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diff --git a/old/65778-0.txt b/old/65778-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 21798c4..0000000 --- a/old/65778-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2753 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Sagebrush Cinderella, by Max Brand - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Sagebrush Cinderella - -Author: Max Brand - -Release Date: July 6, 2021 [eBook #65778] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SAGEBRUSH CINDERELLA *** - - - - - - -A SAGEBRUSH CINDERELLA - -by Max Brand - - - - -CHAPTER I. WHISKERS. - - -She lay prone upon the floor, kicking her heels together, frowningly -intent upon her book. Outside the sky was crimson with the sunset. -Inside the room, every corner was filled with the gay fantoms of the age -of chivalry. Jac would not raise her head, for if she kept her eyes upon -the printed page it seemed to her that the armored knights were trooping -about her rooms. A board creaked. That was from the running of some -striped page with pointed toes. The wind made a soft rustling. That was -the stir of the nodding plumes of the warriors. The pageantry of -forgotten kings flowed brightly about her. - -“Jac!” - -Jacqueline frowned and shrugged her shoulders. - -“Jac!” - -She raised her head. The dreary board walls of her room looked back at -her, empty, barren, a thousand miles and a thousand years from all -romance. She closed her book as the door of her room opened and her -father stood in the entrance. - -“Readin’ again!” said Jim During in infinite disgust. “Go down an’ wait -on the table. The cook’s gone an’ got drunk. I’ve give him the run. -Hurry up.” - -She shied the book into a corner and rose. - -“How many here for chow?” she asked. - -“Maurice Gordon an’ a lot of others,” said her father. “Start movin’!” - -She started. Handsome Maurice Gordon! She had only to close her eyes and -there he stood in armor--Sir Maurice de Gordon! - -You might have combed the cattle ranges for five hundred miles north, -east, south, and west, and never found so fine a figure of a man as -Maurice Gordon. Good looks are rather a handicap than a blessing in the -mountain desert, but “Maurie” Gordon was notably ready at all times for -anything from a dance to a fight, and his reputation was accordingly as -high among men as among women. - -He made a stir wherever he went, and now as he sat in the dining-room of -Jim During’s crossroads hotel, all eyes were upon him. He withstood -their critical admiration with the nonchalant good-nature of one who -knew that, from his silk bandanna to his fine riding-boots, his outfit -represented the beau-ideal of the cow-puncher. - -“Where you bound for?” asked the proprietor of the hotel as the supper -drew toward its close. - -“The dance over to Bridewell,” said Maurie. “Damnation!” - -For as he mentioned the dance, Jac, who was bringing him his second cup -of coffee, started so violently that a drop of the hot liquid splashed -on the back of Maurie’s neck. - -“Oh!” she cried, and seized her apron to wipe away the coffee. - -“’Scuse me,” growled Maurie, seeing that he had sworn at a woman. “But -you took me by surprise.” - -With that he stopped the hand which was bearing the soiled apron toward -his neck, and produced from his pocket--marvelous to behold!--a -handkerchief of stainless white, with which he rubbed away the coffee. - -“Jacqueline!” rumbled her father, and his accent made the name far more -emphatic than Maurie’s “damnation.” - -That was her given title, but to every cow-puncher on the ranges she was -known as “Jac” During, who rode, shot, and sometimes swore as well as -any man of them all. She was Jacqueline to her father alone, and to him -only at such a time as this. - -“Well?” she said belligerently, and her eyes fixed on her father as -steadily and as angrily as those of a man. - -“Your hands was made for feet! Go back to the kitchen. We don’t need you -till the boys is through with their coffee. Too bad, Maurie.” - -“Nothin’ at all!” said the latter heartily, and waved the matter out of -existence. - -He might banish Jac from his thoughts with a gesture, but he could not -drive away her thoughts of him so easily, it seemed; for she stopped in -the shadow of the doorway which led into the kitchen and stared back -with big eyes at the cow-puncher. - -“Who you takin’ to the dance?” said her father. - -“Dolly Maxwell,” said Maurie, naming the prettiest girl in many, many -miles. - -“That pale-faced--thing!” muttered Jac, relapsing into a feminine -vocabulary at this crisis. But she sighed as she turned back into the -kitchen. - -She threw open the door of the stove so that the light flamed on her red -hair, which was tied in a hard knot on top of her