The man got up, seized him by the legs, dragged him to the door and threw him into the road outside. Then he came back, laughing loudly, and swaggering as though his feat had been one to be proud of. Solange had shuddered and shrunk for a moment, but almost at once she shook herself as though casting off her repulsion and after that was stonily composed. On his way to the table the man who had struck Sucatash down, called loudly for another bottle of liquor, and one of the red-shirted men behind the bar left his place to bring it to them. The burly bruiser sat down beside Solange with every appearance of self-satisfaction. He leered at her as though expecting her to flame at his prowess. But she gave no heed to him. "Yuh might lift up that hat and let us git a look at yuh," he said, reaching out as though to tilt the brim. She jerked sharply away from him. "In good time, monsieur," she said. "Have patience." Then she turned to Banker, who had been eying her with furtive, speculative eyes, cautious and suspicious. "Monsieur Banker," she said, "it is true that you have known this man who killed my father--this Louisiana?" "Me! Shore, I knowed him. A murderin' gunman he was, ma'am. A bad hombre!" "And did you recognize him that time he came--when you played that little--joke--upon me?" Banker turned sallow once more, as though the recollection frightened him. "I shore did," he assented fervently. "He plumb give me a start. Thought he was a ghost, that a way, you----" He leaned forward, grinning, his latent lunacy showing for a moment in his red eyes. Confidentially, he unburdened himself to his companions. "This lady--you'll see--she's a kind o' witch like. This here feller racks in, me thinkin' him dead these many years, an' I misses him clean when I tries to down him. I shore thinks he's a ha'nt, called up by the lady. Haw, haw!" His laughter was evil, chuckling and cunning. It was followed by cackling boasts: "But they all dies--all but old Jim. Louisiana, he dies too, even if I misses him that a way with old Betsy that ain't missed nary a one fer nigh twenty year." Under her hat brim Solange's eyes gleamed with a fierce light as the bloodthirsty old lunatic sputtered and mouthed. But the other two grinned derisively at each other and leered at the girl. "Talks like that all the time, miss," said one. "Them old-timers likes to git off the Deadwood Dick stuff. Me, I'm nothin' but a p'fessional pug and all the gun fightin' I ever seen was in little old Chi. But I ain't a damn' bit afraid to say I could lick a half dozen of these here hicks that used to have a reputation in these parts. Fairy tales; that's wot they are!" He swigged his drink and sucked in his breath with vast self-satisfaction. The other man, of a leaner, quieter, but just as villainous a type, grinned at him.