"One dollar!" Dan repeated. "For two glasses of beer?" He stepped back and his voice rose in angry protest. It attracted the attention of the others, who were only too eager for a row. "Why," Dan continued, "it was all collar, anyway." Nick leaned over the bar and quietly said, "I didn’t charge nothin’ for the collar, gent, I throwed that in." There was a laugh from the hangers-on at Nick’s witticism. Nick flushed with approval and went on, "Beer’s our most expensive drink—comes all the way from Cheyenne." Dan, furious at being done, as he knew he was, struck the bar with his fist. "I won’t pay it," he said. There was a hush about the room. They didn’t often see any one venture to buck against Nick’s authority. "Oh yes, you’ll pay it, gent." Nick’s voice was lower and calmer than Dan’s. He had turned while Dan was speaking and was lovingly fingering his six-shooter. He lifted it from the shelf and laid it carefully on the bar, keeping his hand well over the trigger. McSorley nervously edged to Dan. "Better pay it; better pay it," he whispered. Nick heard him. "Yes," he added, "better pay it. Saves funeral expenses." Dan knew enough of the country to know he was at Nick’s mercy. He drew a silver dollar from his pocket, and slapped it down on the bar. "Well, I’ll be ——!" Dan started for the door, followed by McSorley, who thought his companion’s rage ill-timed. He wished he were back in his caboose. As they reached the door Nick’s voice rang out in stentorian tones. "Wait a minute!" There was no gainsaying his command. Dan halted. Nick, leaning far over the bar, held in each hand a watch-dog. "I don’t allow no tenderfoot to use bad language in my emporium. We do strictly family trade and caters particular to ladies and children." Dan and McSorley stood under the levelled guns. A shriek of mirth shook the crowd. All had stopped playing and were watching the situation. Finally, when there was no doubt as to the ridiculous position of the train officials and the laugh had subsided, Nick dropped the guns, and with a low bow turned from the bar, leaving them free to go. Dan and McSorley quickly disappeared, Dan wildly expostulating while McSorley vainly tried to calm him. Nick went back to the players. "Pete," he asked, "what has Cash got agin the Englishman?" Pete, nothing loath to tell his yarn, especially as he had been winning all the afternoon, drawled the information so that all at his table could hear. "Well, Jim’s outfit has been heard to openly express the opinion that Cash can’t tell the difference between his cattle and Jim’s." "Rustling, eh?" the Parson interrupted. Pete nodded. "Serious business." "Yes," said Pete. "Serious—quite—in these here parts. I see the Englishman stand off a greaser down at the agency, and I’ve got a wad of the long-green to lay even money that Cash can’t twist the British lion’s tail a whole lot—not a whole lot. Any takers?"