“Waal, ef thar is, I shore reckon they’ll hev ter git another sher’ff ter bloom in this man’s berg.” A moment later the sheriff rushed into the room. He was at white heat, and the looks he threw at the scout and the trapper were anything but reassuring. The crowd outside once more clustered about the open door and the windows. There was to be something more doing, and each spectator held his breath and watched and listened. “Somebody said there was a row here,” growled Bloom. “I heard up the street that Jake Phelps an’ that pesky trouble maker, Nate Dunbar, was roughin’ it with each other.” The sheriff was addressing himself to the hotel clerk, but Buffalo Bill took it upon himself to answer. “They didn’t get so far as an exchange of shots, sheriff. I happened in, just as the affair began to look serious, and ordered Jake Phelps out of town.” Bloom had whirled away on his heel as soon as the scout began to speak; then, suddenly changing his mind, he whirled back when he had finished. “You ordered him out o’ town?” he scowled. “Oh, yes,” answered the scout passively. “If they had both stayed in town there would have been trouble.” “Tell me this, you who make yourself so high and mighty wherever you happen to plant yourself: What business you got orderin’ anybody out o’ Hackamore?” A glimmer arose in the scout’s eyes. “Well,” said he, “if you come to simmer it down to a fine point, I was doing business that you ought to have been around here to attend to.” “You my deperty?” flared Bloom; “have I ever asked you to help me?” “No, Bloom; I sort of asked myself.” “You take my advice, Cody, and keep hands off my work. You and I have come together once, and if that ever happens again, sparks are sure goin’ to fly.” There was only the clerk in the office, apart from the scout, the trapper, and the sheriff. The spectators kept outside, confining their view of what was going on to the open door and the windows. “Right here, then,” said Buffalo Bill, “is where the sparks begin to fly.” He turned to the trapper. “As it may get rather hot for some of the people outside, Nick,” he added, “you’d better close the door.” “On ther jump, pard,” carolled Nomad. The trend of affairs was vastly to his liking. “Leave that door open!” snarled the sheriff. Nomad’s answer was to slam the door, turn around, and put his back to it. “How does thet hit ye?” he asked truculently. “There’s more’n one door,” grunted the sheriff, moving toward the dining-room entrance. The scout got up and barred the way in that direction. For an instant the sheriff glared, one hand half starting toward his hip. “I have only the most peaceable intentions, Bloom,” said the scout, as pleasantly as possible. “There’s a little matter I want to talk over with you.” “There ain’t any matter, little or big, that I want to talk over with you,” snapped Bloom.