t me. What do you wear a gun for, anyhow? Let's
see how straight you can shoot."

As the stranger made no reply, Priest continued, "The next time you
have anything to rub in, pick your man better. The man who insults
me'll get all that's due him for his trouble." Still eliciting no
response, The Rebel taunted him further, saying, "Go on and finish
your toast, you patriotic beauty. I'll give you another: Jeff Davis
and the Southern Confederacy."

We all rose from the table, and Flood, going over to Priest, said,
"Come along, Paul we don't want to have any trouble here. Let's go
across the street and have a game of California Jack."

But The Rebel stood like a chiseled statue, ignoring the friendly
counsel of our foreman, while the stranger, after wiping the liquor
from his face and person, walked across the room and seated himself at
the table from which he had risen. A stillness as of death pervaded
the room, which was only broken by our foreman repeating his request
to Priest to come away, but the latter replied, "No; when I leave this
place it will not be done in fear of any one. When any man goes out of
his way to insult me he must take the consequences, and he can always
find me if he wants satisfaction. We'll take another drink before we
go. Everybody in the house, come up and take a drink with Paul
Priest."

The inmates of the place, to the number of possibly twenty, who had
been witness to what had occurred, accepted the invitation, quitting
their games and gathering around the bar. Priest took a position at
the end of the bar, where he could notice any movement on the part of
his adversary as well as the faces of his guests, and smiling on them,
said in true hospitality, "What will you have, gentlemen?" There was a
forced effort on the part of the drinkers to appear indifferent to the
situation, but with the stranger sitting sullenly in their rear and an
iron-gray man standing at the farther end of the line, hungering for
an opportunity to settle differences with six-shooters, their
indifference was an empty mockery. Some of the players returned to
their games, while others sauntered into the street, yet Priest showed
no disposition to go. After a while the stranger walked over to the
bar and called for a glass of whiskey.

The Rebel stood at the end of the bar, calmly rolling a cigarette, and
as the stranger seemed not to notice him, Priest attracted his
attention and said, "I'm just passing through here,