VI

There was a general movement towards the bar when the fair proprietress

of The Polka, who had lingered longer than usual in her little cabin on

top of the mountain, breezily entered the place by the main door. In a

coarse, blue skirt, and rough, white flannel blouse, cut away and held

in place at the throat by a crimson ribbon, the Girl made a pretty

picture; it was not difficult to see why the boys of Cloudy Mountain

Camp had a feeling which fell little short of adoration for this

sun-browned maid, with the spirit of the mountain in her eyes. That each

in his own way had given her to understand that he was desperately

smitten with her, goes without saying. But, although she accepted their

rough homage as a matter of course, such a thought as falling in love

with anyone of them had never entered her mind.

As far back, almost, as she could remember, the Girl had lived among

them and had ever been a true comrade, sharing their disappointments and

thrilling with their successes. Of a nature pure and simple, she was,

nevertheless, frank and outspoken. Moreover, she knew to a dot what was

meant when someone--bolder than his mates--stretched out his arms to

her. One such exhibition on a man’s part she was likely to forgive and

forget, but the wrath and scorn that had blazed forth from her blue eyes

on such an occasion had been sufficient to prevent a repetition of the

offence. In short, unspoiled by their coarse flattery, and, to all

appearances, happy and care-free, she attended to the running of The

Polka wholly unsmirched by her environment.

But a keen observer would not have failed to detect that the Girl took a

little less pleasure in her surroundings than she had taken in them

before she had made the trip to Monterey. Downright glad, to use her own

expression, as she had been on her return to see the boys of the camp

and hear their boisterous shouts of welcome when the stage drew up in

front of The Polka, she had to acknowledge that her home-coming was not

quite what she expected. It was as if she had suddenly been startled out

of a beautiful dream wherein she had been listening to the soft music of

her lover’s voice and brought face to face with the actualities of life,

which, in her case, to say the least, were very real.

For hours after leaving her admirer sitting motionless on his horse on

the great highway between Monterey and Sacramento, the Girl had indulged

in some pertinent thoughts which, if the truth were known, were anything

but complimentary to her behaviour. And, however successful she was

later on in persuading herself that he would eventually seek her out,

there was no question that at first she felt that the chances of her

ever setting eyes on him again were almost negligible. All the more

bitterly, therefore, did she regret her folly in not having told him

where she lived; particularly so since she assured herself that not only

was he the handsomest man that she had ever seen, but that he was the

only one who had ever succeeded in chaining her attention. That he had

been making love to her with his eyes, if not with words, she knew only

too well--a fact that had been anything but displeasing to her. Indeed,

far from having felt sorry that she had encouraged him, she,

unblushingly, acknowledged to herself that, if she had the thing to do

over again, she would encourage him still more.

Was she then a flirt? Not at all, in the common acceptation of the word.

All her knowledge of the ways of the world had been derived from Mother

Nature, who had supplied her with a quick and ready wit to turn aside,

with a smile, the protestations of the boys; had taught her how to live

on intimate terms with them and yet not be intimate; but when it came to

playing at love, which every city maid of the same age is an adept at,

she was strangely ignorant. Of a truth, then, it was something far

broader and deeper that had entered into her heart--love. Not

infrequently love comes as suddenly as this to young women who live in

small mining camps or out-of-the-way places where the men are

practically of a type; it is their unfamiliarity with the class which a

stranger represents when he makes his appearance in their midst that is

responsible, fully as much as his own personality, for their being

attracted to him. It is not impossible, of course, that if the Girl had

met him in Cloudy,--say as a miner there,--the result would have been

precisely the same. But it is much more likely that the attendant

conditions of their meeting aided him in appealing to her imagination,

and in touching a chord in her nature which, under other circumstances,

would not have responded in as many months as there were minutes on that

eventful day.

Little wonder then, that as each succeeding mile travelled by the stage

took her further and further away from him, something which, as yet, she

did not dare to name, kept tugging at her heartstrings and which she

endeavoured to overcome by listening to the stage driver’s long-winded

reminiscences and anecdotes concerning the country through which they

were passing. But, although she made a brave effort to appear

interested, it did not take him long to realise that something was on

his passenger’s mind and, being a wise man, he gradually relapsed into

silence, with the result that, before the long journey ended at Cloudy

Mountain, she had deceived herself into believing that she was certain

to see her admirer again.