head--the quickest, -easiest, and unquestionably the most ugly manner of dressing hair. A -vast and unreasoning rage made her blood hot. - -The anger was partly for her own blunder in spilling the hot coffee. It -was even more because of Maurie’s ejaculation. With that one word he had -banished the vision of Sir Maurice de Gordon. The plumed helmet had -fallen from his head; his bright armor had blown away on a gust of -reality. In the fury of her chagrin Jac caught up the poker and raked -the grate of the stove loudly. The rattling helped to relieve her as -swearing, perhaps, relieves a man. In the midst of the racket she heard -a chuckle from the dining-room, and her blood went cold at the thought -that some one might understand the deeps of her shame and wrath. - -She ran to the door. There she sighed again, but it was relief this -time. At least it was not Maurie who laughed. He was deep in -conversation with his neighbor. She swept the other faces with a quick -glance that halted at a pair of bright, quizzical eyes. Only one man had -apparently understood the meaning of her racket at the stove. - -“That bum!” said Jac, and turned on her heel. - -But something made her stop and look back. Perhaps it was the brightness -of those eyes; certainly nothing else could have made her look twice at -this fellow. Even among these rough citizens of the mountain desert he -was wild and ragged. His shirt was soiled and frayed from elbow to -wrist. A bush of black hair was so long that it almost entirely hid his -ears, and his face, apparently untouched by a razor for months, was -covered by a tremendous growth of whiskers. She could only faintly guess -at the features behind that mask. - -It was very puzzling, but Jac would not waste time thinking of such a -caricature of a man as he of the many whiskers. She turned back into the -kitchen and broke off her meditations by kicking a box across the floor. - -It smashed against the wall. Jac sat down to think, and stared gloomily -straight before her. Her throat swelled and in her heart was that -feeling of infinite age which comes upon women at all periods of their -life, but most of all during the interim when a girl knows that she is -mature and the rest of the world has not yet found it out. - -“Why was I made like this?” said Jac miserably. - -And from within a still, small voice that was _not_ conscience answered -her. - -“Aw,” said the voice, “quit kiddin’ yourself!” - -“Why,” repeated Jac dolorously, “was I tied to such a face?” - -“You might as well be askin’,” said the voice, “how the colors are -painted on a pinto.” - -“Them colors never rub out.” - -“Neither will your face.” - -“It’s awful.” - -“It is.” - -She stood in front of the speckled mirror. - -“There’s something wrong with the way I fix my hair,” she muttered. - -It was tied so tightly that it pulled up the skin of her forehead and -raised her eyebrows to a look of continual plaintiveness. - -“There’s _certainly_ something wrong with the way I do my hair!” - -“Is that all that’s wrong with your face?” whispered the voice. - -“My hair is red,” said Jac. - -“Like paint,” said the voice. - -“There’s no help?” - -“None!” - -To escape from this merciless dialogue, Jac went back to her post of -vantage. The square shoulders of Maurie Gordon were just disappearing -through the outer door. All the others were gone, with the exception of -her father, her brother Harry, and the man of many whiskers. The last -was hardly to be considered as a human being. She felt practically alone -with her family, so she entered the dining-room and sat on the edge of -the table swinging her feet. - -“Harry,” she said, “d’you see anything the matter with the way I fix my -hair?” Her brother glanced at her with unseeing eyes. The man of many -whiskers stopped stirring his coffee and glanced up with the keen -twinkle which Jac had seen before. She turned her shoulder upon him. - -“Throw me your tobacco, pa,” said Harry. - -“Did you hear me ask you a question?” said Jac fiercely. - -Harry rolled his cigarette before he answered. - -“Don’t get so sore you rope an’ tie yourself. What did you say?” - -“I asked you if you was goin’ to the dance at Bridewell.” - -The stranger chuckled softly. - -“Say, what’s eatin’ you, Whiskers?” snapped Jac, but without turning. - -“Sure I’m going,” said Harry. “It’s going to be a big bust.” - -“What girl are you takin’?” - -“Nobody. I’ll find plenty to dance with when I get there.” - -Jac blinked her eyes once, twice, and again. - -“Why not take me?” - -The cigarette fell from Harry’s lips. - -“What the--” he began. “Say, Jac, are you sick?” - -The ache came in Jac’s throat again. Her face changed color and the -freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out with a startling -distinctness. - -“Don’t