"Snake this stranger's war-bag into th' shack," commanded Billy, "and, Nell, jest nat'rally rustle a few grub." The stranger picked up a small hand-satchel and followed Charley into the building. When, a little later, he reappeared for supper, he carried the hand-bag with him, and placed it under the bench which flanked the table. Afterward he deposited it near his hand while enjoying a pipe outside. Naturally, all this did not escape Billy. "Stranger," said he, "yo' seems mighty wedded to that thar satchel." "Yes, sir," piped the stranger. Billy snorted at the title. "I has some personal belongin's which is valuable to me." He opened the bag and produced a cheap portrait of a rather cheap-looking woman. "My mother that was," said he. Billy snorted again and went inside. He hated sentiment of all kinds. The two men sat opposite each other and ate supper, which was served by the red-cheeked girl. The stranger kept his eyes on his plate while she was in the room. He perched on the edge of the bench with his feet tucked under him and resting on the toes. When she approached, the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms grew rigid with embarrassment, causing strange awkward movements of the hands. He answered in monosyllables. Billy ate expansively and earnestly. Toward the close of the meal Charley slipped into place beside him. Charley was out of humour, and found the meat cold. "Damn yore soul, Nell," he cried, "this yere ain't fitten fer a _hog_ to eat!" The girl did not mind; nor did Billy. It was the country's mode of speech. The stranger dropped his knife. "I don't wonder you don't like it, then," said he, with a funny little blaze of anger. "Meanin' what?" shouted Charley, threateningly. "You sure mustn't speak to a lady that way," replied the stranger, firmly, in his little piping voice. Billy caught the point and exploded in a mighty guffaw. "Bully fer you!" he cried, slapping his knee; "struck pyrites (he pronounced it pie-rights) fer shore that trip, Charley." The girl, too, laughed, but quietly. She was just a little touched, though only this winter she had left Bismarck because the place would have no more of her. In the face of Billy's approval, the patriarch fell silent. About midnight the four inmates of the frontier hotel were awakened by a tremendous racket outside. The stranger arose, fully clothed, from his bunk, and peered through the narrow open window. A dozen horses were standing grouped in charge of a single mounted man, indistinguishable in the dark. Out of the open door a broad band of light streamed from the saloon, whence came the noise of voices and of boots tramping about. "It is Black Hank," said Billy, at his elbow, "Black Hank and his outfit. He hitches to this yere snubbin'-post occasional." Black Hank in the Hills would have translated to Jesse James farther south. The stranger turned suddenly energetic. "Don't you make no fight?" he asked.