“No strangers are allowed in this camp,” he said, glowering at Johnson; and then, his remark having passed unheeded by the other, he sneered: “Perhaps you’re off the road; men often get mixed up when they’re visiting Nina Micheltoreña on the back trail.” “Oh, Rance!” protested the Girl. But Johnson, though angered, let the insinuation pass unnoticed, and went on to say that he had stopped in to rest his horse and, perhaps, if invited, try his luck at a game of cards. And with this intimation he crossed over to the poker table where he picked up the deck that Rance had been using. Rance hesitated, and finally followed up the stranger until he brought up face to face with him. “You want a game, eh?” he drawled, coolly impudent. “I haven’t heard your name, young man.” “Name,” echoed the Girl with a cynical laugh. “Oh, names out here--” “My name’s Johnson--” spoke up the man, throwing down the cards on the table. “Is what?” laughed the Girl, saucily, and, apparently, trying to relieve the strained situation by her bantering tone. “--Of Sacramento,” he finished easily. “Of Sacramento,” repeated the Girl in the same jesting manner as before; then, quickly coming out from behind the bar, she went over to him and put out her hand, saying: “I admire to know you, Mr. Johnson o’ Sacramento.” Johnson bowed low over her hand. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Say, Girl, I--” began Rance, fuming at her behaviour. “Oh, sit down, Rance!” The interruption came from the Girl as she pushed him lightly out of her way; then, perching herself up on one end of the faro table, at which Johnson had taken a seat, she ventured: “Say, Mr. Johnson, do you know what I think o’ you?” Johnson eyed her uncertainly, while Rance’s eyes blazed as she blurted out: “Well, I think you staked out a claim in a etiquette book.” And then before Johnson could answer her, she went on to say: “So you think you can play poker?” “That’s my conviction,” Johnson told her, smilingly. “Out o’ every fifty men who think they can play poker one ain’t mistaken,” was the Girl’s caustic observation. The next instant, however, she jumped down from the table and was back at her post, where, fearful lest he should think her wanting in hospitality, she proposed: “Try a cigar, Mr. Johnson?” “Thank you,” he said, rising, and following her to the bar. “Best in the house--my compliments.” “You’re very kind,” said Johnson, taking the candle that she had lighted for him; then, when his cigar was going, and in a voice that was intended for her alone, he went on: “So you remember me?” “If you remember me,” returned the Girl, likewise in a low tone. “What the devil are they talking about anyway?” muttered Rance to himself as he stole a glance at them over his shoulder, though he kept on shuffling the cards. “I met you on the road to Monterey,” said Johnson with a smile.