards tabywana, who, halting and stumbling, was trying to cross the room. cash laughed malevolently as he noticed his helpless condition. the indian was trailing his blanket along the ground, his feathers were broken, and all intelligence—even cunning—was blotted from his face. the unconquerable dignity of a fallen aristocrat alone remained, and even handicapped as he was by his inebriated condition, he stood out against the others in the saloon as the one true claimant of america's royal race.

"almost as one man they thrust their revolvers into bud's face" see page 200

"almost as one man they thrust their revolvers into bud's face" see page 200

cash caught him by the arm and steered him to the bar. "hello, chief," he began, most affably; "come over here and we'll close our trade in a jiffy."

he spoke lightly, but his mouth began its rapacious twitching—cash was really a little nervous over the deal. the government once in a while remembered its people, and took up the claim of the red man. he drew from his belt a paper.

"ther's the big treaty, chief," he hurriedly began to explain. "now all you got to do is to make your mark to it." he spoke aloud so that all could hear as he said, "heap good trade." cash was clever enough to know that if the deal took place in the saloon in the presence of nick it would seem, if inquiry were made later, a fair deal.

but tabywana's mind had been tortured by one desire—more drink from the bottle that the white man controlled.

he mumbled helplessly as he leaned against the bar and began soliciting nick for a drink.

"what's that? you don't want to trade?" cash burst forth. "why, damn you—" then he paused; to lose his temper would accomplish nothing. a little patience and he could force tabywana to make his mark. he glanced about the saloon. the others were paying little attention to him—a drunken indian was of no moment to them. he signalled nick that he would take the responsibility of giving the indian liquor. both knew it was against the law, but both also knew that it was a law daily broken.

"touge-wayno fire-water," wailed tabywana.

cash took hold of him. "what's the matter, you—"

tabywana turned to him. yes, for days this cash hawkins had given him his drink; why shouldn't he do so now? nick was watching them from over his shoulder as he took down a bottle of rye. tabywana pointed to him.

"no give 'em, me—heap like 'em—big medicine, sick. me all time heap sick." by his gestures he indicated that his body was suffering for the medicine. "wayno medicine," he continued. "pretty soon, more fire-water, catch 'em. pretty soon—maybe so—no sick." incoherently he tried to explain that the drink would cure him at once. if not, then pretty soon he would be very ill.

even at a moment like this nick could not resist the temptation to tease the chief. he poured out some whiskey, tabywana tried to reach it, but nick lifted the glass and drank it. the sight of it maddened tabywana: with his two fists he struck the bar and gave vent to his rage in a loud voice.

cash saw it was time to finish the business. he put his arm about tabywana, while he directed nick to give the indian the bottle.

"it's agin the law to give you whiskey, chief. 'tain't every one's got the nerve to treat you like a white man." by this time he was holding the bottle high up in the air. "but there ain't no one hereabouts goin' to question any trade i make. every man has an inalienable right—say, 'inalienable's' great, chief—that's good medicine," he translated—"inalienable right to git drunk if he wants to, and i'm agoin' to protect you in your rights."

he held the paper close to tabywana; he lowered his voice.

"now just put your mark to that paper and you get this bottleful and the time of your life." the words were accompanied with explanatory gestures so that tabywana could understand.

the indian tried to reach the bottle. then he saw the paper; he took hold of the pen and bent over it. as he did so a girl's figure slid in between him and cash, and the bottle went smashing out of cash hawkins's hand up against the bottles and glasses on the shelf at the back of the bar. there was a crash of breaking glass and a snarling curse from hawkins.

tabywana stood dazed for a moment at the sight of nat-u-ritch, who silently faced him and hawkins. he made a sweeping gesture of fury, and attempted to strike nat-u-ritch, but she cleverly dodged him. the force of the unarrested blow carried tabywana against a table, he stumbled into a chair, made an attempt to rise, but, after a desperate effort, fell back in a drunken stupor, oblivious to his surroundings. the sudden burst of anger was the natural climax to days of dissipation.

the crash of the glasses and the sudden entrance of the girl attracted the attention of the gamblers. some of them, scenting a fracas, stopped playing; others merely looked up, and then went on with the game. what did an indian, male or female, matter to them?

cash propped himself up against the bar. for the first time he really was brought within close range of nat-u-ritch. silent and immovable she stood, guarding the sunken form of her father. her head was erect and she looked her contempt and scorn full in hawkins's face. in her hands she held the fallen blanket of her father.

