This was what Cash wanted; but he saw Tabywana coming along the platform, and there was too much at stake to allow him to gratify his feeling of anger against Bill then. He gave a low, chuckling laugh. "A remark I overlook for the time bein’, as I ain’t agoin’ to take advantage of the absence of the furrin gent that owns you." He came towards Tabywana, who, halting and stumbling, was trying to cross the room. Cash laughed malevolently as he noticed his helpless condition. The Indian was trailing his blanket along the ground, his feathers were broken, and all intelligence—even cunning—was blotted from his face. The unconquerable dignity of a fallen aristocrat alone remained, and even handicapped as he was by his inebriated condition, he stood out against the others in the saloon as the one true claimant of America’s royal race. [Illustration: "ALMOST AS ONE MAN THEY THRUST THEIR REVOLVERS INTO BUD’S FACE" See page 200] Cash caught him by the arm and steered him to the bar. "Hello, Chief," he began, most affably; "come over here and we’ll close our trade in a jiffy." He spoke lightly, but his mouth began its rapacious twitching—Cash was really a little nervous over the deal. The government once in a while remembered its people, and took up the claim of the red man. He drew from his belt a paper. "Ther’s the big treaty, Chief," he hurriedly began to explain. "Now all you got to do is to make your mark to it." He spoke aloud so that all could hear as he said, "Heap good trade." Cash was clever enough to know that if the deal took place in the saloon in the presence of Nick it would seem, if inquiry were made later, a fair deal. But Tabywana’s mind had been tortured by one desire—more drink from the bottle that the white man controlled. He mumbled helplessly as he leaned against the bar and began soliciting Nick for a drink. "What’s that? You don’t want to trade?" Cash burst forth. "Why, damn you—" Then he paused; to lose his temper would accomplish nothing. A little patience and he could force Tabywana to make his mark. He glanced about the saloon. The others were paying little attention to him—a drunken Indian was of no moment to them. He signalled Nick that he would take the responsibility of giving the Indian liquor. Both knew it was against the law, but both also knew that it was a law daily broken. "Touge-wayno fire-water," wailed Tabywana. Cash took hold of him. "What’s the matter, you—" Tabywana turned to him. Yes, for days this Cash Hawkins had given him his drink; why shouldn’t he do so now? Nick was watching them from over his shoulder as he took down a bottle of rye. Tabywana pointed to him.