six-shooters, hung low, the holsters tied with rawhide strips to the leathern chaps. He had given only a name-- James Green, and in those days, that meant just nothing at all. Wayside wondered, but in silence. The saloon- keeper spoke to him.
'Gone loco--the whole bilin',' he said. 'You'd guess they'd never seen a bit o' gold before, wouldn't you?' A glint of a smile softened the hard lines of the cowboy's features. 'They certainly seem some flustered--liable to stampede any moment,' he returned, and then, 'Why is it that easy money is so much more attractive than coin yu earn?'
'I pass,' Bixby replied. 'But if you think minin' means easy money you got another guess comin'. Now you tell me this: why is it that a fella can never keep coin he gets easy?'
'I pass too,' the cowboy smiled, adding reflectively, 'That ol' mosshead is shorely gettin' this herd on the run; yo're liable to lose trade.'
'An' it's bad enough a'ready--if it gets wuss I'll have to pack an' follow my custom,' Bixby grunted, and emboldened by the visitor's apparent friendliness, 'You thinkin' o' joinin' the nugget-hunters?' The question was a flagrant breach of Western etiquette, as the saloon-keeper was well aware, but the other did not resent it.
'Why, I ain't made any plans--yet,' he drawled. 'Fact is, I'm lookin' for a coupla fellows an' Deadwood might be a likely place.'
'Friends o' yores, mebbe,' Bixby ventured.
The cowboy's expression hardened, and his eyes grew bleak. 'I'll be pleased to see them,' he said, so grimly that the saloonkeeper did not pursue the topic.
A moment later a tousle-headed youngster flung himself from the bare back of a sweating pony, thrust open the swing-door of the saloon and yelled:
'Stage is a-comin'--there's a gal aboard--a pretty gal--an' ol' Three-finger Ike is sober.' Wayside, lying well south of the main Overland Trail to the West and forty miles from the nearest settlement, was difficult of access. Most of its visitors arrived by freight-wagon or on horseback rather than wait for the stagecoach, which, at intervals of weeks, called there on its way to northern Kansas. The arrival of the vehicle was an event and always a sufficient excuse for the male population to gather at the Pioneer.
A shrill whoop emptied the bar like magic, even the indifferent young cowboy joining the group outside. From a billowing cloud of dust the unwieldy conveyance, drawn by six scampering mules, emerged, and with a final crack of the long-lashed whip the driver pulled them to a stop, set his brake, looped the reins over the iron hook at his side, and climbed clumsily down from his perch.
'Howdy, folks,' he boomed, a hen came the customary query and invariable answer which had earned him his nickname. 'Waal, Bixby, I don't mind if I do; just three fingers.' Then, in answer to a question:
'Yeah, I got a lady passenger--sweet gal too, travellin' alone, an' I had to hobble my tongue some. Reckon them mules got notions at first, but that whip o' mine speaks mighty plain.'
'Didn't figure on seem' you, Ike,' Bixby remarked. 'Shore reckoned you'd be streakin' for the new goldfields.'
'Plenty is--the Overland is black with 'em,' the stagedriver replied. 'I'm stayin' with my job; she pays steady wages an' I like my meals reg'lar.'
'By all accounts, it's a rich strike,' Preedy put in.
'Hell, did you ever hear o' one that warn't--at first?' Ike said. ''Sides, the Black Hills is Injun country--Sioux at that; I ain't goin' to resk my scalp.' A cackle of mirth greeted the remark, for most of those present knew that the speaker's cranium had no more hair than an egg.
Meanwhile the occupants of the coach had alighted, glad to leave the cramped, uncomfortable conveyance in which they had jolted and bumped over interminable miles of rough trail.
They presented a curious contrast. The first to emerge was a square, stocky man in the thirties, with enormous shoulders, long arms, and coarse, bloated features upon which a scowl seemed to be the natural expression. A straggling black moustache only accentuated the cruel lines of his mouth. His garb was that of the country, shirt open at the throat, disclosing a hairy chest, trousers stuffed into boot-tops, coat slung over one arm, and a heavy revolver strapped about his middle. Altogether, Wayside summed up, an ugly-looking customer.
