The Girl of the Golden West

by David Belasco

  V.

  Inside The Polka, not a bit more, and not a bit less sardonic--it wasthis imperturbability which made him so resistless to most people--thanhe was prior to the banishment of The Sidney Duck, the Sheriff ofManzaneta County waited patiently until the returning puppets of hiswill had had time to compose themselves. It took them merely thebriefest of periods, but it served to increase visibly the long ash atthe end of Rance's cigar. At length he shot a hawk-like glance at Sonoraand proposed a little game of poker.

  "This time, gentlemen--" he said, with a significant pause and accent--"just for social recreation. What do you say?"

  "I'm your Injun!" acquiesced Sonora, rubbing his hands togethergleefully at the prospect of winning from the Sheriff, whom he likednone too well.

  "That's me, too!" concurred Trinidad.

  "Chips, then, Nick!" called out the Sheriff, quietly taking a seat atthe table; while Sonora, bubbling over with spirits, hitched up histrousers in sailor fashion and executed an impromptu hornpipe, bellowingin his deep, base voice:

  "I shipped aboard of a liner, boys--"

  "Renzo, boys, renzo," finished Trinidad, falling in place at the table.

  At this point the outside door was unexpectedly pushed open, inward, andthe Deputy-Sheriff came into their midst.

  "Ashby just rode in with his posse," he announced huskily to hissuperior.

  The Sheriff flashed a look of annoyance and inquired of the gaunt,hollow-cheeked, muscular Deputy whose beaver overcoat was thrown openso that his gun and powder-flask showed plainly in his belt:

  "Why, what's he doing here?"

  "He's after Ramerrez," answered the Deputy, eyeing him intently.

  Rance received this information in silence and went on with hisshuffling of the cards; presently, unconcernedly, he remarked:

  "Ramerrez--Oh, that's the polite road agent who has been visiting theother camps?"

  "Yes; he's just turned into your county," declared the Deputy,meaningly.

  "What?" Sonora looked dumbfounded.

  The Deputy nodded and proceeded to the bar. And while he drained thecontents of his glass, the Minstrel played on his banjo, much to theamusement of the men, who showed their appreciation by laughingheartily, the last bars of, "Pop Goes the Weasel."

  "Hello, Sheriff!" greeted Ashby, coming in just as the merriment overthe Minstrel's little joke had died away. Ashby's voice--quick, sharpand decisive was that of a man accustomed to ordering men, but hismanner was suave, if a trifle gruff. Moreover, he was a man of whom itcould be said, paradoxical as it may seem, that he was never known to bedrunk nor ever known to be sober. It was plain from his appearance thathe had been some time on the road.

  Rance rose and politely extended his hand. And, although the greetingbetween the two men was none too cordial, yet in their look, as theyeyed each other, was the respect which men have for others engagedmore or less in the same business and in whom they recognise certainqualities which they have in common. In point of age Ashby was, perhaps,the senior. As far as reputation was concerned, both men were accountednervy and square. Rance introduced him to Sonora and the others, saying:

  "Boys, Mr. Ashby of Wells Fargo."

  The latter had a pleasant word or two for the men; then, turning to theDeputy, he said:

  "And how are you these days?"

  "Fit. And yourself?"

  "Same here." Turning now to the barkeeper, Ashby, with easy familiarity,added: "Say, Nick, give us a drink."

  "Sure!" came promptly from the little barkeeper.

  "Everybody'll have the same?" inquired Ashby, turning once more to themen.

  "The same!" returned the men in chorus.

  Thereupon, Nick briskly slapped down a bottle and four glasses beforethe Sheriff, and leaving him to do the honours, disappeared into thedance-hall.

  "'Well, I trust the Girl who runs The Polka is well?" inquired Ashby,pushing his glass near the bottle.

  "Fine as silk," vouched Sonora, adding in the next breath: "But, say,Mr. Ashby, how long you been chasm' up this road agent?"

  "Oh, he only took to the road a few months ago," was Ashby's answer."Wells Fargo have had me and a posse busy ever since. He's a wonder!"

  "Must be to evade you," complimented Sonora, much to the discomfort ofthe Sheriff.

  "Yes, I can smell a road agent in the wind," declared Ashby somewhatboastfully. "But, Rance, I expect to get that fellow right here in yourcounty."

  The Sheriff looked as if he scouted the idea, and was about to speak,but checked the word on his tongue. Then followed a short silence inwhich the Deputy, smiling a trifle derisively, went out of the saloon.

  "Is this fellow a Spaniard?" questioned the Sheriff, drawling as usual,but at the same time jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards aplacard on the wall, which read:

  "FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD FOR THE ROAD AGENT RAMERREZ, OR INFORMATION LEADING TO HIS CAPTURE. (SIGNED) WELLS FARGO."

  "No--can't prove it. The fact of his leading a crew of greasers andSpaniards signifies nothing. His name is assumed, I suppose."

  "They say he robs you like a gentleman," remarked Rance with some showof interest.

  "Well, look out for the greasers up the road!" was Ashby's warning as heemptied his glass and put it down before him.

  "We don't let them pass through here," shrugged Rance, likewise puttingdown his glass on the table.

  Ashby now picked up the whisky bottle and carried it over to thedeserted faro table before which he settled himself comfortably in achair.

  "Well, boys, I've had a long ride--wake me up when The Pony Express goesthrough!" he called over his shoulder as he put his coat over him.

  But no sooner was he comfortably ensconced for a snooze than Nickcame bustling in with a kettle of boiling water and several glasseshalf-filled with whisky and lemon. Stopping before Ashby he said in hisbest professional manner:

  "Re-gards of the Girl--hot whisky straight with lemming extract."

  Ashby took up his glass, as did, in turn, the men at the other table.But it was Rance who, with arm uplifted, toasted:

  "The Girl, gentlemen, the only Girl in Camp, the Girl I mean to makeMrs. Jack Rance!"

  Confident that neither would catch him in the act, Nick winked first atSonora and then at Trinidad. That the little barkeeper was successfulin making the former, at least, believe that he possessed the Girl'saffections was manifested by the big miner's next remark.

  "That's a joke, Rance. She makes you look like a Chinaman."

  Rance sprang to his feet, white with rage.

  "You prove that!" he shouted.

  "In what particular spot will you have it?" taunted Sonora, as his handcrept for his gun.

  Simultaneously, every man in the room made a dash for cover. Nick duckedbehind the bar, for, as he told himself when safely settled there, hewas too old a bird to get anywhere near the line of fire when two oldstagers got to making lead fly about. Nor was Trinidad slow in arrivingat the other end of the bar where he caromed against Jake, who haddropped his banjo and was frantically trying to kick the spring of theiron shield in an endeavour to protect himself--a feat which, at last,he succeeded in performing. But, fortunately, for all concerned, asthe two men stood eyeing each other, their hands on their hips readyto draw, Nick, from his position behind the bar, glimpsed through thewindow the Girl on the point of entering the saloon.

  "Here comes the Girl!" he cried excitedly. "Aw, leave your guns alone--take your drinks, quick!"

  For a fraction of a second the men looked sheepishly at one another,even Nick appearing a trifle uncomfortable, as he picked up the kettleand went off with it.

  "Once more we're friends, eh, boys?" said Rance, with a forced laugh;and then as he lifted his glass high in the air, he gave the toast:

  "The Girl!"

  "The Girl!" repeated all--all save Ashby, whose snores by this timecould be heard throughout the big room--and drained their glasses.