k and started the steaks. A waiter
brought over drinks of the Rocky Mountain grapejuice with the
information that they were "on the house."

"It ain't the hooch we're sellin'," he said. "This is private stock,
hundred proof." He eyed Mormon professionally as he hung about the
table, setting out the battered cutlery and tin plates that Simpson
provided. "They was offerin' two to one on Roarin' Russell a little
while ago," he volunteered. "I think I'll take up a piece of their
money."

"This ain't a prize-fight, it's a privut quarrel," said Mormon as he
smelled the fiery stuff in the glass, sipped it and then swallowed it in
one gulp. "That's prime stuff."

"You'll have one hell of a time keepin' it privut, mister," said the
waiter. "They tell me there's nigh to six hundred folks in the camp an'
there won't be many more'n six missin' when you two meet up. You want to
watch out for Russell's pals, though; they ain't the gentlest bunch in
the herd. But I reckon you can handle 'em," he said, turning to Sandy.
"I saw you handlin' your hardware this mornin' an' you sure can juggle a
gun."

A call from another of the makeshift tables claimed his attention.
Simpson came hurrying with the meat, biscuits and coffee. He sat down
with them, offering more drinks which they refused.

"Slack right now," he said, "but I sure have done a whale of a business
to-day. If this keeps up I don't want no claims. They're tellin' me you
give Plimsoll till sun-up to git out of camp, Sandy. I don't figger
there'll be any argyment. He's yeller as the yolk of a rotten aig. Hell
w'udn't take him in, he ain't fit to be fried. Gittin' rid of him an'
his crowd'll sure purify the air in this camp. Times ain't like they
used to be. This ain't the frontier any more and a few bad men can't run
a strike to suit themselves. If the camp's no good it'll peter out like
it did afore; if it amounts to anything, we'll have a police station on
one end of this street, a fire station at t'other an' streetcars runnin'
down the middle, inside of a month. Plimsoll's gettin' a bum name in
this county. The wimmin are ag'in' him. An' I tell you, gents, we
hombres 'll have to watch our steps or they'll be takin' our vote away
from us next thing you know. It's a lucky thing for us that men is in
the majority in this section. Here's yore friend now."

Westlake came through the door, looked round, saw them and came over.

"Russell is down at the Chinaman's eating shack b