Coins rang in a steady chorus along the bar, and the crowd waited three and four deep.
Someone was singing a rollicking song of the range at one end of the bar, and a chorus of four bellowed a profane parody at the other end.
The ears of Pierre le Rouge tingled hotly, and partly to escape the uproar he worked his way to the quieter room at the back of the saloon.
It was almost as crowded as the bar, but here no one spoke except for an occasional growl.

Sudden speaking, and a loud voice, indeed, was hardly safe.

Someone cursed at his ill-luck as Pierre entered, and a dozen hands reached for six-guns.

In such a place one had to be prepared.
Pierre remembered with quick dismay that he was not armed.

All his life the straight black gown had been weapon enough to make all men give way before him.