wall and turned a delighted face up to Rand's flushed one.

"Senor," he chided softly, shaking a slender white finger very close to
Rand's nose, "have you forgot it is the gala night of our good host,
the Papa Francais? That you don't care for trouble to-night? _Mama
mia_! You are a comic--no?"

Then bringing his hand away and hooking both thumbs impudently into the
armholes of his gay vest the Mexican smiled as he hummed softly,
glancing away briefly to where Ernestine Dumont was watching them:

"The perfume of roses, of little red roses;
(Thou art a rose, oh, so sweet, _corazon_!)"

With men laughing at him Blunt Rand struck. The young Mexican was
still in his chair. Like a cat he slipped from it now, avoiding the
heavy, swinging blow, moving to one side with swift gracefulness,
standing with the table between him and Rand. As he moved his right
hand slid into his pocket.

"You dago!" Rand shouted at him, lunging forward while men scrambled
out of the way. "Call me coward an' then go for your knife! Fight
with your hands, damn you."

Again Garcia avoided him easily, calm and quick eyed, offering
pantherine swiftness against the blind fury of Rand.

"Si, senor," he answered lightly. "With the hands. But the hands I
mus' keep without dirt, senor!"

His hand came away from his pocket and he made a sudden gesture, still
laughing, toward Rand's face. The trapper jerked back quickly. Then a
great booming swell of laughter went up, even the slow rumble of
Kootanie George's voice and the tinkling tremulo of Ernestine Dumont's
joining it Ramon Garcia had brought out his gloves and had drawn them
on before Rand had understood.

In size and physique Rand was the average there. The young Mexican was
the shortest, slightest man in the house. But none knows better than
the dwellers in the North Woods that it is unwise to judge men by mere
size of body. It is well to look to the eyes of one's antagonist.

Garcia sprang forward and slapped Rand's face so that the face burned
and the sound of the blow was like a pistol shot in the quiet room.
And as Rand's return threshing blow sought him he sprang away, laughing.

"For calling me Greaser," he cried lightly. "When I have said out loud
that I am Ramon Garcia."

Bellowing curses Rand charged at him again. Garcia avoided and seemed
to have no difficulty whatever in so doing.

"Will you open the door, senor?" he called to a man standing near the
e