"well, what d'ye think of it, eh?" cash finally ejaculated. his eyes took note of the girl's physical perfection. "say, fer spunk and grit dam'f i ever see her equal. say, she can have me, kin tabywana's squaw."

nick interposed sullenly as he straightened up the disordered bar.

"she ain't tabywana's squaw—that's nat-u-ritch, his gal—his daughter."

"daughter or squaw, don't make no difference to me." cash slouched up to nat-u-ritch and insolently surveyed her. "she's puty, she is, and i'll include her in the deal. say, sis, i like your looks. you please me a whole lot, and i'll buy you along with your father's cattle—savvy?"

still she made no answer—she knew what the white man was suggesting. that she had accomplished what she had dared to save her father now frightened her. she wanted to get him away and escape with him. but how? she could not leave him. she only clutched the blanket tighter.

cash caught sight of the half-breed baco, who was often called in to act as interpreter by the white men. "baco," he called, "what's her name mean?" he designated nat-u-ritch with his thumb.

baco grinned: "purty little gal." he had cast his own eyes unsuccessfully on nat-u-ritch.

"well, she lives up to the name all right. ain't she hell?" cash drooped lower against the bar. "say, nat-u-ritch, you take chances with me when you interfere that way like you did jest now."

along the platform jim swung, the gray dust whitening his leather chaps and dusting his shirt and hat with a heavy powder. he had ridden hard to keep his appointment with bill and his men. as he entered the centre door of the saloon he watched hawkins and the little indian girl with curiosity. he took in the situation at a glance. the drunken chief, the tigerish hawkins bending over the girl like an animal about to crunch a ewe lamb, and the contents of the smashed bottle that nick was wiping away told him what had occurred. cash was saying:

"nat-u-ritch, you spoiled a very puty deal, and i ain't complaisant a whole lot with people as do that, but i'm goin' to pass that up, 'cause you please me, and i'm goin' to annex you. you're comin' to my wickyup—savvy? and to seal the bargain, and to show you that i ain't proud like the ordinary white man, i'm goin' to give you a kiss."

before hawkins could catch the resisting girl in his arms, jim quietly stepped between them.

"drop that, hawkins." the voice of the englishman was electrical. jim's men jumped to their feet. at a move of cash's hand to his belt they grasped their guns. "don't pull your gun, cash," jim said. "you want to get your gang together before you do that. my boys would shoot you into ribbons." jim was smoking a long cigar. he coolly took it from his lips, knocked off the ashes, then bent over nat-u-ritch and whispered to her. her eyes alone answered him. he was about to join his men when cash hawkins swaggered up to him.

"say, son, ain't you courtin' disaster interferin' in my private business?" he threatened. he knew he dare not fight alone against jim and his men, so he played for time. if only he had his gang!

jim replied: "do you call it 'business' robbing indians when they're drunk, and insulting women?"

the cow-boy honor—for cash had a crude drilling in the laws of the west—flamed at the last words, and in all sincerity, true to his american point of view, he answered, hotly:

"don't you accuse me of insultin' women. she ain't a woman—she's a squaw."

jim turned away. why argue?

"bill," he said, "you and grouchy put tabywana on his pony. nat-u-ritch, pike way, and take your father with you." he knew she could manage the ponies and arrive at her wickyup in safety; in fact, the pony would take the chief home as he would a dead weight, if tabywana was once strapped on his back.

the men struggled with the heavy body of tabywana, and they finally succeeded in dragging him across the room, followed by nat-u-ritch carrying the blanket. cash could only watch—he was helpless—so he snarled:

"you've spoiled my trade, eh?"

jim turned to him. "the bar is closed to indians in maverick." he meant cash to infer that he could make it unpleasant for him if he called the government's attention to the matter.

but cash only sneeringly asked, "by whose orders?"

"uncle sam's orders, and they're backed up by the big 'c' brand."

at these words shorty and andy both pulled their guns, and stood ready to defend jim's statement. cash gave a loud shout, then threw himself against the bar as he screamed to attract the people in the room.