But as the days grew into weeks, the weeks into months, and the Girl

neither saw nor heard anything of him, it was inevitable that the

picture that he had left on her mind should begin to grow dim.

Nevertheless, it was surprising what a knack his figure had of appearing

before her at various times of the day and night, when she never failed

to compare him with the miners in the camp, and, needless to say,

unflatteringly to them. There came a time, it is true, when she was

sorely tempted to tell one of them something of this new-found friend of

hers; but rightly surmising the effect that her praising of her paragon

would have upon the recipient of her confidences, she wisely resolved to

lock up his image in her heart.

Of course, there were moments, too, when the Girl regretted that there

was no other woman--some friend of her own sex in the camp--to whom she

could confide her little romance. But since that boon was denied her,

she took to seeking out the most solitary places to dream of him. In

such moods she would climb to a high crag, a few feet from her cabin,

and with a reminiscent and far-away look in her eyes she would sit for

hours gazing at the great canyons and gorges, the broad forests and

wooded hillsides, the waterfalls flashing silver in the distance, and,

above all, at the wonderously-grand and snow-capped peaks of the main

range.

At other times she would take the trail leading from the camp to the

country below, and after wandering about aimlessly in the beautiful and

mysterious forests, she would select some little glen through which a

brook trickled and murmured underneath the ferns into a pool, and

seating herself on a clump of velvet moss, the great sugar pines and

firs forming a canopy over her head, she would whisper her secret

thoughts and wild hopes to the gorgeously-plumed birds and saucy

squirrels scampering all about her. The hours spent thus were as oases

in her otherwise practical existence, and after a while she would return

laden down with great bunches of ferns and wild flowers which,

eventually, found a place on the walls of The Polka.

* * * * *

Glancing at the bar to see that everything was to her satisfaction, the

Girl greeted the boys warmly, almost rapturously with:

“Hello, boys! How’s everythin’? Gettin’ taken care of?”

“Hello, Girl!” sang out Sonora in what he considered was his most

fetching manner. He had been the first to reach the coveted position

opposite the Girl, although Handsome, who had followed her in, was

leaning at the end of the bar nearest to the dance-hall.

“Hello, Sonora!” returned the Girl with an amused smile, for it was

impossible with her keen sense of humour not to see Sonora’s attempts to

make himself irresistible to her. Nor did she fail to observe that

Trinidad, likewise, had spruced himself up a little more than usual,

with the same purpose in mind.

“Hello, Girl!” he said, strolling up to her with a ludicrous swagger.

“Hello, Trin!” came from the Girl, smilingly.

There was an awkward pause in which both Sonora and Trinidad floundered

about in their minds for something to say; at length, a brilliant

inspiration came to the former, and he asked:

“Say, Girl, make me a prairie oyster, will you?”

“All, right, Sonora, I’ll fix you right up,” returned the Girl, smiling

to herself at his effort. But at the moment that she was reaching for a

bottle back of the bar, a terrific whoop came from the dance-hall, and

ever-watchful lest the boys’ fun should get beyond her control, she

called to her factotum to quiet things down in the next room, concluding

warningly: “They’ve had about enough.”

When the barkeeper had gone to do her bidding, the Girl picked up an

egg, and, poising it over a glass, she went on:

“Say, look ’ere, Sonora, before I crack this ’ere egg, I’d like to state

that eggs is four bits apiece. Only two hens left--” She broke off

short, and turning upon Handsome, who had been gradually sidling up

until his elbows almost touched hers, she repulsed him a trifle

impatiently:

“Oh, run away, Handsome!”

A flush of pleasure at Handsome’s evident discomfiture spread over

Sonora’s countenance, and comical, indeed, to the Girl, was the majestic

air he took on when he ordered recklessly:

“Oh, crack the egg--I’ll stand for it.”

But Sonora’s fancied advantage over the others was of short duration,

for the next instant Nick, stepping quickly forward with a drink, handed

it to the Girl with the words:

“Regards of Blonde Harry.”

Again Sonora experienced a feeling akin to jealousy at what he termed

Blonde Harry’s impudence. It almost immediately gave way to a paroxysm

of chuckling; for, the Girl, quickly taking the glass from Nick’s hand,

flung its contents into a nearby receptacle.

“There--tell ’im that it hit the spot!” She laughed.

Nick roared with the others, but on the threshold of the dance-hall he

paused, hesitated, and finally came back, and advised in a low tone:

“Throw around a few kind words, Girl--good for the bar.”

