"Where's the man who wanted to curl my hair?"
Incisive and harsh, with scarcely a trace of the musical tones she
recollected so well, as was Johnson's voice, it deceived the Girl not an
instant. Even before she was able to get a glimpse of his face it did
not fail to tell her that the handsome _caballero_, with whom she had
ridden on that never-to-be-forgotten day on the Monterey road, was
standing before her. That his attire now, as might be expected, was
wholly different from what it had been then, it never occurred to her to
note; for, to tell the truth, she was vainly struggling to suppress the
joy that she felt at seeing him again, and before she was aware of it
there slipped through her lips:
"Why, howdy do, stranger!"
At the sound of her voice Johnson wheeled round in glad surprise and
amazement; but the quick look of recognition that he flashed upon her
wholly escaped the Sheriff whose attitude was indicative of keen
resentment at this intrusion, and whose eyes were taking in the newcomer
from head to foot.
"We're not much on strangers here," he blurted out at last.
Johnson turned on his heel and faced the speaker. An angry retort rose
to his lips, but he checked it. Although, perhaps, not fully
appreciating his action, he was, nevertheless, not unaware that, from
the point of view of the Polka, his refusal to take his whisky straight
might be regarded as nothing less than an insult. And now that it was
too late he was inclined, however much he resented an attempt to
interfere in a matter which he believed concerned himself solely, to
regret the provocation and challenging words of his entrance if only
because of a realisation that a quarrel would be likely to upset his
plans. On the other hand, with every fraction of a second that passed he
was conscious of becoming more and more desirous of humbling the man
standing before him and scrutinising him so insolently; moreover, he
felt intuitively that the eyes of the Girl were on him as well as on the
other principal to this silent but no less ominous conflict going on,
and such being the case it was obviously impossible for him to withdraw
from the position he had taken. As a sort of compromise, therefore, he
said, tentatively:
"I'm the man who wanted water in his whisky."
"You!" exclaimed the Girl; and then added reprovingly: "Oh, Nick, this
gentleman takes his whisky as he likes it!"
And this from the Girl! The little barkeeper had all the appearance of a
man who thought the world was coming to an end. He did not accept the
Girl's ultimatum until he had drawn down his face into an expression of
mock solemnity and ejaculated half-aloud:
"Moses, what's come over 'er!"
Johnson took a few steps nearer the Girl and bowed low.
"In the presence of a lady I will take nothing," he said impressively.
"But pardon me, you seem to be almost at home here."
The girl leaned her elbows on the bar and her chin in her hands, and
answered with a tantalising little laugh:
"Who--me?"
After a loud guffaw Nick took it upon himself to explain matters;
turning to Johnson he said:
"Why, she's the Girl who runs The Polka!"
Johnson's face wore a look of puzzled consternation; he saw no reason
for levity.
"You . . .?"
"Yep," nodded the Girl with a merry twinkle in her eyes.
Johnson's face fell.
"She runs The Polka," he murmured to himself. Of all places to have
chosen--this! So the thing he had dreaded had happened!
For odd as it unquestionably seemed to him that she should turn up as
the proprietress of a saloon after months of searching high and low for
her, it was not this reflection that was uppermost in his mind; on the
contrary, it was the deeply humiliating thought that he had come upon
her when about to ply his vocation. Regret came swiftly that he had not
thought to inquire who was the owner of The Polka Saloon. Bitterly he
cursed himself for his dense stupidity. And yet, it was doubtful whether
any of his band could have informed him. All that they knew of the place
was that the miners of Cloudy Mountain Camp were said to keep a large
amount of placer gold there; all that he had done was to acquaint
himself with the best means of getting it. But his ruminations were soon
dissipated by Rance, who had come so close that their feet almost
touched, and was speaking in a voice that showed the quarrelsome frame
of mind that he was in.
"You're from The Crossing, the barkeeper said--" he began, and then
added pointedly: "I don't remember you."
Johnson slowly turned from the Girl to the speaker and calmly corrected:
"You're mistaken; I said I rode over from The Crossing." And turning his
back on the man he faced the Girl with: "So, you run The Polka?"
