The Squaw Man

"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.

CHAPTER XVI

Cash had been drinking heavily all day, but there was no sign that it had weakened his faculties. On the contrary, the exhilaration of the liquor served to strengthen his dogged humor as he compelled the inmates of the saloon, strangers and all, to do his bidding.

"By Jove, Di, we are in for it," Sir John muttered. Then he turned irritably to Henry, who was close to him, "You have let us get in for a nice mess up." He was not afraid, but more than anything in the world he disliked a scene. He had travelled enough to know that they were at the mercy of the rough humor of these men. When occasion warranted he could match others in decision and courage, but he also knew that the consequences of the present situation were apt to be needlessly unpleasant. From the beginning he had been averse to Henry's allowing Diana to come with them; however, they must find a way out of it. He began to survey the crowd of men critically.

Jim, who was watching Diana, spoke, though still hidden among the crowd at the bar.

"There are some outsiders, Hawkins, from the train. You don't care to mix them up in our festivities, I suppose." By humoring Cash he also hoped to find a way out for Diana and the others. His voice attracted Sir John's attention.

"Quite so," he rejoined. "We have had a delightful time, don't you know." Then he turned to the desperado, who, with the smoking pistol still in his hand, was leaning against the centre-table and laughing at the strangers' discomfiture. "Awfully jolly of you to invite us, but circumstances over which we have no control, don't you know – " He grew painfully muddled.

"That's right, pane in the face," said Cash.

Sir John dropped his eye-glass in disgust.

"Circumstances over which you have no control," sneered Cash. "You describe the situation accurate. I'm a-runnin' this here garden-party, and I ain't agoin' to let anybody miss the fun – savvy?"

Jim's intervention had only hurt their chances of escaping from the saloon. Cash motioned his men, with their drawn guns, to stand close at the entrances. Jim saw Diana turn pale. He forgot everything; he only knew that she stood there – that at this moment Henry and Sir John were powerless to help her. He must get her away from the place; he would agree promise Cash whatever he wished in return – only Diana must be allowed to leave.

"But the lady – you won't detain the lady against her will?" He knew the weakness of Cash's nature; to appeal to him as a gallant might be efficacious. In his earnestness to carry his point Jim stepped out from among the men around the bar.

Almost simultaneously a low cry of "Jim" broke from Henry and Diana. It was followed by an ejaculation from Sir John. It passed unremarked, and Jim determined to ignore what his impetuous folly had brought upon him. Cash was oblivious of everything save his revenge. He bowed low to Diana – he would be polite to the lady, even if the request came from Jim.

"I am going to give the lady the chance to see how an Englishman looks when he has to take his medicine." He looked at Diana. "She's sure a thoroughbred – she ain't batted an eye nor turned a hair. I'll bet a hundred to one she stays."

Diana could at that moment have passed out of the saloon, leaving Henry and Sir John there, but she saw only Jim. It was Jim – Jim in those strange clothes – Jim so bronzed, so strong, so masterful. What a contrast to Henry!

Cash waited for her answer. He adored playing to the gallery – this was heightening the situation beyond all expectation.

"She stays," he finally said. "Good! Gents, this is to be a nice, quiet, sociable affair – ladies are present. Any effort to create trouble will be nipped in the bud. Gents, to the bar."

He turned to Henry and Sir John as he spoke. He had a contempt for the men, but there was something about this quiet, dignified woman that embarrassed him, though he would have been the last to admit it. A few more drinks and he might be dangerous, but at present he was still master of himself. His game was to make Jim and his gang ridiculous before the strangers. Afterwards – well, then the serious settling of their score should come. He took a glass that was handed him across the bar and gulped down its contents.

Henry was whispering to Diana, "For God's sake, go – you can, and later we will follow you. This will be over in a minute." But Diana only held tighter the rail of the chair.

"We can't drink with this confounded bounder, Henry," Sir John expostulated. "It's too absurd, you know. Her Majesty's officers can't do a thing like that, now can they?"

"We must humor the drunken brute, Sir John, that's the only way out of it."

That Jim was there none of them acknowledged to each other. Events were assuming a strange unreality. What had been meant for a half-hours diversion was involving them in a highly dangerous situation. The saloon grew hotter – little air reached them through the barred doorway. Still Diana did not go. The old imperative cry, stifled for the last two years, awoke again. She forgot the dust, the hot saloon, the swaggering crowd of ranchmen. The noise and wild excitement fell on her unheeding ears. Jim was there, and his presence held her rooted to the spot.

Jim had moved into a corner at the lower end of the bar, and furtively watched Cash and his men.

"Step up lively, sonny," Cash called to Sir John and Henry, "or you may have to dance the Highland fling."

Sir John stole a look of self-justification at Diana, but she did not see it. It was turning out just as he had told her.

"And shoot our toes off, by Jove," he whispered to Henry. "And he'll do it, too, confounded bounder!" he muttered, as both men went towards the bar and were met by Pete, who handed them each a glass of evil-looking whiskey.

Cash began to direct the scene. "Hand out the nose-paint, gents."

Every one took a drink, Jim too; for her sake he would do as Hawkins wished. It would be the quickest way to end this part of the business. The serious end of it would follow when they were alone.

Suddenly Cash, whose last two drinks were rendering him more offensive, and who was determined to annoy Sir John as well as Jim, said, "Gents, to the success of the Boers."

