“I pay for everybody’s drinks here tonight. Take no money from any of them and when this runs short, call on me.”
The word was passed, “Free drinks at the bar,” and the crowd surged forward. A half-tipsy fellow raised his glass above the heads of others. “Here’s to Mary Greenwater, Queen of the Cherokee Indians!”
“Rah fer Mary Greenwater,” chattered old Amos, holding his reeling form up by the bar rail.
The invitation was even too much for Rayder, strong as had been his resolution to let the stuff alone. The temptation of free drinks was too great, he imagined he needed something and called for gin.
Just then, some one came in and announced 244 that the two men had been rescued from under the snow-slide. The games stopped and the men at the tables ordered their drinks from the waiters. The dance in the adjoining room stopped in the middle of a set, while men and women crowded about the bar.
Only three in that room did not rejoice at the news––Mary Greenwater, Coyote Jim and Rayder. Amos was too drunk to know whether he ought to be sad or rejoice. He did neither, but gave another loud “Rah for Mary Greenwater!” when a waiter led him to a seat. When the hubbub of voices which the announcement of the rescue had created, had subsided somewhat, the players resumed their games and amid the clink of chips and glasses, could now and then be heard from some gamester, “Hold on there, that’s mine!”
Mary Greenwater went to the faro table. “Get up, Coyote,” she said, “I’m going to bust this bank, and you and I have been together so much that they will think you have throwed the game. Let some one else 245 deal.” Another dealer was called and Mary laid down a hundred on the ace. Men crowded about as before, when she was at the roulette wheel. There was a hush for a moment, when the clear tones of a man at the door rang out.
“Hands up, everybody. Don’t try to escape, the doors are guarded!”
All was confusion in an instant. Calamity Jane, eyes ablaze, strode from behind the curtain in the dance hall. Quick of action, she fired at the nearest hold-up in mask. The uproar was furious. The lamps were shot out by confederates of the hold-ups. The ball room women screamed with fright, while jets of fire spit from revolvers in different parts of the room. Men were afraid to make an outcry, lest a bullet would follow at the sound of their voice. Coyote Jim was crouching like a tiger, beside the stacks of coin on the table. In his hand was a long, keen blade. He felt a stealthy hand near his own and he lunged the knife. A heavy groan and a few words in a language which only he understood, 246 and the body sank to the floor. The tiger’s blood was now afire and he leaped upon the faro table, revolver in hand. His form was outlined in silhouette by a light across the street, when a spark flashed in the darkness and he fell headlong to the floor. There was a heavy roar of voices, as the men stampeded to the door.
When lights were brought from the outside, the masked men were gone except one. He lay dead near the door, with a bullet from Calamity Jane’s revolver in his brain. Coyote Jim lay dead, and by his side, Mary Greenwater, with her life’s blood still ebbing from the knife stab.