The Girl surveyed the barkeeper with playful disapproval in her eye.

However advantageous might be his method of working up trade, she

disdained to follow his advice, and her laughing answer was:

“Oh, you Nick!”

The peal of laughter that rung in Nick’s ears as he disappeared through

the door, awakened Ashby and brought him instantly to his feet. Despite

his size, he was remarkably quick in his movements, and in no time at

all he was standing before the bar with a glass, which he had filled

from the bottle that had stood in front of him on the table, and was

saying:

“Compliments of Wells Fargo.”

“Thank you,” returned the Girl; and then while she shook the prairie

oyster: “You see we live high-shouldered here.”

“That’s what!” put in Sonora with a broad grin.

“What cigars have you?” asked Ashby, at the conclusion of his round of

drinks.

“Regalias, Auroas and Eurekas,” reeled off the Girl with her eye upon

Billy Jackrabbit, who had quietly come in and was sneaking about in an

endeavour to find something worth pilfering.

“Oh, any will do,” Ashby told her, with a smile; and while he was

helping himself from a box of Regalias, Nick suddenly appeared, calling

out excitedly:

“Man jest come in threatenin’ to shoot up the furniture!”

“Who is it?” calmly inquired the Girl, returning the cigar-box to its

place on the shelf.

“Old man Watson!”

“Leave ’im shoot,--he’s good for it!”

“Nick! Nick!” yelled several voices in the dance-hall where old man

Watson was surely having the time of his life.

And still the Girl paid not the slightest attention to the shooting or

the cries of the men; what did concern her, however, was the fact that

the Indian was drinking up the dregs in the whisky glasses on the faro

table.

“Here, you, Billy Jackrabbit! What are you doin’ here?” she exclaimed

sharply, causing that generally imperturbable redskin to start

perceptibly. “Did you marry my squaw yet?”

Billy Jackrabbit’s face wore as stolid an expression as ever, when he

answered:

“Not so much married squaw--yet.”

“Not so much married....” repeated the Girl when the merriment, which

his words provoked, had subsided. “Come ’ere, you thievin’ redskin!” And

when he had slid up to the bar, and she had extracted from his pockets a

number of cigars which she knew had been pilfered, she added: “You git

up to my cabin an’ marry my squaw before I git there.” And at another

emphatic “Git!” the Indian, much to the amusement of all, started for

the Girl’s cabin.

“Here--here’s your prairie oyster, Sonora,” at last said the Girl; and

then turning to the Sheriff and speaking to him for the first time, she

called out gaily: “Hello, Rance!”

“Hello, Girl!” replied the Gambler without even a glance at her or

ceasing to shuffle the cards.

Presently, Sonora pulled out a bag of gold-dust and told the Girl to

clear the slate out of it. She was in the act of taking the sack when

Nick, rushing into the room and jerking his thumb over his shoulder,

said:

“Say, Girl, there’s a fellow in there wants to know if we can help out

on provisions.”

“Sure; what does he want?” returned the Girl with a show of willingness

to accommodate him.

“Bread.”

“Bread? Does he think we’re runnin’ a bakery?”

“Then he asked for sardines.”

“Sardines? Great Gilead! You tell ’im we have nothin’ but straight

provisions here. We got pickled oysters, smokin’ tobacco an’ the best

whisky he ever saw,” rapped out the Girl, proudly, and turned her

attention to the slate.

“You bet!” vouched Trinidad with a nod, as Nick departed on his errand.

Finally, the Girl, having made her calculations, opened the counter

drawer and brought forth some silver Mexican dollars, saying:

“Sonora, an’ Mr. Ashby, your change!”

Ashby picked up his money, only to throw it instantly back on the bar,

and say gallantly:

“Keep the change--buy a ribbon at The Ridge--compliments of Wells

Fargo.”

“Thank you,” smiled the Girl, sweeping the money into the drawer, but

her manner showed plainly that it was not an unusual thing for the

patrons of The Polka to refuse to accept the change.

Not to be outdone, Sonora quickly arose and went over to the counter

where, pointing to his stack of silver dollars, he said:

“Girl, buy two ribbons at The Ridge;” and then with a significant glance

towards Ashby, he added: “Fawn’s my colour.”

And again, as before, the voice that said, “Thank you,” was colourless,

while her eyes rested upon the ubiquitous Nick, who had entered with an

armful of wood and was intent upon making the room warmer.

