“You bet!” vouched Trinidad with a nod, as Nick departed on his errand.

Finally, the Girl, having made her calculations, opened the counter drawer and brought forth some silver Mexican dollars, saying: 

“Sonora, an’ Mr. Ashby, your change!”

Ashby picked up his money, only to throw it instantly back on the bar, and say gallantly: 

“Keep the change—­buy a ribbon at The Ridge—­compliments of Wells Fargo.”

“Thank you,” smiled the Girl, sweeping the money into the drawer, but her manner showed plainly that it was not an unusual thing for the patrons of The Polka to refuse to accept the change.

Not to be outdone, Sonora quickly arose and went over to the counter where, pointing to his stack of silver dollars, he said: 

“Girl, buy two ribbons at The Ridge;” and then with a significant glance towards Ashby, he added:  “Fawn’s my colour.”

And again, as before, the voice that said, “Thank you,” was colourless, while her eyes rested upon the ubiquitous Nick, who had entered with an armful of wood and was intent upon making the room warmer.

Rance snorted disapprovingly at Sonora’s prodigality.  That he considered that both his and Ashby’s attentions to the Girl had gone far enough was made apparent by the severe manner in which he envisaged them and drawled out: 

“Play cyards?”

But to that gentleman’s surprise the men did not move.  Instead, Ashby raising a warning finger to the Girl, went on to advise that she should bank with them oftener, concluding with: 

“And then if this road agent Ramerrez should drop in, you won’t lose so much—­”

“The devil you say!” cut in Sonora; while Trinidad broke out into a scornful laugh.

“Oh, go on, Mr. Ashby!” smilingly scoffed the Girl.  “I keep the specie in an empty keg now.  But I’ve took to bankin’ personally in my stockin’,” she confided without the slightest trace of embarrassment.

“But say, we’ve got an awful pile this month,” observed Nick, anxiously, leaving the fireplace and joining the little ring of men about her.  “It makes me sort o’ nervous—­why, Sonora’s got ten thousand alone fer safe keepin’ in that keg an’—­”

“—­Ramerrez’ band’s everywhere,” completed Ashby with a start, his quick and trained ear having caught the sound of horses’ hoofs.

“But if a road agent did come here, I could offer ‘im a drink an’ he’d treat me like a perfect lady,” contended the Girl, confidently.

“You bet he would, the durned old halibut!” was Sonora’s comment, while Nick took occasion to ask the Girl for some tobacco.

“Solace or Honeydew?” she inquired, her hands already on the assortment of tobacco underneath the bar.

“Dew,” was Nick’s laconic answer.

And then it was that the Girl heard for the first time the sound of the galloping hoofs; startled for the moment, she inquired somewhat uneasily: