“Our own tizwin and the mescal of the Mexicans is bad medicine, but this fire-water of the white-eyed men is poison. To drink it is the madness of a fool, but even worse is the drinking of it in friendship with the white-eyed dogs. “You are a fool to drink it—you are a traitor to drink with the enemies of your people. Put down the glass and the bottle, and come with me!” Gian-nah-tah looked up angrily now. Already he had had a couple of drinks of the vile concoction, and they had had their effect upon him. “Gian-nah-tah is a warrior!” he exclaimed, “not a child. Who are you to tell Gian-nah-tah to do this, or not to do that, or to come or go?” “I am his best friend,” said Shoz-Dijiji, simply. “Then go away and mind your own business!” snapped Gian-nah-tah, and he raised the glass to his lips. With the swift, soft sinuosity of a cat Shoz-Dijiji stepped forward and struck the glass from his friend’s hand and almost in the same movement seized the bottle and hurled it to the floor. “Here, you damn Siwash!” cried Cheetim; “what the hell you think you’re doin’?” He advanced belligerently. Shoz-Dijiji turned upon the white man. Towering above him he gave the fellow one look that sent him cowering back. Perhaps it was fortunate for the peace of San Carlos that “Dirty” Cheetim had left his gun behind the bar, for he was the type of bad-man that shoots an unarmed adversary. But Gian-nah-tah, Be-don-ko-he warrior, was not thus a coward; and his finer sensibilities were numbed by the effects of the whiskey he had drunk. He did not shrink from Shoz-Dijiji. Instead, he whipped his knife from its scabbard and struck a savage blow at the breast of his best friend. Shoz-Dijiji had turned away from Cheetim just in time to meet Gian-nah-tah’s attack. Quickly he leaped aside as the knife fell and then sprang close again and seized Gian-nah-tah’s knife wrist with the fingers of his left hand. Like a steel vise his grip tightened. Gian-nah-tah struck at him with his free hand, but Shoz-Dijiji warded the blow. “Drop it!” commanded the Black Bear and struck Gian-nah-tah across the face with his open palm. The latter struggled to free himself, striking futilely at the giant that held him. “Drop it!” repeated Shoz-Dijiji. Again he struck Gian-nah-tah—and again, and again. His grasp tightened upon the other’s wrist, stopping the circulation—until Gian-nah-tah thought that his bones were being crushed. His fingers relaxed. The knife clattered to the floor. Shoz-Dijiji stooped quickly and recovered it; then he released his hold upon Gian-nah-tah. “Go!” commanded the Black Bear, pointing toward the doorway. For an instant Gian-nah-tah hesitated; then he turned and walked from the room. Without even a glance in the direction of Cheetim, Shoz-Dijiji followed his friend. As they passed the bar the girl called Goldie smiled into the face of Shoz-Dijiji. “Come down and see me sometime, John,” she said.