Rance snorted disapprovingly at Sonora’s prodigality. That he considered

that both his and Ashby’s attentions to the Girl had gone far enough was

made apparent by the severe manner in which he envisaged them and

drawled out:

“Play cyards?”

But to that gentleman’s surprise the men did not move. Instead, Ashby

raising a warning finger to the Girl, went on to advise that she should

bank with them oftener, concluding with:

“And then if this road agent Ramerrez should drop in, you won’t lose so

much--”

“The devil you say!” cut in Sonora; while Trinidad broke out into a

scornful laugh.

“Oh, go on, Mr. Ashby!” smilingly scoffed the Girl. “I keep the specie

in an empty keg now. But I’ve took to bankin’ personally in my

stockin’,” she confided without the slightest trace of embarrassment.

“But say, we’ve got an awful pile this month,” observed Nick, anxiously,

leaving the fireplace and joining the little ring of men about her. “It

makes me sort o’ nervous--why, Sonora’s got ten thousand alone fer safe

keepin’ in that keg an’--”

“--Ramerrez’ band’s everywhere,” completed Ashby with a start, his quick

and trained ear having caught the sound of horses’ hoofs.

“But if a road agent did come here, I could offer ’im a drink an’ he’d

treat me like a perfect lady,” contended the Girl, confidently.

“You bet he would, the durned old halibut!” was Sonora’s comment, while

Nick took occasion to ask the Girl for some tobacco.

“Solace or Honeydew?” she inquired, her hands already on the assortment

of tobacco underneath the bar.

“Dew,” was Nick’s laconic answer.

And then it was that the Girl heard for the first time the sound of the

galloping hoofs; startled for the moment, she inquired somewhat

uneasily:

“Who’s this, I wonder?”

But no sooner were the words spoken than a voice outside in the darkness

sung out sharply:

“Hello!”

“Hello!” instantly returned another voice, which the Girl recognised at

once as being that of the Deputy.

“Big holdup last night at The Forks!” the first voice was now saying.

“Holdup!” repeated several voices outside in tones of excitement.

“Ramerrez--” went on the first voice, at which ominous word all,

including Ashby, began to exchange significant glances as they echoed:

“Ramerrez!”

The name had barely died on their lips, however, than Nick precipitated

himself into their midst and announced that The Pony Express had

arrived, handing up to the Girl, at the same time, a bundle of letters

and one paper.

“You see!” maintained Ashby, stoutly, as he watched her sort the

letters; “I was right when I told you....”

“Look sharp! There’s a greaser on the trail!” rang out warningly the

voice of The Pony Express.

“A greaser!” exclaimed Rance, for the first time showing any interest in

the proceedings; and then without looking up and after the manner of a

man speaking to a good dog, he told the Deputy, who had followed Nick

into the room:

“Find him, Dep.”

For some time the Girl occupied herself with cashing in the chips which

Nick brought to her--a task which she performed with amazing correctness

and speed considering that her knowledge of the science of mathematics

had been derived solely from the handling of money at The Polka. Now she

went over to Sonora, who sat at a table reading.

“You got the newspaper, I see,” she observed. “But you, Trin, I’m sorry

you ain’t got nothin’,” she added, with a sad, little smile.

“So long!” hollered The Pony Express at that moment; whereupon, Ashby

rushed over to the door and called after him:

“Pony Express, I want you!” Satisfied that his command had been heard he

retraced his footsteps and found Handsome peering eagerly over Sonora’s

shoulder.

“So, Sonora, you’ve got a newspaper,” Handsome was saying.

“Yes, but the infernal thing’s two months old,” returned the other

disgustedly.

Handsome laughed, and wheeling round was just in time to see the door

flung open and a young fellow advance towards Ashby.

The Pony Express was a young man of not more than twenty years of age.

He was smooth-faced and unshaven and, needless to say, was light of

build, for these riders were selected for their weight as well as for

their nerve. He wore a sombrero, a buckskin hunting-shirt, tight

trousers tucked into high boots with spurs, all of which were

weather-beaten and faded by wind, rain, dust and alkali. A pair of Colt

revolvers could be seen in his holsters, and he carried in his hands,

which were covered with heavy gloves, a mail pouch--it being the

company’s orders not to let his _muchilo_ of heavy leather out of his

hands for a second.

“You drop mail at the greaser settlement?” inquired Ashby in his

peremptory and incisive manner.

“Yes, sir,” quickly responded the young man; and then volunteered: “It’s

a tough place.”

