And it was Beasley himself who finally challenged the recalcitrant
Sadie.

"Guess you ain't on, though," he said, and there was something like a
threat in his tone.

Sadie shrugged.

"It don't matter. If the others----"

"Bully for you, Sadie!" cried Mamie impulsively. "Come right on! Who's
comin' to get the 'scream'?" she demanded of the men about her, while
Beasley nodded his approval from his stand behind the bar.

But somehow her general invitation was not received with the same
enthusiasm the occasion had met with earlier in the evening. The
memory of the Kid still hovered over some of the muddled brains, and
only a few of those who were in the furthest stages of drunkenness
responded.

Nothing daunted, however, the girl Mamie, furiously anxious to stand
well with the saloon-keeper, laughed over at him.

"We'll give her a joyous time," she shrieked. "Say, what's her name?
Joan Rest, the Golden Woman! She'll need the rest when we're through.
Come on, gals. We'll dance a cancan on her parlor table. Come on."

She made a move and the others prepared to follow. Several of the men,
laughing recklessly, were ready enough to go whither they led. Already
Mamie was within a pace of the closed door when a man suddenly pushed
Abe Allinson roughly aside, leant his right elbow on the counter, and
stood with his face half-turned toward the crowd. It was Buck. His
movements had been so swift, so well calculated, that Beasley found
himself looking into the muzzle of the man's heavy revolver before he
could attempt to defend himself.

"Hold on!"

Buck's voice rang out above the din of the barroom. Instantly he had
the attention of the whole company. The girls stood, staring back at
him stupidly, and the men saw the gun leveled at the saloon-keeper's
head. They saw more. They saw that Buck held another gun in his left
hand, which was threatening the entire room. Most of them knew him.
Some of them didn't. But one and all understood the threat and waited
motionless. Nor did they have to wait long.

"Gals," said Buck sternly, "this racket's played out. Ther's been
shootin' to-night over the same thing. Wal, ther's going to be more
shootin' if it don't quit right here. If you leave this shanty to go
across to the farm to molest the folks there, Beasley, here, is a dead
man before you get a yard from the door."

Then his glance shifted so that the saloon-keeper came into his focus,
while yet he held a perfect survey of