kly, went over to him and deliberately
knocked the glass out of his hand.

With a crash it fell to the floor.

"Look here, Mr. Johnson, your ways are offensive to me!" he cried;
"damned offensive! My name is Rance--Jack Rance. Your business
here--your business?" And without waiting for the other's reply he
called out huskily: "Boys! Boys! Come in here!"

At this sudden and unexpected summons in the Sheriff's well-known voice
there was a rush from the dance-hall; in an instant the good-natured,
roistering crowd, nosing a fight, crowded to the bar, where the two men
stood glaring at each other in suppressed excitement.

"Boys," declared the Sheriff, his eye never leaving Johnson's face,
"there's a man here who won't explain his business. He won't tell--"

"Won't he?" cut in Sonora, blusteringly. "Well, we'll see--we'll make
'im!"

There was a howl of execration from the bar. It moved the Girl to
instant action. Quick as thought she turned and strode to where the
cries were the most menacing--towards the boys who knew her best and
ever obeyed her unquestioningly.

"Wait a minute!" she cried, holding up her hand authoritatively. "I know
the gent!"

The men exchanged incredulous glances; from all sides came the explosive
cries:

"What's that? You know him?"

"Yes," she affirmed dramatically; and turning now to Rance with a swift
change of manner, she confessed: "I didn't tell you--but I know 'im."

The Sheriff started as if struck.

"The Sacramento shrimp by all that is holy!" he muttered between his
teeth as the truth slowly dawned upon him.

"Yes, boys, this is Mr. Johnson o' Sacramento," announced the Girl with
a simple and unconscious dignity that did not fail to impress all
present. "I vouch to Cloudy for Mr. Johnson!"

Consternation!

And then the situation vaguely dawning upon them there ensued an
outburst of cheering compared to which the previous howl of execration
was silence.

Johnson smiled pleasantly at the Girl in acknowledgment of her
confirmation of him, then shot a half-curious, half-amused look at the
crowd surrounding him and regarding him with a new interest. Apparently
what he saw was to his liking, for his manner was most friendly when
bowing politely, he said:

"How are you, boys?"

At once the miners returned his salutation in true western fashion:
every man in the place, save Rance, taking off his hat and sweeping it
before him in an arc as they cried out in chorus:

"Hello