"gents," he called, "the young men's christian association is in the saddle. say," he wildly went on, "it's goin' to be perfectly sweet in maverick. nick,"—he turned to the bartender, who now wished that hawkins would go—"i'll be back for a glass of lemonade." then he came to jim, and, bowing low, he said, with all the venom and malice of his nature, "and say, angel-face, when i come back you better be prepared to lead in prayer."

he made a lunge at jim, but the sharp eyes of his men never left his hands. cash gave a wild roar of derisive laughter, flung himself across the room, turned at the door, pointed to jim, again laughed wildly, and then disappeared. shorty and andy followed him to the door. jim, indifferent, with his back to him, walked to a table at the farther end of the room.

the place was silent now. jim knew he had received a direct challenge. according to the laws of the west, cash was entitled to get his men together to meet jim and his men. every one in the saloon was on the alert. the englishman was not well known there, but from what they had heard they knew he was courageous. would he prove it now? if so, it meant that he would be there when cash returned. shorty turned from the door.

"he'll be back," he said, without looking at jim.

jim went on smoking. "of course," he answered. he deliberately seated himself at the table and began shuffling the cards.

then shorty and the crowd knew that he meant to see the thing through. it was a quiet way, but, they all agreed, a good way of accepting it. shorty exchanged glances with andy. the boss was of the right sort. a little more dash would have pleased them better, still—

"und say," andy said, "und with his gang." he didn't want the boss to make too light of the proposition.

but shorty, who now was sure of jim, answered for him, "so much the better, eh? we can clean 'em all up together. say, boss, what did you let him make it a matter of injins fer? you got the sentiment of the kummunity agin you right from the start. looks like fightin' for trifles."

grouchy, who had the news from andy, who was now explaining it to bill, straddled into a chair as he said, "yes, it's some dignified to fight over cattle, but injins—pshaw!"

jim knew it was useless to try to explain. their opinions on these matters were as separate as the poles; but they were a good sort, and served him well and faithfully. personally he did not care for this proposed fight with hawkins. he wanted peace—some days when he might dream and drift and watch the sand plains, when the work was done. the broils of the saloons, the point of view of the crowd, the honor of the west really mattered little to him, but for the sake of the boys, and that their pride in him might not suffer, he often accepted their definition of the code of life that was followed in maverick. he knew how to win them, so he began:

"well, boys, i don't want to drag you into my quarrel. if you feel that way about indians—" he was about to add that he did not, but shorty interrupted:

"pull up, boss; 'tain't fair to make us look as if we were trying to sneak out of a scrap. it was only the cause of it. you ain't got a quitter in your gang, and you know it."

"i know it, shorty." jim was obliged to laugh at the eager faces of the three men who stood close to him, like excited children waiting to be understood.

"well, don't say anything more about it, will you? let's—" shorty put out his hand.

jim grasped it. "let it go at that," jim finished. "you understand that you are to leave cash to me unless more get into the game."

bill, who had been listening to it all, drew jim aside. he preferred peace, but knew that they and carston's ranch stood marked for the crowd to jeer at for all time unless they did what was expected of them by the laws of the cow town, made by its men, not by the government that they abused.

"jim"—bill spoke over his shoulder—"bud hardy, the county sheriff, is standing just behind you at the bar, and he's particular thick with cash. got to take him into account."

jim nodded; with his arm through bill's he crossed to a side entrance and stood under the porch. he wanted to discuss with bill what was best to do. shorty and andy stood up against the bar and treated their particular friends to drinks. they felt it was going to be a red-letter day for carston's ranch.

outside the overland limited tooted at intervals, and sent up shrill whistles, but made no attempt to leave maverick. one official's information was denied by the next one. passengers had come in and had gone again—some of them frightened, some disgusted by the life of the saloon. a little farther down the line others of the passengers were being amused by some indians who, at the news of the train's stopping, had hurried to the railroad.

cash's departure had allowed the place to grow quiet. even nick hoped he would not find his men and return. there was a sudden shunting of the train, and the rear car moved back in to more direct view of the saloon. diana, tired of the wait, had finally persuaded sir john and henry to alight and see the place. they all entered together.

"by jove, what a rum hole!" sir john exclaimed.

"hello, there's a faro-table!" exclaimed henry.

all that diana said was, "i thought you had given up play, henry."

he shrugged his shoulders.

"of course, my dear, but a little sport to kill the tedium of this infernal wait—the monotony of the thing is getting on my nerves. john, will you look after di while i at least watch the game?"

