, there'll be music in a minute or two."

Steve now walked the floor, pouring forth a flood of profanity and
challenges against men who were not present. He had not brought himself
to the point of attacking the unmoved and silent giant. Some of the
younger men, and especially the pleader against mixed drinks, had
succumbed, and were sleeping heavily on the back end of the bar and on
the billiard table. Hank was getting anxious, and the forced smile on
his face was painful to see. Over the whole group there was a singular
air of waiting. No one was enjoying himself, and all wished that they
were on the road home, but there was no way out of it now. It was
evident that Lime purposed forcing the beginning of the battle on Steve.
He sat in statuesque repose.

Steve had got his hat in his hand and held it doubled up like a club,
and every time that he turned in his restless walk he struck the bar a
resounding blow. His eyes seemed to see nothing, although they moved
wildly from side to side.

He lifted up his voice in a raucous snarl. "I'm the man that struck
Billy Patterson! I'm the man that bunted the bull off the bridge!
Anybody got anything to say, now's his time. I'm here. Bring on your
champion."

Foam came into the corners of his mouth, and the veins stood out on his
neck. His red face shone with its swollen veins. He smashed his fists
together, threw his hat on the floor, tramped on it, snarling out
curses. Nothing kept him in check save the imperturbability of the
seated figure. Everybody expected him to clear the saloon to prove his
power.

Bedloe, who was asleep on the table, precipitated matters by rolling off
with a prodigious noise amid a pandemonium of howls and laughter. In his
anxiety to see what was going on, Frank thrust his head violently
against the window, and it crashed in, sending the glass rattling down
on the table.

Steve looked up, a red sheen in his eyes like that of a wild beast.
Instantly his fury burst out against this new object of attention--a
wild, unreasoning rage.

"What you doen' there? Who air ye, ye mangy little dog?"

Both boys sank back in tumultuous, shuddering haste, and rolled down the
embankment, while they heard the voice of Steve thundering: "Fetch the
little whelp here!"

There was a rush from the inside, a sudden outpouring, and the next
moment John felt a hand touch his shoulder. Steve dragged him around to
the front of the saloon before he could draw his breath