They drank their lemonades, Gottleib’s face expressive of splinters, and a minute later Pickles sat alone while his father endeavored to win some of Dave’s money and Dave endeavored to let him. Tex tilted his chair and with a fine disregard for alien fastidiousness, stuck his feet on the edge of the table and smiled. He almost crashed over backward at sight of a figure that entered the room from the hall. "God bless our Queen!" murmured Tex, "he ’s a long way from ’ome. Must be a remittance man come over the line to call on Sandy." H. Whitby Booth swept an appraising glance over the company and, without a pause, chose a seat next to Tex. "Surprisin’ fine weather, isn’t it?" he observed, taking a cigar-case from his pocket. "_My word!_" agreed Tex, succinctly. Whitby looked at him with suspicion. "Try a weed?" he invited. "I don’t mind if I do, old chap," and Tex selected one with a gravity he was far from feeling. Whitby looked hard at him while Tex lit the cigar. It was a good one. Tex noted it with satisfaction. "I say, are you chaffing me?" asked Whitby, smilingly. It was a very good cigar. Tex had not enjoyed one as good in a regrettably long time. He blew the smoke lingeringly through his nostrils and laughed. "I ’m afraid I was," he admitted, "but you must n’t mind that. It’s what you ’re here for, the boys ’ll think—that is, if you don’t stop long enough to get used to it." "Oh, I don’t mind in the least. And I expect to stop if the climate agrees with me." "What’s the matter—lunger? You don’t look it." "Not likely. But they tell me it’s rather cold out here in winter." "Some cold. You get used to it. You feel it more in the East, where the air ’s damp." "I ’m delighted to hear it. And the West is becoming quite civilized, I believe, compared with what it was." "Oh, my, yes!" Tex choked on a mouthful of cigar smoke in his haste to assure Whitby of the engaging placidity of the population. "Why, no one has been killed about here since—well, not since I came to Twin River." Tex did not consider it necessary to state how short a time that had been. "Civilized! Well, I should opinionate. Tame as sheep. Nowadays, a man has to show a pretty plain case of self-defence if he expects to avoid subsequent annoyance." "Ah, so I was informed. They seem quiet enough here." "Yes, Sandy won’t stand any disturbance. He’s away to-night but Slick’s got his orders. Know Sandy?" "No. Is he the proprietor?" "That’s him: Sandy McQueen, proprietor, boss, head-bouncer, the only—" "I say, what’s the row?" Tex’s feet hit the floor with a bang. Gottleib Gerken was shaking his fist in Dave’s face, Dave sitting very still, intently watchful. "_Du verdammter Schuft!_" shouted Gerken, "_Mein Meister verrathen, was!_" He sent the table flying, with a violent thrust of his foot: "I show you!"