"delighted," sir john replied, but his anxious face showed that he thoroughly disapproved of the proceedings. "really, diana," he began, "let me prevail upon you to leave here. any one who remains in a place of this kind is taking chances—oh, believe me—"

"nonsense; it all looks deadly dull to me."

the men, recognizing a quietly gowned gentle-woman, paid no attention to them.

"why, i'm not afraid, john. what's liable to happen?"

sir john applegate's mind was filled with stories of the west he had heard and read in his boyhood days.

"why, these desperadoes are liable to come in here and request you to dance—dance for their amusement, by jove!"

"well, what of that? we don't do it," diana teasingly interrupted.

"oh yes, my dear diana, we do do it. the request is an order, you know—obligatory—oh, quite? because, believe me, if we do not accede to their absurd request, they playfully shoot your toes off, by jove! they are shockingly rude, by jove! these chaps, believe me—oh, shockingly!"

diana looked about the room.

"i've read of such things, but i don't believe they happen—do you?"

henry was lost to them in the crowd around the faro-table. several other passengers from the train had joined him. sir john really did not like the look of the place; at the moment he caught pete's eyes fastened in amusement on him. he drew diana to one corner, and as he did so they came within range of jim's sight. he was coming in to join shorty and explain what he and bill had decided to do when cash returned. as he saw diana he involuntarily drew back. it was only one of the old tormenting visions that had returned, he thought. he drew his hands over his eyes—but no, he saw her again! impossible! he leaned forward—it was di, and in maverick! in spite of the sudden pain and bewilderment he smiled as he realized how the unexpected played its part in life. di in maverick!

there was no time to reason it out. he could not see henry, only sir john. he saw diana watching with curiosity the place and its occupants. he mingled quickly with the crowd at the bar, hoping they would leave shortly.

sir john was continuing his tirade against the ranchmen, and vainly trying to persuade diana to return to the car. she was examining some crude pictures on the walls.

"when they wish," sir john said, "these fellows shoot out the lights, the windows, and the bar furnishings. they are very whimsical—that's the american humor that they talk so much about. i don't care for whimsies myself." diana began to laugh. really, she was thinking, she had never known how absurd and old-womanish sir john could be. but he continued: "then, if you don't see fit to respond to their silly gayety, they kill you, by jove! that's all. i can't see the joke of it, you know. for example, one of them comes in here and invites us all, believe me, to drink with him. it's not the proper thing to reply, 'thanks awfully, old chap, but i'm not thirsty,' or 'i've just had a drink,' or 'excuse me, won't you,' because if you say that, he's very angry, don't you know. you have offered him a deadly insult; he does not know you, never saw you before, hopes never to see you again, and yet if you do not drink something which you do not want he kills you. that's deliciously whimsical now, isn't it?"

"cousin john, if i didn't know your reputation as a soldier, i'd think you were afraid." diana, followed by sir john, moved nearer the corner where jim was standing.

jim could see the sweet beauty of her face. he felt a sudden dizziness. it was more than he could endure. he started to leave, when he felt bill's hand on his shoulder.

"this place is too stuffy for me; i must get out into the air," he explained.

"leave the saloon now, jim!" bill exclaimed, in amazement. surely jim was not weakening. "if you ain't here to face cash hawkins when he comes back you lose your standing among the people with whom you live. you ain't agoin' to do that, are you, boy?"

"oh yes—cash." with the remembrance of hawkins came the resolve to remain in the saloon until diana left. he must be there to protect her if necessary. "i'd forgotten cash; i was thinking of something else, bill." then, as he encountered bill's searching eyes, he added, "oh yes; remember, if cash returns, each of you pick your man and leave him to me."

he drew closer to the crowd at the bar; diana was not likely to venture there. she had joined henry, and, with sir john, they were about to leave the place.

suddenly there was the sound of the clattering of a troop outside. at every entrance to the saloon—and there were four—a man entered flourishing a gun, while through the centre door rushed cash, who by this time had worked himself up into a frenzy of passion. straight into the ceiling he shot his revolver, and said:

"nick, every one in the long horn drinks with me."

every means of egress was barred by hawkins's men. jim drew behind bill's burly figure. if only cash would allow the strangers to go, was his one thought. henry looked at sir john; diana, half frightened, grasped a chair. the men in the place made a hurried rush towards the bar; deep in rows they stood there. then cash noticed the three figures; but it only added to the zest of the situation for him. diana, watching his cruel face, realized that sir john's yarn of adventure might prove a true one.

the saloon waited in silence.