Ashby scrutinised the newcomer closely before going on with:

“Know a girl there named Nina Micheltoreña?”

But before The Pony Express had time to reply the Girl interposed

scornfully:

“Nina Micheltoreña? Why, they all know ’er! She’s one o’ them Cachuca

girls with droopy, Spanish eyes! Oh, ask the boys about ’er!” And with

that she started to leave the room, stopping on her way to clap both

Trinidad and Sonora playfully on the back. “Yes, ask the boys about ’er,

they’ll tell you!” And so saying she fled from the room, followed by the

men she was poking fun at.

“Hold her letters, you understand?” instructed Ashby who, with the

Sheriff, was alone now with The Pony Express.

“Yes, sir,” he replied earnestly. A moment later there being no further

orders forthcoming he hastily took his leave.

Ashby now turned his attention to Rance.

“Sheriff,” said he, “to-night I expect to see this Nina Micheltoreña

either here or at The Palmetto.”

Rance never raised an eyebrow.

“You do?” he remarked a moment later with studied carelessness. “Well,

the boys had better look to their watches. I met that lady once.”

Ashby shot him a look of inquiry.

“She’s looking to that five thousand reward for Ramerrez,” he told him.

Rance’s interest was growing by leaps and bounds though he continued to

riffle the cards.

“What? She’s after that?”

“Sure thing. She knows something....” And having delivered himself of

this Ashby strode over to the opposite side of the room where his coat

and hat were hanging upon an elk horn. While putting them on he came

face to face with the Girl who, having merely glanced in at the

dance-hall, was returning to take up her duties behind the bar. “Well,

I’ll have a look at that greaser up the road,” he said, addressing her,

and then went on half-jocularly, half-seriously: “He may have his eye on

the find in that stocking.”

“You be darned!” was the Girl’s parting shot at him as he went out into

the night.

There was a long and impressive pause in which, apparently, the Sheriff

was making up his mind to speak of matters scarcely incident to the

situation that had gone before; while fully conscious that she was to be

asked to give him an answer--she whose answer had been given many

times--the Girl stood at the bar in an attitude of amused expectancy,

and fussing with things there. At length, Rance, glancing shyly over his

shoulder to make sure that they were alone, became all at once grave

and his voice fell soft and almost caressingly.

“Say, Girl!”

The young woman addressed stole a look at him from under her lashes, all

the while smiling a wise, little smile to herself, but not a word did

she vouchsafe in reply.

Again Rance called to her over his shoulder:

“I say, Girl!”

The Girl took up a glass and began to polish it. At last she deigned to

favour him with “Hm?” which, apparently, he did not hear, for again a

silence fell upon them. Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer,

the Sheriff threw down his cards on the table, and facing her he said:

“Say, Girl, will you marry me?”

“Nope,” returned the Girl with a saucy toss of the head.

Rance rose and strode over to the bar. Looking fixedly at her with his

steely grey eyes he demanded the reason.

“’Cause you got a wife in Noo Orleans--or so the mountain breezes say,”

was her ready answer.

Rance gave no sign of having heard her. Throwing away the cigar he was

smoking he asked in the most nonchalant manner:

“Give me some of them cigars--my kind.”

Reaching for a box behind her the Girl placed it before him.

“Them’s your kind, Jack.”

From an inside pocket of his broadcloth coat Rance took out an elaborate

cigar-case, filled it slowly, leaving out one cigar which he placed

between his lips. When he had this one going satisfactorily he rested

both elbows on the edge of the bar, and said bluntly:

“I’m stuck on you.”

The Girl’s lips parted a little mockingly.

“Thank you.”

Rance puffed away for a moment or two in silence, and then with sudden

determination he went on:

“I’m going to marry you.”

“Think so?” questioned the Girl, drawing herself up proudly. And while

Rance proceeded to relight his cigar, it having gone out, she plumped

both elbows on the bar and looked him straight in the eye, and

announced: “They ain’t a man here goin’ to marry me.”

The scene had precisely the appearance of a struggle between two

powerful wills. How long they would have remained with elbows almost

touching and looking into each other’s eyes it is difficult to

determine; but an interruption came in the person of the barkeeper, who

darted in, calling: “One good cigar!”

Instantly the Girl reached behind her for the box containing the

choicest cigars, and handing one to Nick, she said:

“Here’s your poison--three bits. Why look at ’em,” she went on in the

next breath to Rance; “there’s Handsome with two wives I know of

somewhere East. And--” She broke off short and ended with: “Nick, who’s

that cigar for?”

