Jim nodded; with his arm through Bill’s he crossed to a side entrance and stood under the porch. He wanted to discuss with Bill what was best to do. Shorty and Andy stood up against the bar and treated their particular friends to drinks. They felt it was going to be a red-letter day for Carston’s ranch. Outside the Overland Limited tooted at intervals, and sent up shrill whistles, but made no attempt to leave Maverick. One official’s information was denied by the next one. Passengers had come in and had gone again—some of them frightened, some disgusted by the life of the saloon. A little farther down the line others of the passengers were being amused by some Indians who, at the news of the train’s stopping, had hurried to the railroad. Cash’s departure had allowed the place to grow quiet. Even Nick hoped he would not find his men and return. There was a sudden shunting of the train, and the rear car moved back in to more direct view of the saloon. Diana, tired of the wait, had finally persuaded Sir John and Henry to alight and see the place. They all entered together. "By Jove, what a rum hole!" Sir John exclaimed. "Hello, there’s a faro-table!" exclaimed Henry. All that Diana said was, "I thought you had given up play, Henry." He shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, my dear, but a little sport to kill the tedium of this infernal wait—the monotony of the thing is getting on my nerves. John, will you look after Di while I at least watch the game?" "Delighted," Sir John replied, but his anxious face showed that he thoroughly disapproved of the proceedings. "Really, Diana," he began, "let me prevail upon you to leave here. Any one who remains in a place of this kind is taking chances—oh, believe me—" "Nonsense; it all looks deadly dull to me." The men, recognizing a quietly gowned gentle-woman, paid no attention to them. "Why, I’m not afraid, John. What’s liable to happen?" Sir John Applegate’s mind was filled with stories of the West he had heard and read in his boyhood days. "Why, these desperadoes are liable to come in here and request you to dance—dance for their amusement, by Jove!" "Well, what of that? We don’t do it," Diana teasingly interrupted. "Oh yes, my dear Diana, we _do_ do it. The request is an order, you know—obligatory—oh, quite? Because, believe me, if we do not accede to their absurd request, they playfully shoot your toes off, by Jove! They are shockingly rude, by Jove! these chaps, believe me—oh, shockingly!" Diana looked about the room. "I’ve read of such things, but I don’t believe they happen—do you?"