Henry was whispering to Diana, "For God’s sake, go—you can, and later we will follow you. This will be over in a minute." But Diana only held tighter the rail of the chair. "We can’t drink with this confounded bounder, Henry," Sir John expostulated. "It’s too absurd, you know. Her Majesty’s officers can’t do a thing like that, now can they?" "We must humor the drunken brute, Sir John, that’s the only way out of it." That Jim was there none of them acknowledged to each other. Events were assuming a strange unreality. What had been meant for a half-hours diversion was involving them in a highly dangerous situation. The saloon grew hotter—little air reached them through the barred doorway. Still Diana did not go. The old imperative cry, stifled for the last two years, awoke again. She forgot the dust, the hot saloon, the swaggering crowd of ranchmen. The noise and wild excitement fell on her unheeding ears. Jim was there, and his presence held her rooted to the spot. Jim had moved into a corner at the lower end of the bar, and furtively watched Cash and his men. "Step up lively, sonny," Cash called to Sir John and Henry, "or you may have to dance the Highland fling." Sir John stole a look of self-justification at Diana, but she did not see it. It was turning out just as he had told her. "And shoot our toes off, by Jove," he whispered to Henry. "And he’ll do it, too, confounded bounder!" he muttered, as both men went towards the bar and were met by Pete, who handed them each a glass of evil-looking whiskey. Cash began to direct the scene. "Hand out the nose-paint, gents." Every one took a drink, Jim too; for her sake he would do as Hawkins wished. It would be the quickest way to end this part of the business. The serious end of it would follow when they were alone. Suddenly Cash, whose last two drinks were rendering him more offensive, and who was determined to annoy Sir John as well as Jim, said, "Gents, to the success of the Boers." To the crowd it was a foolish toast; it meant nothing to them. But they had hardly begun to toss off their drinks when there came a crack of glass, as Sir John Applegate threw his tumbler on the floor and said, "No, I’ll be damned." Cash turned on him with an imprecation, and started to cover him with his gun. This unexpected diversion was the chance that Jim had been looking for. In an instant he had thrown his untasted liquor into Cash Hawkins’s face. It blinded Cash. Involuntarily he fumbled with his guns, and in an instant Jim had thrust his revolver into Cash’s side. There was a moment of pandemonium as Cash’s imprecations filled the air. The men at the door started forward, but they had to pay for the moment’s lowering of their guns. Big Bill and Jim’s men had been eagerly watching their opportunity, and speedily covered Cash’s gang. "Put your hands up quick," Jim ordered.