“The Swede wasn’t going to argue about it, because we’d all come out in front to listen; so he pulled his gun and let it off over Pyann’s head; and a couple of the boys did the same thing, and that started the rest—­about six others had guns—­till it sounded like a bunch of giant crackers going off.  Old Pyann left in haste, all right.  He was flattened out on his pony till he looked like a plaster.

“We didn’t hear any more of him last night, but coming up here this morning I found out he’d done a regular Paul Revere ride to save his people; he rode clear up as far as that last camp, just below here, on your place, yelling to every Injin he passed that they’d better take to the brush, because the whites had broken out at Kulanche.  At that, the Swede ought to be sent up, knowing they’ll fight every time he sells them whiskey.  Two of these last night were bad cut in this rumpus.”

“Yes; and he’d ought to be sent up for life for selling it to white men, too—­the kind he sells.”  This was Sandy Sawtelle, speaking as one who knew and with every sign of conviction.  “It sure is enterprising whiskey.  Three drinks of it make a decent man want to kill his little golden-haired baby sister with an axe.  Say, here’s a good one—­lemme tell you!  I remember the first time, about three, four years ago—­”

The speaker was interrupted—­it seemed to me with intentional rudeness.  One man hurriedly wished to know who did the cutting last night; another, if the wounded would recover; and a third, if Pete, an aged red vassal of our own ranch, had been involved.  Each of the three flashed a bored glance at Sandy as he again tried for speech: 

“Well, as I was saying, I remember the first time, about three, four years ago—­”

“If old Pete was down there I bet his brother-in-law did most of the knifework,” put in Buck Devine firmly.

It was to be seen that they all knew what Sandy remembered the first time and wished not to hear it again.  Others of them now sought to stifle the memoir, while Sandy waited doggedly for the tide to ebb.  I gathered that our Pete had not been one of the restive convives, he being known to have spent a quiet home evening with his mahala and their numerous descendants, in their camp back of the wood lot; I also gathered that Pete’s brother-in-law had committed no crime since Pete quit drinking two years before.  There was veiled mystery in these allusions to the brother-in-law of Pete.  It was almost plain that the brother-in-law was a lawless person for whose offenses Pete had more than once been unjustly blamed.  I awaited details; but meantime—­

“Well, as I was saying, I remember the first time, about three, four years ago—­”

Sandy had again dodged through a breach in the talk, quite as if nothing had happened.  Buck Devine groaned as if in unbearable anguish.  The others also groaned as if in unbearable anguish.  Only the veterinary and I were polite.