The patrons of the Oasis liked their tobacco strong.  The pungent smoke drifted in sluggish clouds along the low, black ceiling, following its upward slant toward the east wall and away from the high bar at the other end.  This bar, rough and strong, ran from the north wall to within a scant two feet of the south wall, the opening bridged by a hinged board which served as an extension to the counter.  Behind the bar was a rear door, low and double, the upper part barred securely—­the lower part was used most.  In front of and near the bar was a large round table, at which four men played cards silently, while two smaller tables were located along the north wall.  Besides dilapidated chairs there were half a dozen low wooden boxes partly filled with sand, and attention was directed to the existence and purpose of these by a roughly lettered sign on the wall, reading:  “Gents will look for a box first,” which the “gents” sometimes did.  The majority of the “gents” preferred to aim at various knotholes in the floor and bet on the result, chancing the outpouring of the proprietor’s wrath if they missed.

On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater request:  “Leave your guns with the bartender.—­Edwards.”  This, although a month old, still called forth caustic and profane remarks from the regular frequenters of the saloon, for hitherto restraint in the matter of carrying weapons had been unknown.  They forthwith evaded the order in a manner consistent with their characteristics—­by carrying smaller guns where they could not be seen.  The majority had simply sawed off a generous part of the long barrels of their Colts and Remingtons, which did not improve their accuracy.

Edwards, the new marshal of Perry’s Bend, had come direct from Kansas and his reputation as a fighter had preceded him.  When he took up his first day’s work he was kept busy proving that he was the rightful owner of it and that it had not been exaggerated in any manner or degree.  With the exception of one instance the proof had been bloodless, for he reasoned that gun-play should give way, whenever possible, to a crushing “right” or “left” to the point of the jaw or the pit of the stomach.  His proficiency in the manly art was polished and thorough and bespoke earnest application.  The last doubting Thomas to be convinced came to five minutes after his diaphragm had been rudely and suddenly raised several inches by a low right hook, and as he groped for his bearings and got his wind back again he asked, very feebly, where “Kansas” was; and the name stuck.

When Harlan heard the nickname for the first time he stopped pulling the cork out of a whiskey bottle long enough to remark, casually, “I allus reckoned Kansas was purty close to hell,” and said no more about it.  Harlan was the proprietor and bartender of the Oasis and catered to the excessive and uncritical thirsts of the ruck of range society, and he had objected vigorously to the placing of the second sign in his place of business; but at the close of an incisive if inelegant reply from the marshal, the sign went up, and stayed up.  Edwards’ language and delivery were as convincing as his fists.