He was followed by a tall, slim cowboy whose plump, youthful face and frank brown eyes were those of one who had nothing to hide. Battered Stetson in hand, he held open the door for the third passenger, whose appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration.
'Three-finger may be able to describe mules pretty good but females is out of his class,' one of the older inhabitants remarked disdainfully. ''Sweet' don't begin to tell about her.' And, in truth, stepping down from the drab, clumsy vehicle, the girl--she appeared to be still in her 'teens--made a charming picture. Her simple black gown set off the slimness of her young body, and beneath the broad brim of a soft felt hat,short curly hair of the palest gold peeped out. The deep blue eyes were wide-spaced, the nose short and straight, the mouth firm.
At the moment she was evidently weary, and somewhat disturbed by the interest she was creating. Nevertheless, she ::anked the cowboy and turned to smile bravely at the onlookers, half of whom immediately became her slaves, eager to serve her. But while they were thinking about it, Paul Lesurge acted. Three quick strides and he was before her, bowing, hat in hand.
'Let me be the first to welcome you to Wayside, ma'am,' he said. 'If I can be of any service to you, please command me. I am Paul Lesurge.' The name, of course, conveyed nothing to her, but his respectful manner and the contrast of his appearance with that of the other citizens produced the effect he intended. Her eyes studied him steadily for a moment, and then she smiled, holding out a slim hand.
'It is very kind of you, sir,' she said. 'My name is Mary Ducane, and my business here--'
'Must certainly wait until you have washed and rested,' he interposed quickly. 'You see, I know what a journey by stage means.'
'I do feel--grubby,' she confessed.
'You don't look it,' he told her, so warmly that she flushed a little. 'Now, let me take you to our one hotel; it is rough, but the woman who runs it is clean and capable, and will look after you. Is that your baggage?' He pointed to a leather grip which the tall cowboy was holding, evidently waiting for the conversation to finish. His good- humoured face was now disfigured with a frown which deepened when--the girl having nodded her pretty head--the interfering stranger calmly relieved him of his burden, saying:
'I'll take charge of that, my friend.' The impudence of the act proved too much for the cowboy's control. With a threatening gesture towards the gun on his hip he blurted out:
'Yu make friends mighty rapid, mister, don't yu? What right yu got to head in thisaway?' The older man surveyed him with cool disdain. 'Gentlemen do not quarrel in the presence of a lady,' he chided. 'We will discuss the matter later, if you please.' Which grandiloquent reply, as the speaker knew well, only added fuel to the fire of resentment already burning in the young man's breast. It was the girl who averted the storm.
'Thank you for your kindness and attention on the journey,' she said, holding out her hand.
The cowboy's face became a picture of discomfort. 'It ain't worth mentionin',' he managed to say, and then, as his big paw engulfed her fingers, 'Any time yu need help I'll come a-runnin'. ' I'm shore obliged,' she smiled, mimicking his own manner of speech. 'But you mustn't be angry with others who wish to aid me.' He watched as they went along the rude board sidewalk, his heart in his eyes, and a curse on his lips as he saw the man who had so neatly cut him out stand aside to let his companion enter Wayside's one hotel. A jeering, familiar voice brought him back to earth, and he turned to find the third passenger.
'Well, cowboy, that dame is certainly a fast worker,' the fellow grinned. 'We was gettin' along first-rate till you joined the 'jerky' an' then I got the glass eye. Now it's yore turn, but she won't shake Paul that easy.'
'Yu know that man?' the cowboy asked.
'Know Paul Lesurge? I'll say I do,' was the reply. 'Why, I'm here to meet him--we're like brothers, me an' Paul. He's a great fella, an' style?--well, you seen for yoreself.' He laughed evilly. 'So you can say good-bye to yore Lulu, cowboy, 'less yo're willin' to take Paul's leavin's'
'Shut yore rank mouth, yu toad,' the young fellow flamed out, 'or I'll close it for yu.' The short man grinned provokingly--he was of the type who would tease a tied dog--and he did not believe this raw youth to be dangerous.
'Serious, was you?' he fleered. 'Well, she's a pretty piece, an' I could be that myself for mebbe a month, an' then He was not allowed to finish. Two long steps brought the cowboy within reach and his right fist flashed out to the jaw. There was no science in the blow, but it had all the power of a muscular young body behind it and the fury
