Jim went on smoking. "Of course," he answered. He deliberately seated himself at the table and began shuffling the cards. Then Shorty and the crowd knew that he meant to see the thing through. It was a quiet way, but, they all agreed, a good way of accepting it. Shorty exchanged glances with Andy. The boss was of the right sort. A little more dash would have pleased them better, still— "Und say," Andy said, "und with his gang." He didn’t want the boss to make too light of the proposition. But Shorty, who now was sure of Jim, answered for him, "So much the better, eh? We can clean ’em all up together. Say, boss, what did you let him make it a matter of Injins fer? You got the sentiment of the kummunity agin you right from the start. Looks like fightin’ for trifles." Grouchy, who had the news from Andy, who was now explaining it to Bill, straddled into a chair as he said, "Yes, it’s some dignified to fight over cattle, but Injins—pshaw!" Jim knew it was useless to try to explain. Their opinions on these matters were as separate as the poles; but they were a good sort, and served him well and faithfully. Personally he did not care for this proposed fight with Hawkins. He wanted peace—some days when he might dream and drift and watch the sand plains, when the work was done. The broils of the saloons, the point of view of the crowd, the honor of the West really mattered little to him, but for the sake of the boys, and that their pride in him might not suffer, he often accepted their definition of the code of life that was followed in Maverick. He knew how to win them, so he began: "Well, boys, I don’t want to drag you into my quarrel. If you feel that way about Indians—" He was about to add that he did not, but Shorty interrupted: "Pull up, boss; ’tain’t fair to make us look as if we were trying to sneak out of a scrap. It was only the cause of it. You ain’t got a quitter in your gang, and you know it." "I know it, Shorty." Jim was obliged to laugh at the eager faces of the three men who stood close to him, like excited children waiting to be understood. "Well, don’t say anything more about it, will you? Let’s—" Shorty put out his hand. Jim grasped it. "Let it go at that," Jim finished. "You understand that you are to leave Cash to me unless more get into the game." Bill, who had been listening to it all, drew Jim aside. He preferred peace, but knew that they and Carston’s ranch stood marked for the crowd to jeer at for all time unless they did what was expected of them by the laws of the cow town, made by its men, not by the government that they abused. "Jim"—Bill spoke over his shoulder—"Bud Hardy, the County Sheriff, is standing just behind you at the bar, and he’s particular thick with Cash. Got to take him into account."