“Well, that ain’t your fault, Jack Rance!” But the words were hardly out of her mouth than she regretted having spoken them.  She waited a moment, and then as he did not speak she murmured an “Adios, Jack,” and took up her position behind the bar where, if Rance had been looking, he would have seen her start on hearing a voice in the next room and fix her eyes in a sort of fascinated wonder, on a man who, after parting the pelt curtain, came into the saloon with just a suggestion of swagger in his bearing.

VII.

“Where’s the man who wanted to curl my hair?”

Incisive and harsh, with scarcely a trace of the musical tones she recollected so well, as was Johnson’s voice, it deceived the Girl not an instant.  Even before she was able to get a glimpse of his face it did not fail to tell her that the handsome caballero, with whom she had ridden on that never-to-be-forgotten day on the Monterey road, was standing before her.  That his attire now, as might be expected, was wholly different from what it had been then, it never occurred to her to note; for, to tell the truth, she was vainly struggling to suppress the joy that she felt at seeing him again, and before she was aware of it there slipped through her lips: 

“Why, howdy do, stranger!”

At the sound of her voice Johnson wheeled round in glad surprise and amazement; but the quick look of recognition that he flashed upon her wholly escaped the Sheriff whose attitude was indicative of keen resentment at this intrusion, and whose eyes were taking in the newcomer from head to foot.

“We’re not much on strangers here,” he blurted out at last.

Johnson turned on his heel and faced the speaker.  An angry retort rose to his lips, but he checked it.  Although, perhaps, not fully appreciating his action, he was, nevertheless, not unaware that, from the point of view of the Polka, his refusal to take his whisky straight might be regarded as nothing less than an insult.  And now that it was too late he was inclined, however much he resented an attempt to interfere in a matter which he believed concerned himself solely, to regret the provocation and challenging words of his entrance if only because of a realisation that a quarrel would be likely to upset his plans.  On the other hand, with every fraction of a second that passed he was conscious of becoming more and more desirous of humbling the man standing before him and scrutinising him so insolently; moreover, he felt intuitively that the eyes of the Girl were on him as well as on the other principal to this silent but no less ominous conflict going on, and such being the case it was obviously impossible for him to withdraw from the position he had taken.  As a sort of compromise, therefore, he said, tentatively: 

“I’m the man who wanted water in his whisky.”

“You!” exclaimed the Girl; and then added reprovingly:  “Oh, Nick, this gentleman takes his whisky as he likes it!”