“Tommy,” he told her.

“Here, give that back!” she cried quickly putting out her hand for it.

“Tommy don’t know a good cigar when he’s smokin’ it.” And so saying she

put the choice cigar back in its place among its fellows and handed him

one from another box with the remark: “Same price, Nick.”

Nick chuckled and went out.

“An’ look at Trin with a widow in Sacramento. An’ you--” The Girl broke

off short and laughed in his face. “Oh, not one o’ you travellin’ under

your own name!”

“One whisky!” ordered Nick, coming into the room with a rush. Without a

word the Girl took down a bottle and poured it out for him while he

stood quietly looking on, grinning from ear to ear. For Rance’s weakness

was known to him as it was to every other man in Manzaneta County, and

he believed that the Sheriff had taken advantage of his absence to press

his hopeless suit.

“Here you be!” sang out the Girl, and passed the glass over to him.

“He wants it with water,” returned Nick, with a snicker.

With a contemptuous gesture the Girl put the bottle back on the shelf.

“No--no you don’t; no fancy drinks here!” she objected.

“But he says he won’t take it without water,” protested Nick, though

there was a twinkle in his eye. “He’s a fellow that’s jest rode in from

The Crossin’, so he says.”

The Girl folded her arms and declared in a tone of finality:

“He’ll take it straight or git.”

“But he won’t git,” contended Nick chuckling.

There was an ominous silence. Such behaviour was without a parallel in

the annals of Cloudy. For much less than this, as the little barkeeper

very well knew, many a man had been disciplined by the Girl. So, with

his eyes fixed upon her face, he was already revelling in the situation

by way of anticipation, and rejoicing in the coming requital for his own

rebuff when the stranger had declined to leave as ordered. It was merely

a question of his waiting for the words which would, as he put it, “take

the fellow down a peg.” They were soon forthcoming.

“You jest send ’im to me,” commanded the Girl. “I’ll curl his hair for

him!”

Nick’s face showed that the message was to his liking. It was evident,

also, that he meant to lose no time in delivering it. A moment after he

disappeared, Rance, who had been toying with a twenty dollar gold piece

which he took from his pocket, turned to the Girl and said with great

earnestness:

“Girl, I’ll give you a thousand dollars on the spot for a kiss,” which

offer met with no response other than a nervous little laugh and the

words:

“Some men invite bein’ played.”

The gambler shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, what are men made for?” said he, flinging the gold piece down on

the bar in payment for the cigar.

“That’s true,” placidly commented the Girl, making the change.

Rance tried another tack.

“You can’t keep on running this place alone; it’s getting too big for

you; too much money circulating through The Polka. You need a man behind

you.” All this was said in short, jerky sentences; moreover, when she

placed his change in front of him he pushed it back almost angrily.

“Come now, marry me,” again he pleaded.

“Nope.”

“My wife won’t know it.”

“Nope.”

“Now, see here, there’s just one--”

“Nope--take it straight, Jack, nope....” interrupted the Girl. She had

made up her mind that he had gone far enough; and firmly grabbing his

hand she slipped his change into it.

Without a word the Sheriff dropped the coins into the cuspidor. The Girl

saw the action and her eyes flashed with anger. The next moment,

however, she looked up at him and said more gently than any time yet:

“No, Jack, I can’t marry you. Ah, come along--start your game again--go

on, Jack.” And so saying she came out from behind the bar and went over

to the faro table with: “Whoop la! Mula! Go! Good Lord, look at that

faro table!”

But Rance was on the verge of losing control of himself. There was

passion in his steely grey eyes when he advanced towards her, but

although the Girl saw the look she did not flinch, and met it in a

clear, straight glance.

“Look here, Jack Rance,” she said, “let’s have it out right now. I run

The Polka ’cause I like it. My father taught me the business an’, well,

don’t you worry ’bout me--I can look after m’self. I carry my little

wepping”--and with that she touched significantly the little pocket of

her dress. “I’m independent, I’m happy, The Polka’s payin’, an’ it’s

bully!” she wound up, laughing. Then, with one of her quick changes of

mood, she turned upon him angrily and demanded: “Say, what the devil do

you mean by proposin’ to me with a wife in Noo Orleans? Now, this is a

respectable saloon, an’ I don’t want no more of it.”

A look of gloom came into Rance’s eyes.

