at
the Indian was drinking up the dregs in the whisky glasses on the faro
table.

"Here, you, Billy Jackrabbit! What are you doin' here?" she exclaimed
sharply, causing that generally imperturbable redskin to start
perceptibly. "Did you marry my squaw yet?"

Billy Jackrabbit's face wore as stolid an expression as ever, when he
answered:

"Not so much married squaw--yet."

"Not so much married . . ." repeated the Girl when the merriment, which
his words provoked, had subsided. "Come 'ere, you thievin' redskin!" And
when he had slid up to the bar, and she had extracted from his pockets a
number of cigars which she knew had been pilfered, she added: "You git
up to my cabin an' marry my squaw before I git there." And at another
emphatic "Git!" the Indian, much to the amusement of all, started for
the Girl's cabin.

"Here--here's your prairie oyster, Sonora," at last said the Girl; and
then turning to the Sheriff and speaking to him for the first time, she
called out gaily: "Hello, Rance!"

"Hello, Girl!" replied the Gambler without even a glance at her or
ceasing to shuffle the cards.

Presently, Sonora pulled out a bag of gold-dust and told the Girl to
clear the slate out of it. She was in the act of taking the sack when
Nick, rushing into the room and jerking his thumb over his shoulder,
said:

"Say, Girl, there's a fellow in there wants to know if we can help out
on provisions."

"Sure; what does he want?" returned the Girl with a show of willingness
to accommodate him.

"Bread."

"Bread? Does he think we're runnin' a bakery?"

"Then he asked for sardines."

"Sardines? Great Gilead! You tell 'im we have nothin' but straight
provisions here. We got pickled oysters, smokin' tobacco an' the best
whisky he ever saw," rapped out the Girl, proudly, and turned her
attention to the slate.

"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, So