cigars, which she serves herself, in the
broken-down tienda which was regularly given to her people by the
Spanish grantee of the land we're squatting on. It's not her fault but
ours if we've adopted a line of rules, which don't agree with hers, to
govern the settlers on HER land, nor should she be compelled to follow
them. Nor because we justify OUR squatting here, on the ground that the
Spanish grant isn't confirmed yet, can we forbid her squatting under the
same right."

"But look at the moral question, Brace. Consider the example; the
influence of such a shop, kept by such a woman, on the community! We
have the right to protect ourselves--the majority."

"That's the way the lynchers talk," returned Brace. "And I'm not so sure
about there being any moral question yet. You are assuming too much.
There is no reason why she shouldn't run the tienda as decently--barring
the liquor sale, which, however, is legal, and for which she can get a
license--as a man could, and without interfering with our morals."

"Then what is the use of our rules?"

"They were made for those who consented to adopt them, as we all did.
They still bind US, and if we don't choose to buy her liquor or cigars
that will dispose of her and her tienda much more effectually than your
protest. It's a pity she's a lone unprotected woman. Now if she only had
a husband"--

"She carries a dagger in her garter."

This apparently irrelevant remark came from the man who had not yet
spoken, but who had been listening with the languid unconcern of one
who, relinquishing the labor of argument to others, had consented to
abide by their decision. It was met with a scornful smile from each of
the disputants, perhaps even by an added shrug of the shoulders from
the woman's previous defender! HE was evidently not to be taken in by
extraneous sentiment. Nevertheless, both listened as the speaker,
slowly feeling his knees as if they were his way to a difficult subject,
continued with the same suggestion of stating general fact, but waiving
any argument himself. "Clarkson of Angels allows she's got a free,
gaudy, picter-covered style with the boys, but that she can be
gilt-edged when she wants to. Rowley Meade--him ez hed his skelp pulled
over his eyes at one stroke, foolin' with a she bear over on Black
Mountain--allows it would be rather monotonous in him attemptin' any
familiarities with her. Bulstrode's brother, ez was in Marysville, said
there was a woman--li