"Well, what d’ye think of it, eh?" Cash finally ejaculated. His eyes took note of the girl’s physical perfection. "Say, fer spunk and grit dam’f I ever see her equal. Say, she can have me, kin Tabywana’s squaw." Nick interposed sullenly as he straightened up the disordered bar. "She ain’t Tabywana’s squaw—that’s Nat-u-ritch, his gal—his daughter." "Daughter or squaw, don’t make no difference to me." Cash slouched up to Nat-u-ritch and insolently surveyed her. "She’s puty, she is, and I’ll include her in the deal. Say, sis, I like your looks. You please me a whole lot, and I’ll buy you along with your father’s cattle—savvy?" Still she made no answer—she knew what the white man was suggesting. That she had accomplished what she had dared to save her father now frightened her. She wanted to get him away and escape with him. But how? She could not leave him. She only clutched the blanket tighter. Cash caught sight of the half-breed Baco, who was often called in to act as interpreter by the white men. "Baco," he called, "what’s her name mean?" He designated Nat-u-ritch with his thumb. Baco grinned: "Purty little gal." He had cast his own eyes unsuccessfully on Nat-u-ritch. "Well, she lives up to the name all right. Ain’t she hell?" Cash drooped lower against the bar. "Say, Nat-u-ritch, you take chances with me when you interfere that way like you did jest now." Along the platform Jim swung, the gray dust whitening his leather chaps and dusting his shirt and hat with a heavy powder. He had ridden hard to keep his appointment with Bill and his men. As he entered the centre door of the saloon he watched Hawkins and the little Indian girl with curiosity. He took in the situation at a glance. The drunken Chief, the tigerish Hawkins bending over the girl like an animal about to crunch a ewe lamb, and the contents of the smashed bottle that Nick was wiping away told him what had occurred. Cash was saying: "Nat-u-ritch, you spoiled a very puty deal, and I ain’t complaisant a whole lot with people as do that, but I’m goin’ to pass that up, ’cause you please me, and I’m goin’ to annex you. You’re comin’ to my wickyup—savvy? And to seal the bargain, and to show you that I ain’t proud like the ordinary white man, I’m goin’ to give you a kiss." Before Hawkins could catch the resisting girl in his arms, Jim quietly stepped between them. "Drop that, Hawkins." The voice of the Englishman was electrical. Jim’s men jumped to their feet. At a move of Cash’s hand to his belt they grasped their guns. "Don’t pull your gun, Cash," Jim said. "You want to get your gang together before you do that. My boys would shoot you into ribbons." Jim was smoking a long cigar. He coolly took it from his lips, knocked off the ashes, then bent over Nat-u-ritch and whispered to her. Her eyes alone answered him. He was about to join his men when Cash Hawkins swaggered up to him.