There was a hush about the room. They didn't often see any one venture to buck against Nick's authority.
"Oh yes, you'll pay it, gent." Nick's voice was lower and calmer than Dan's. He had turned while Dan was speaking and was lovingly fingering his six-shooter. He lifted it from the shelf and laid it carefully on the bar, keeping his hand well over the trigger.
McSorley nervously edged to Dan. "Better pay it; better pay it," he whispered.
Nick heard him. "Yes," he added, "better pay it. Saves funeral expenses."
Dan knew enough of the country to know he was at Nick's mercy. He drew a silver dollar from his pocket, and slapped it down on the bar.
"Well, I'll be ——!" Dan started for the door, followed by McSorley, who thought his companion's rage ill-timed. He wished he were back in his caboose. As they reached the door Nick's voice rang out in stentorian tones.
"Wait a minute!" There was no gainsaying his command. Dan halted. Nick, leaning far over the bar, held in each hand a watch-dog. "I don't allow no tenderfoot to use bad language in my emporium. We do strictly family trade and caters particular to ladies and children."
Dan and McSorley stood under the levelled guns. A shriek of mirth shook the crowd. All had stopped playing and were watching the situation. Finally, when there was no doubt as to the ridiculous position of the train officials and the laugh had subsided, Nick dropped the guns, and with a low bow turned from the bar, leaving them free to go. Dan and McSorley quickly disappeared, Dan wildly expostulating while McSorley vainly tried to calm him.
Nick went back to the players.
"Pete," he asked, "what has Cash got agin the Englishman?"