To the crowd it was a foolish toast; it meant nothing to them. But they had hardly begun to toss off their drinks when there came a crack of glass, as Sir John Applegate threw his tumbler on the floor and said, "No, I'll be damned."

Cash turned on him with an imprecation, and started to cover him with his gun. This unexpected diversion was the chance that Jim had been looking for. In an instant he had thrown his untasted liquor into Cash Hawkins's face. It blinded Cash. Involuntarily he fumbled with his guns, and in an instant Jim had thrust his revolver into Cash's side. There was a moment of pandemonium as Cash's imprecations filled the air. The men at the door started forward, but they had to pay for the moment's lowering of their guns. Big Bill and Jim's men had been eagerly watching their opportunity, and speedily covered Cash's gang.

"Put your hands up quick," Jim ordered.

Cash, with visible reluctance, complied. There was a suppressed madness of excitement in Jim's voice as he said to Sir John Applegate: "Oblige me by relieving the gentleman of his guns; it will tire him to hold it up there too long." Sir John obeyed. It was a critical moment – one never knew which way a crowd in a saloon would veer, and there might have been a riot if Cash had been more popular. As it happened there was a laugh at Jim's words. Sir John reached for the guns. Cash, gaunt and terrible to look at, stood still while they were taken from him. The pressure of the muzzle at his side caused him to loosen his final reluctant finger.

"Delighted, charmed, I'm sure," Sir John agreed.

Jim, still covering Cash with his gun, drove him up against the bar. Those of the crowd who knew him realized that they were seeing a new man in the Englishman. He was conscious of Diana's luminous face back of him, of Henry's gray countenance close to her as he quietly expostulated with her. The crowd swung close to the new boss. This was what they wanted. They believed he would prove the new leader for Maverick.

"Every man's hands on the bar," the Englishman called, and he and his men covered the crowd at these words. "I ask you," Jim quietly said, "to drink with me to the President of the United States."

Men who had cursed their President, defied the laws of the country that had elected him, and who were fugitives from the justice of their land were touched by the simple and tactful toast. All glasses were raised. They were about to drink, but the first sentence was followed by the words:

"And to her Gracious Majesty, the Queen."

This time Jim stood ready to shoot; but it was unnecessary – the crowd echoed the toast. Why not? The Englishman was right. Their country – then his. Not a bad sort. So the murmurs went around.

Suddenly Hawkins said, as he watched Sir John:

"Your little glass-eyed friend don't drink."

Sir John's glass was still untouched.

"Oh yes, he's goin' to drink," Shorty cut in, as he crossed to the group near the table.

"Ain't nobody excused on a formal show-down like this!" Bill called.

But Sir John, carried away by indignation at Jim's daring to propose that toast to the country and the sovereign he believed Jim had so dishonored, vehemently answered:

"I'm an officer in her Majesty's service, and, by Jove! I won't drink with a man who fled from England after robbing the widows and orphans of the Queen's soldiers, and you can do what you jolly well like about it."

All eyes were turned on Jim. Would he kill the stranger? Henry held Diana by the arm. Jim grew pale under the strain of the moment's intensity.

Cash was the first to speak. "What do you say to that?" he drawled, after a prolonged whistle.

But Jim kept his eyes fastened on Sir John. "If I were the man you think me," he said, "you would never have finished that sentence. You have evidently mistaken me for some one else. My name is Jim Carston, and I never took a penny that did not belong to me."

Even to Sir John the words rang true, but he had lost all control – he was determined to avenge the old score of dishonor against his regiment.

"Why, confound your impudence, there stands your cousin, Henry Kerhill!"

The crowd swung around. This was the moment – it had been a day for Maverick. What were they now to learn of Cash's "angel-face"?

Henry crossed to Jim and faced him. There was a pause. "Yes," he answered, with as much nonchalance as he could assume, "I believe the gentleman does bear a certain bald resemblance to the man you mean, but it is evidently a case of mistaken identity." Diana's eyes were following him with their mute appeal. He continued: "You will observe, Sir John, that I drank the toast. I trust you will not refuse to drink to our Queen with these gentlemen in a foreign country."

The ranchmen liked these Englishmen. They were being treated with great consideration; the little one was amusing but he was all right. So ran the verdict of the Long Horn saloon.

Sir John Applegate stood unconvinced. Henry's eyes were fastened on him, and he read there something that held a reason for his denial. At all events he had been most unwise – he knew that now – and he must, for Diana's sake, undo his hasty words.

"Well, of course," he began, as he realized that further comment would be futile, "I was under the impression that I hadn't had a drink – not one, by Jove! Well, I must be squiffy." The cow-punchers laughed. "Here's," he finished, "to her Gracious Majesty the Queen – God bless her!"

Big Bill, who would have been an arch-diplomat in another sphere of life, said:

"Not forgettin' his Gracious Majesty the President, you know."

Sir John rose to the occasion. "Oh, quite so – his Royal Highness the President – God bless him!"

The men slapped one another in appreciation of the joke. Sir John tried to drink the whiskey of the country, but with a sigh he said, after the first taste, "Say, as I must drink, please make it Scotch."

During the scene in the saloon the car had drawn down the line and was shunting up and down the rails in a way comprehensible only to the powers that control an engine. Henry apprehensively looked towards the car, and went to meet Dan, whom he could see at the farther end of the platform. The meeting with Jim had been painful, and he was almost at his wits' end. As he could not force Diana's prompt withdrawal, he would fetch Dan to insist upon the passengers' return to the car.