rdered recklessly:

"Oh, crack the egg--I'll stand for it."

But Sonora's fancied advantage over the others was of short duration,
for the next instant Nick, stepping quickly forward with a drink, handed
it to the Girl with the words:

"Regards of Blonde Harry."

Again Sonora experienced a feeling akin to jealousy at what he termed
Blonde Harry's impudence. It almost immediately gave way to a paroxysm
of chuckling; for, the Girl, quickly taking the glass from Nick's hand,
flung its contents into a nearby receptacle.

"There--tell 'im that it hit the spot!" She laughed.

Nick roared with the others, but on the threshold of the dance-hall he
paused, hesitated, and finally came back, and advised in a low tone:

"Throw around a few kind words, Girl--good for the bar."

The Girl surveyed the barkeeper with playful disapproval in her eye.
However advantageous might be his method of working up trade, she
disdained to follow his advice, and her laughing answer was:

"Oh, you Nick!"

The peal of laughter that rung in Nick's ears as he disappeared through
the door, awakened Ashby and brought him instantly to his feet. Despite
his size, he was remarkably quick in his movements, and in no time at
all he was standing before the bar with a glass, which he had filled
from the bottle that had stood in front of him on the table, and was
saying:

"Compliments of Wells Fargo."

"Thank you," returned the Girl; and then while she shook the prairie
oyster: "You see we live high-shouldered here."

"That's what!" put in Sonora with a broad grin.

"What cigars have you?" asked Ashby, at the conclusion of his round of
drinks.

"Regalias, Auroras and Eurekas," reeled off the Girl with her eye upon
Billy Jackrabbit, who had quietly come in and was sneaking about in an
endeavour to find something worth pilfering.

"Oh, any will do," Ashby told her, with a smile; and while he was
helping himself from a box of Regalias, Nick suddenly appeared, calling
out excitedly:

"Man jest come in threatenin' to shoot up the furniture!"

"Who is it?" calmly inquired the Girl, returning the cigar-box to its
place on the shelf.

"Old man Watson!"

"Leave 'im shoot,--he's good for it!"

"Nick! Nick!" yelled several voices in the dance-hall where old man
Watson was surely having the time of his life.

And still the Girl paid not the slightest attention to the shooting or
the cries of the men; what did concern her, however, was the fact th