"Bill," he called, "the lady looks as though she were going to faint." Sir John and Bill started towards Diana, but Bill was the first to reach her. He quickly grasped her by the arm and steadied her. Diana smiled at him. "Thank you, I was dizzy for a moment." "On behalf of the genuine cow-boys present, I must apologize to this lady for being forced to remain in a place like this. You may go, madam." Jim spoke without looking at her. "Thank you," Diana answered. "I am a bit shaken, but I’m glad I stayed." Bill was still holding her hand as he drew a chair towards her. "You’re tremblin’, lady. Nick"—he turned to the bar—"ain’t you got nothin’ in the way of a ladies’ drink?" "Right off the bat." Nick took a bottle from the pyramid behind the bar. "Here’s a bottle of Rhine wine as has been an ornament here for fifteen years." As he spoke he dusted the slender-throated flagon. "It’s unsalable. I never tasted it but once, and I hardly knowed I had had a drink. It was just like weak tea; but it’s a regulation ladies’ drink, and if the lady will honor me, it’s sure on the house." Diana had sunk into the chair—she was too dazed to know what to do. Sir John was near her. "That’s very kind of you, I’m sure," Diana said. She took the glass from Bill’s hand. "I feel better already." "It ’ain’t got no real substance to it, lady, but it’s the best Nick’s got, and we’d like to have you accept it, jest to show that you know that all Western men ain’t bad men and all cow-boys ain’t loafers." As he spoke, Bill bowed low. Like a gallant of old, he trailed his sombrero on the ground. Some of the men began to feel sentimental—they were like weather-cocks, responding readily with their susceptible natures to the swaying influence of the moment. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Diana sprang to her feet. Jim would not look towards her—well, then, she must send him some message. "I think I understand," she said to Bill. "If you will let me, I would like to propose a toast—will you let me?" The room echoed the assent of the men. They were all cavaliers—all sombreros were off and all bowed low before Diana. The cow-boy has much of the player in him. Hardly able to steady her sweet, tremulous voice, Diana turned directly to Jim and moved nearer to him, while she lifted her glass high in the air. "To the Queen’s champion, Mr.—" She paused, her eyes were blinded, her brain clouded. What was the name he had called himself? "Mr.—" she again repeated. Bill’s voice answered, "Jim Carston’s his name, lady." Higher she held the glass. Jim had turned in amazement. Her eyes met his. "Mr. Jim Carston." Her voice rang clear and vibrant this time. "And every son of a gun in this hole drinks to that, or we’ll know the reason why—eh, boys?" Bill jubilantly cried. Their boss had brought glory to them that day.