She was eating
with a truly formidable conventionality of manner, and a certain grace
with which she raised the ponderous coffee cup, made of crockery
guaranteed to resist all falls, struck awe through the heart of the
cowpuncher. She was bent on another conquest, beyond all doubt, and that
she would not make it never entered the thoughts of Nash. He set his
face to banish a natural scowl and advanced with a good-natured smile
into the room.

"Hello!" he called.

"It's old Steve!" sang out Sally, and whirling from her chair, she
advanced almost at a run to meet him, caught him by both hands, and led
him to a table next to that at which she had been sitting.

It was as gracefully done as if she had been welcoming a brother, but
Nash, knowing Sally, understood perfectly that it was only a play to
impress the eye of Bard. Nevertheless he was forced to accept it in good
part.

"My old pal, Steve Nash," said Sally, "and this is Mr. Anthony Bard."

Just the faintest accent fell on the "Mr.," but it made Steve wince. He
rose and shook hands gravely with the tenderfoot.

"I stopped at Butler's place down the street," he said, "and been
hearin' a pile about a little play you made a while ago. It was about
time for somebody to call old Butch's bluff."

"Bluff?" cried Sally indignantly.

"Bluff?" queried Bard, with a slight raising of the eyebrows.

"Sure--bluff. Butch wasn't any more dangerous than a cat with trimmed
claws. But I guess you seen that?"

He settled down easily in his chair just as Sally resumed her place
opposite Bard.

"Steve," she said, with a quiet venom, "that bluff of his has been as
good as four-of-a-kind with you for a long time. I never seen you make
any play at Butch."

He returned amiably: "Like to sit here and have a nice social chat,
Sally, but I got to be gettin' back to the ranch, and in the meantime,
I'm sure hungry."

At the reminder of business a green light came in the fine blue eyes of
Sally. They were her only really fine features, for the nose tilted an
engaging trifle, the mouth was a little too generous, the chin so strong
that it gave, in moments of passivity, an air of sternness to her face.
That sternness was exaggerated as she rose, keeping her glare fixed upon
Nash; a thing impossible for him to bear, so he lowered his eyes and
engaged in rolling a cigarette. She turned back toward Bard.

"Sorry I got to go--before I finished eating--but business is business."

"And