"I'm the Girl--the girl that runs The Polka," she said, and to his
astonishment seemed to glory in her occupation.
Presently, much to their delight, an opportunity came to them to
exchange a word or two with each other without interruption. For, Rance,
as if revolving some plan of action in his mind, had turned on his heel
and walked off a little way. A moment more, however, and he was back
again and more malevolently aggressive than ever.
"No strangers are allowed in this camp," he said, glowering at Johnson;
and then, his remark having passed unheeded by the other, he sneered:
"Perhaps you're off the road; men often get mixed up when they're
visiting Nina Micheltoreña on the back trail."
"Oh, Rance!" protested the Girl.
But Johnson, though angered, let the insinuation pass unnoticed, and
went on to say that he had stopped in to rest his horse and, perhaps, if
invited, try his luck at a game of cards. And with this intimation he
crossed over to the poker table where he picked up the deck that Rance
had been using.
Rance hesitated, and finally followed up the stranger until he brought
up face to face with him.
"You want a game, eh?" he drawled, coolly impudent. "I haven't heard
your name, young man."
"Name," echoed the Girl with a cynical laugh. "Oh, names out here--"
"My name's Johnson--" spoke up the man, throwing down the cards on the
table.
"Is what?" laughed the Girl, saucily, and, apparently, trying to relieve
the strained situation by her bantering tone.
"--Of Sacramento," he finished easily.
"Of Sacramento," repeated the Girl in the same jesting manner as before;
then, quickly coming out from behind the bar, she went over to him and
put out her hand, saying:
"I admire to know you, Mr. Johnson o' Sacramento."
Johnson bowed low over her hand.
"Thank you," he said simply.
"Say, Girl, I--" began Rance, fuming at her behaviour.
"Oh, sit down, Rance!" The interruption came from the Girl as she pushed
him lightly out of her way; then, perching herself up on one end of the
faro table, at which Johnson had taken a seat, she ventured:
"Say, Mr. Johnson, do you know what I think o' you?"
Johnson eyed her uncertainly, while Rance's eyes blazed as she blurted
out:
"Well, I think you staked out a claim in a etiquette book." And then
before Johnson could answer her, she went on to say: "So you think you
can play poker?"
"That's my conviction," Johnson told her, smilingly.
"Out o' every fifty men who think they can play poker one ain't
mistaken," was the Girl's caustic observation. The next instant,
however, she jumped down from the table and was back at her post, where,
fearful lest he should think her wanting in hospitality, she proposed:
"Try a cigar, Mr. Johnson?"
"Thank you," he said, rising, and following her to the bar.
"Best in the house--my compliments."
"You're very kind," said Johnson, taking the candle that she had lighted
for him; then, when his cigar was going, and in a voice that was
intended for her alone, he went on: "So you remember me?"
"If you remember me," returned the Girl, likewise in a low tone.
"What the devil are they talking about anyway?" muttered Rance to
himself as he stole a glance at them over his shoulder, though he kept
on shuffling the cards.
"I met you on the road to Monterey," said Johnson with a smile.
"Yes, comin' an' goin'," smiled back the Girl. "You passed me a bunch o'
wild syringa over the wheel; you also asked me to go a-berryin'--" and
here she paused long enough to glance up at him coquettishly before
adding: "But I didn't see it, Mr. Johnson."
"I noticed that," observed Johnson, laughing.
"An' when you went away you said--" The Girl broke off abruptly and
replaced the candle on the bar; then with a shy, embarrassed look on her
face she ended with: "Oh, I dunno."
"Yes, you do, yes, you do," maintained Johnson. "I said I'll think of
you all the time--well, I've thought of you ever since."
There was a moment of embarrassment. Then:
"Somehow I kind o' tho't you might drop in," she said with averted eyes.
"But as you didn't--" She paused and summoned to her face a look which
she believed would adequately reflect a knowledge of the proprieties.
"O' course," she tittered out, "it wa'n't my place to remember
you--first."
"But I didn't know where you lived--you never told me, you know,"
contended the road agent, which contention so satisfied the Girl--for
she remembered only too well that she had not told him--that she
determined to show him further evidences of her regard.