tween No-luck Drennen and Blunt Rand. And
yet the men who ceased their playing at the snap of his voice forgot
Rand and hungered for trouble between Drennen and Kootanie George.
Rand had been measured long ago and didn't count. He blabbed big words
when he was drunk and whined when a man struck him. He would swallow
his words now and swallow with them No-luck Drennen's vicious "You're a
liar, Blunt Rand." Even if Drennen slapped his face he would merely
crawl away like a little bug, spitting venom.

Drennen was standing ten feet from him and made no move to draw closer.

"Did you hear me, Rand?" he demanded sharply.

"I heard you," grumbled the trapper. "What's eatin' you, Dave, anyway?"

"Tell them you lied."

Rand flushed, and inspired by his liquor a sudden, unusual stubbornness
sprang up in his eyes. He heard Ernestine laugh softly.

"You go to hell," he cried hotly. "I got a right . . ."

"No man has a right to lie about me," announced Drennen crisply. The
big hands at his sides had clenched swiftly with knotting muscles. At
last he took a quick step forward, his quarrelsome mood riding him.
"If you don't want me to choke the tongue out of your head tell them
you lied."

"_Messieurs, messieurs_," cried poor old Marquette imploringly. "For
the love of God! Tonight all mus' be gay, all mus' be frien's. It is
the night Mamma Jeanne an' me we are marry fifty year . . ."

Drennen snarled at him, shaking the thin old hand away angrily. Rand
was upon his feet, some of the stubbornness already fled from his eyes,
the sound of Ernestine Dumont's taunting laugh lost to him in the harsh
voice of Drennen.

"I don't want no trouble to-night, Dave," he said swiftly. "It's old
Papa Marquette's weddin' night. I . . . I was jus' joshin', Dave."
And then as Ernestine laughed again, he spat out, "Jus' joshin' to
tease Ernestine here."

"_Sangre de dios_!" murmured Ramon Garcia gently, his black eyes liquid
fire. "He is a little coward, that Rand."

Hardly more than a whisper and Garcia quite across the room from Rand.
And yet the stillness was so perfect that Rand heard and jerked his
head up, swinging toward the Mexican.

"You little Greaser!" he cried shrilly. "You dirty breed, you!" He
pushed through the crowd to Garcia's table. "Coward, am I? I'll show
you."

Ramon Garcia's laughter greeting the hot words was a clear burst of
unaffected, boyish merriment. He tilted his chair back against the