He stepped back through the door marked "Bar" and Mr. Bowles was left to gasp alone. A traveling man! They took him for a traveling man! It was quite a shock, and Bowles was still brooding over it by the stove when the door from the bar was thrust open and a tall cowboy, booted and spurred and shapped and pistoled, came stalking into the room. His broad sombrero was shoved far back on his head, showing a tremendous stand of tumbled hair, and his keen hazel eyes roved about with the steady intentness of a hunting animal's; but only for the fraction of a second did he condescend to notice Bowles. He swayed a little as he walked and the aroma of whisky came with him, but otherwise he seemed perfectly sober. "Say!" he called, turning and kicking the bar door open again, "did Dix come in on that train? She did? Well, here's where I git hell--I was supposed to go down and meet 'er!" He came over and stood by the stove, apparently oblivious of the man before him, and while he waited he cursed himself in a cynical, impersonal sort of way that made a great impression on Bowles. "Well, where is she?" he demanded, as the proprietor hurried in behind him. "I ain't had a wink of sleep, but we'll have to hit the road anyway." "Dixie's in getting a cup of coffee," answered the proprietor. "Better have a seltzer first," he wheedled, taking him by the arm and drawing him toward the barroom. "You're dead right there too, old sport!" responded the cowboy heartily. "My head is as big as a balloon, and them grays will shore drag me over the dashboard if I don't kill some of this whisky." He tottered out as he spoke and Mr. Bowles half rose from his chair. Dixie Lee was in danger; she was in imminent peril of death! He must warn her--he must help her--he must try to save her life! He was in a fever of excitement when the dining-room door finally swept open and Dixie May entered the room; but she was calm, very calm, and something about her bade him hold his hand. Then the barroom door swung in again and the cowboy appeared, walking head up with a masterful stride--and a look in his eyes that Bowles knew all too well. "Why, hello, Dix!" he cried, hurrying over and striking hands with her. "Well, well, how're you comin'? What, don't I draw nothin'?" "No, you don't!" responded Dixie Lee, stepping back as he impudently offered to kiss her. "Not unless it's a good slap for not meeting me down at the train! How's Maw and Paw and all the boys? Have you gentled that colt for me yet?" And so, with many laughing sallies, they passed out into the cold dawn, leaving Bowles to sit by the fire and stare. But in her last glance he had read a challenge, and he did not let it pass. CHAPTER III THE BAT WING RANCH