“That’s what!” put in Sonora with a broad grin.

“What cigars have you?” asked Ashby, at the conclusion of his round of drinks.

“Regalias, Auroras and Eurekas,” reeled off the Girl with her eye upon Billy Jackrabbit, who had quietly come in and was sneaking about in an endeavour to find something worth pilfering.

“Oh, any will do,” Ashby told her, with a smile; and while he was helping himself from a box of Regalias, Nick suddenly appeared, calling out excitedly: 

“Man jest come in threatenin’ to shoot up the furniture!”

“Who is it?” calmly inquired the Girl, returning the cigar-box to its place on the shelf.

“Old man Watson!”

“Leave ’im shoot,—­he’s good for it!”

“Nick!  Nick!” yelled several voices in the dance-hall where old man Watson was surely having the time of his life.

And still the Girl paid not the slightest attention to the shooting or the cries of the men; what did concern her, however, was the fact that the Indian was drinking up the dregs in the whisky glasses on the faro table.

“Here, you, Billy Jackrabbit!  What are you doin’ here?” she exclaimed sharply, causing that generally imperturbable redskin to start perceptibly.  “Did you marry my squaw yet?”

Billy Jackrabbit’s face wore as stolid an expression as ever, when he answered: 

“Not so much married squaw—­yet.”

“Not so much married . . .” repeated the Girl when the merriment, which his words provoked, had subsided.  “Come ‘ere, you thievin’ redskin!” And when he had slid up to the bar, and she had extracted from his pockets a number of cigars which she knew had been pilfered, she added:  “You git up to my cabin an’ marry my squaw before I git there.”  And at another emphatic “Git!” the Indian, much to the amusement of all, started for the Girl’s cabin.

“Here—­here’s your prairie oyster, Sonora,” at last said the Girl; and then turning to the Sheriff and speaking to him for the first time, she called out gaily:  “Hello, Rance!”

“Hello, Girl!” replied the Gambler without even a glance at her or ceasing to shuffle the cards.

Presently, Sonora pulled out a bag of gold-dust and told the Girl to clear the slate out of it.  She was in the act of taking the sack when Nick, rushing into the room and jerking his thumb over his shoulder, said: 

“Say, Girl, there’s a fellow in there wants to know if we can help out on provisions.”

“Sure; what does he want?” returned the Girl with a show of willingness to accommodate him.

“Bread.”

“Bread?  Does he think we’re runnin’ a bakery?”

“Then he asked for sardines.”

“Sardines?  Great Gilead!  You tell ‘im we have nothin’ but straight provisions here.  We got pickled oysters, smokin’ tobacco an’ the best whisky he ever saw,” rapped out the Girl, proudly, and turned her attention to the slate.