“I didn’t say anything--” he began.

“Push me that Queen,” interrupted the Girl, sharply, gathering up the

cards at the faro table, and pointing to one that was just beyond her

reach. But when Rance handed it to her and was moving silently away, she

added: “Ah, no offence, Jack, but I got other idees o’ married life from

what you have.”

“Aw, nonsense!” came from the Sheriff in a voice that was not free from

irritation.

The Girl glanced up at him quickly. Her mind was not the abode of

hardened convictions, but was tender to sentiment, and something in his

manner at once softening her, she said:

“Nonsense? I dunno ’bout that. You see--” and her eyes took on a far

away look--“I had a home once an’ I ain’t forgot it--a home up over our

little saloon down in Soledad. I ain’t forgot my father an’ my mother

an’ what a happy kepple they were. Lord, how they loved each other--it

was beautiful!”

Despite his seemingly callous exterior, there was a soft spot in the

gambler’s heart. Every word that the Girl uttered had its effect on him.

Now his hands, which had been clenched, opened out and a new light came

into his eyes. Suddenly, however, it was replaced by one of anger, for

the door, at that moment, was hesitatingly pushed open, and The Sidney

Duck stood with his hand on the knob, snivelling:

“Oh, Miss, I--”

The Girl fairly flew over to him.

“Say, I’ve heard about you! You git!” she cried; and when she was

certain that he was gone she came back and took a seat at the table

where she continued, in the same reminiscent vein as before: “I can see

mother now fussin’ over father an’ pettin’ ’im, an’ father dealin’

faro--Ah, he was square! An’ me a kid, as little as a kitten, under the

table sneakin’ chips for candy. Talk ’bout married life--that was a

little heaven! Why, mother tho’t so much o’ that man, she was so much

heart an’ soul with ’im that she learned to be the best case-keeper you

ever saw. Many a sleeper she caught! You see, when she played, she was

playin’ for the ol’ man.” She stopped as if overcome with emotion, and

then added with great feeling: “I guess everybody’s got some remembrance

o’ their mother tucked away. I always see mine at the faro table with

her foot snuggled up to Dad’s, an’ the light o’ lovin’ in her eyes. Ah,

she was a lady...!” Impulsively she rose and walked over to the bar.

“No,” she went on, when behind it once more, “I couldn’t share that

table an’ The Polka with any man--unless there was a heap o’ carin’ back

of it. No, I couldn’t, Jack, I couldn’t....”

By this time the Sheriff’s anger had completely vanished; dejection was

plainly written on every line of his face.

“Well, I guess the boys were right; I am a Chinaman,” he drawled out.

At once the Girl was all sympathy.

“Oh, no you’re not, Jack!” she protested, speaking as tenderly as she

dared without encouraging him.

Rance was quick to detect the change in her voice. Now he leaned over

the end of the bar and said in tones that still held hope:

“Once when I rode in here it was nothing but Jack, Jack, Jack Rance. By

the Eternal, I nearly got you then!”

“Did you?” The Girl was her saucy self again.

Rance ignored her manner, and went on:

“Then you went on that trip to Sacramento and Monterey and you were

different.”

In spite of herself the Girl started, which Rance’s quick eye did not

fail to note.

“Who’s the man?” he blazed.

For answer the Girl burst out into a peal of laughter. It was forced,

and the man knew it.

“I suppose he’s one o’ them high-toned, Sacramento shrimps!” he burst

out gruffly; then he added meaningly: “Do you think he’d have you?”

At those words a wondering look shone in the Girl’s eyes, and she asked

in all seriousness:

“What’s the matter with me? Is there anythin’ ’bout me a high-toned gent

would object to?” And then as the full force of the insult was borne in

upon her she stepped out from behind the bar, and demanded: “Look here,

Jack Rance, ain’t I always been a perfect lady?”

Rance laughed discordantly.

“Oh, heaven knows your character’s all right!” And so saying he seated

himself again at the table.

The girl flared up still more at this; she retorted:

“Well, that ain’t your fault, Jack Rance!” But the words were hardly out

of her mouth than she regretted having spoken them. She waited a moment,

and then as he did not speak she murmured an “Adios, Jack,” and took up

her position behind the bar where, if Rance had been looking, he would

have seen her start on hearing a voice in the next room and fix her eyes

in a sort of fascinated wonder, on a man who, after parting the pelt

curtain, came into the saloon with just a suggestion of swagger in his

bearing.