he weapons, too. She had
taken off her pistol when she had been nursing Bill and hadn't put it
on since. Quietly, so as not to attract attention, she glanced about
to locate it. It was hanging on a nail at the opposite end of the
table,--and Joe stood just beside it. She had no desire to waken his
suspicions of her fear. She knew she must put up a bold front, at
least. Nevertheless her fingers longed for the comforting feel of its
butt. She resolved to watch for a chance to procure it.

"Have a drink?" Joe asked Virginia.

She didn't like the tone of his voice. He was speaking with entire
familiarity, and again she expected interference from Harold. Her
fiance, however, was fingering the bottle. She saw Bill straighten,
ever so little, and beheld the first signs of rising anger in the set of
his lips. But she didn't know the full fierceness of his inward
struggle,--an almost resistless desire to spring at once and smite
those impertinent tones from the breed's lips. But he knew that he must
take care--for Virginia's sake--and avoid a fight as long as it was
humanly possible to do so.

"No," the girl responded coldly.

"Then there's enough cups after all," Harold observed. "I was going to
take the pitcher, if either Virginia or this conscientious teetotaler
cared for a shot." He chuckled unpleasantly. "I thought I could get
more that way."

They poured themselves mighty drinks,--staggering portions that more
than half-emptied the first of the quarts. Then they threw back their
heads and drained the cups.

The liquor was cheap and new, such as reaches the Indian encampments
after passing through many hands. It burned like fire in their throats,
and almost at once it began to distill its poison into their veins.

Harold and Pete immediately resumed their chairs; Joe still stood at the
table end. He, too, had seen the little pistol of blue steel hanging on
the nail. At first the three men were sullen and silent, enjoying the
first warmth of the liquor. Then the barriers of self-restraint began
to break down.

Harold began to grow talkative, launching forth on an amusing anecdote.
But there was no laughter at the end of it. The Indians were never
given to mirth in their debauches; both Bill and Virginia were far
indeed from a receptive humor.

"What's the matter with this crowd--can't you see a joke?" Harold
demanded. "Say, Bill, over there--you who wouldn't take a gentleman's
drink--what yo