Tabywana turned to him. Yes, for days this Cash Hawkins had given him
his drink; why shouldn't he do so now? Nick was watching them from over
his shoulder as he took down a bottle of rye. Tabywana pointed to him.
"No give 'em, me--heap like 'em--big medicine, sick. Me all time heap
sick." By his gestures he indicated that his body was suffering for the
medicine. "Wayno medicine," he continued. "Pretty soon, more
fire-water, catch 'em. Pretty soon--maybe so--no sick." Incoherently
he tried to explain that the drink would cure him at once. If not, then
pretty soon he would be very ill.
Even at a moment like this Nick could not resist the temptation to tease
the Chief. He poured out some whiskey, Tabywana tried to reach it, but
Nick lifted the glass and drank it. The sight of it maddened Tabywana:
with his two fists he struck the bar and gave vent to his rage in a loud
voice.
Cash saw it was time to finish the business. He put his arm about
Tabywana, while he directed Nick to give the Indian the bottle.
"It's agin the law to give you whiskey, Chief. 'Tain't every one's got
the nerve to treat you like a white man." By this time he was holding
the bottle high up in the air. "But there ain't no one hereabouts goin'
to question any trade I make. Every man has an inalienable right--say,
'inalienable's' great, Chief--that's good medicine," he
translated--"inalienable right to git drunk if he wants to, and I'm
agoin' to protect you in your rights."
He held the paper close to Tabywana; he lowered his voice.
"Now just put your mark to that paper and you get this bottleful and the
time of your life." The words were accompanied with explanatory
gestures so that Tabywana could understand.
The Indian tried to reach the bottle. Then he saw the paper; he took
hold of the pen and bent over it. As he did so a girl's figure slid in
between him and Cash, and the bottle went smashing out of Cash Hawkins's
hand up against the bottles and glasses on the shelf at the back of the
bar. There was a crash of breaking glass and a snarling curse from
Hawkins.
Tabywana stood dazed for a moment at the sight of Nat-u-ritch, who
silently faced him and Hawkins. He made a sweeping gesture of fury, and
attempted to strike Nat-u-ritch, but she cleverly dodged him. The force
of the unarrested blow carried Tabywana against a table, he stumbled
into a chair, made an attempt to rise, but, after a desperate effort,
fell back in a drunken stupor, oblivious to his surroundings. The sudden
burst of anger was the natural climax to days of dissipation.
The crash of the glasses and the sudden entrance of the girl attracted
the attention of the gamblers. Some of them, scenting a fracas, stopped
playing; others merely looked up, and then went on with the game. What
did an Indian, male or female, matter to them?
Cash propped himself up against the bar. For the first time he really
was brought within close range of Nat-u-ritch. Silent and immovable she
stood, guarding the sunken form of her father. Her head was erect and
she looked her contempt and scorn full in Hawkins's face. In her hands
she held the fallen blanket of her father.
"Well, what d'ye think of it, eh?" Cash finally ejaculated. His eyes
took note of the girl's physical perfection. "Say, fer spunk and grit
dam'f I ever see her equal. Say, she can have me, kin Tabywana's
squaw."
Nick interposed sullenly as he straightened up the disordered bar.
"She ain't Tabywana's squaw--that's Nat-u-ritch, his gal--his daughter."
"Daughter or squaw, don't make no difference to me." Cash slouched up
to Nat-u-ritch and insolently surveyed her. "She's puty, she is, and
I'll include her in the deal. Say, sis, I like your looks. You please
me a whole lot, and I'll buy you along with your father's
cattle--savvy?"
Still she made no answer--she knew what the white man was suggesting.
That she had accomplished what she had dared to save her father now
frightened her. She wanted to get him away and escape with him. But
how? She could not leave him. She only clutched the blanket tighter.
Cash caught sight of the half-breed Baco, who was often called in to act
as interpreter by the white men. "Baco," he called, "what's her name
mean?" He designated Nat-u-ritch with his thumb.
Baco grinned: "Purty little gal." He had cast his own eyes
unsuccessfully on Nat-u-ritch.
"Well, she lives up to the name all right. Ain't she hell?" Cash
drooped lower against the bar. "Say, Nat-u-ritch, you take chances with
me when you interfere that way like you did jest now."
Along the platform Jim swung, the gray dust whitening his leather chaps
and dusting his shirt and hat with a heavy powder. He had ridden hard
to keep his appointment with Bill and his men. As he entered the centre
door of the saloon he watched Hawkins and the little Indian girl with
curiosity. He took in the situation at a glance. The drunken Chief, the
tigerish Hawkins bending over the girl like an animal about to crunch a
ewe lamb, and the contents of the smashed bottle that Nick was wiping
away told him what had occurred. Cash was saying:
"Nat-u-ritch, you spoiled a very puty deal, and I ain't complaisant a
whole lot with people as do that, but I'm goin' to pass that up, 'cause
you please me, and I'm goin' to annex you. You're comin' to my
wickyup--savvy? And to seal the bargain, and to show you that I ain't
proud like the ordinary white man, I'm goin' to give you a kiss."
Before Hawkins could catch the resisting girl in his arms, Jim quietly
stepped between them.
"Drop that, Hawkins." The voice of the Englishman was electrical.
Jim's men jumped to their feet. At a move of Cash's hand to his belt
they grasped their guns. "Don't pull your gun, Cash," Jim said. "You
want to get your gang together before you do that. My boys would shoot
you into ribbons." Jim was smoking a long cigar. He coolly took it
from his lips, knocked off the ashes, then bent over Nat-u-ritch and
whispered to her. Her eyes alone answered him. He was about to join his
men when Cash Hawkins swaggered up to him.
"Say, son, ain't you courtin' disaster interferin' in my private
business?" he threatened. He knew he dare not fight alone against Jim
and his men, so he played for time. If only he had his gang!
Jim replied: "Do you call it 'business' robbing Indians when they're
drunk, and insulting women?"
The cow-boy honor--for Cash had a crude drilling in the laws of the
West--flamed at the last words, and in all sincerity, true to his
American point of view, he answered, hotly:
"Don't you accuse me of insultin' women. She ain't a woman--she's a
squaw."
Jim turned away. Why argue?
"Bill," he said, "you and Grouchy put Tabywana on his pony.
Nat-u-ritch, pike way, and take your father with you." He knew she
could manage the ponies and arrive at her wickyup in safety; in fact,
the pony would take the Chief home as he would a dead weight, if
Tabywana was once strapped on his back.
The men struggled with the heavy body of Tabywana, and they finally
succeeded in dragging him across the room, followed by Nat-u-ritch
carrying the blanket. Cash could only watch--he was helpless--so he
snarled:
"You've spoiled my trade, eh?"
Jim turned to him. "The bar is closed to Indians in Maverick." He
meant Cash to infer that he could make it unpleasant for him if he
called the government's attention to the matter.