I dance good enough, Harry?” He had evidently been bracing -himself for a straight-from-the-shoulder retort. At this gentle question -he gasped and rose with a look of brotherly concern. - -“Jac, if you was a man I’d say you’d been hittin’ the red-eye too much.” - -“Oh,” said Jac. - -Harry touched her under the chin and tilted back her head. The deep-blue -eyes stared miserably up to him. - -“What’s the matter with her, pa?” he asked. - -“Plain foolishness!” said the latter. - -Jac struck the hand from her chin and leaped from the table to her feet. - -“Harry,” she said, “if I was a man I’d hang a bunch of fives on your -chin!” - -The chuckle of the stranger made her whirl. - -“Get out, Whiskers,” she commanded, “or I’ll pull a gun an’ give you a -free shave.” - -The man rose obediently and went from the room to the porch. Harry -followed him out and swung into the saddle of his horse. His father -delayed an instant. - -“Now cut out this talk of goin’ to the dance,” said Jim During. “You -stay right here, an’ if any of the boys come in late fix them up some -chow. I got to slide over to see old Jones on some--some business.” - -“Sure you do,” said Jac scornfully. “I know that kind of business. It -comes five in a hand and you draw to it.” - -The hair of her father seemed to take on a deeper tinge of red. - -“Well?” he said. - -“Well?” she replied no less angrily. “If I couldn’t play no better hand -of poker than you do, I’d go no farther than solitaire, believe me.” - -“Jacqueline!” - -“Don’t swear at me!” said Jac. “If you think I ain’t right, just sit -down and play a hand with me.” - -Her father was so swelled with wrath that he could make no rejoinder. At -length he whirled on his heel and strode toward the door, pulling his -sombrero down over his eyes. - -At the door he turned back and pointed a long, angry arm. - -“An’ if I catch you leavin’ this place to-night--” he began. - -“Well?” - -His face altered and the anger faded from his eyes. - -“Jac,” he said gently, “why in hell wasn’t you born a boy?” - -He went on out and a moment later his horse clattered down the road. - -“Why?” repeated Jac. - - - - -CHAPTER II. LAND. - - -She went out to the porch and stared after the disappearing horseman. -When he had quite vanished in the rapidly fading light of the evening -she turned back. She stopped. The stranger sat on the edge of the porch -whittling a stick. - -His black hair bushed out under the brim of his sombrero, and for some -reason it stirred the latent wrath in Jac. She went to him and stood -with arms akimbo, staring down. - -“Too bad,” he said, but did not look up. - -“What’s too bad?” - -“The red hair.” - -It was a long moment before she spoke. “Huh!” she said. “If I was to -talk about _your_ hair you’d think I was discussin’ a record crop of -hay. If I was to--” - -She stopped, for the twinkling eyes were smiling up to her. - -“I look like the land of much rain, all right,” said the stranger. - -Jac dropped to a cross-legged position with the agility of an Indian and -supporting her chin on both hands she stared impudently into the face of -the stranger. - -“What does the land look like when the forest is gone?” - -“It ain’t been surveyed for so long I’ve forgotten.” - -He shifted a little to smile more directly into her eyes, and the -movement caused her glance to drop to his holster. It was open. With a -slow gesture--for no one, not even a woman, makes free with the weapon -of another in the mountain desert--she drew the revolver out, looked it -over with the keen eye of a connoisseur, glanced down the sights, spun -the cylinder, and tried the balance with a deft hand. - -“Clean as a whistle,” she said as she restored the revolver. “_Some_ -six-gun!” With a new respect she looked the man over from head to foot. - -“Maybe under the mask,” she said, “you look almost human.” - -“I dunno. Maybe.” - -Her eyes wandered far away; came back to him, frowned; wandered off -again. - -“Can you dance?” she asked conversationally. - -He broke into a deep laughter. Jac gathered as if for a spring. - -“Go slow, partner,” she drawled. “Maybe I ain’t big, but believe me, I -ain’t a house pet.” - -“I’d as soon think of fondlin’ a wildcat,” nodded the man. - -She hesitated between anger and curiosity, and then glanced around with -needless anxiety lest they should not be alone. - -“Give it to me straight, pal,” she said. “How bad do I look?” - -Her companion looked her over with a critical eye and a judicious frown. - -“I dunno,” he said at last. “It’s pretty hard for me to tell. If those -freckles was covered up, maybe I could see your face.” As he spoke he -edged away, as if ready to spring from the porch when she attacked him. - -Instead, she sighed. The other started and looked at her with a new -interest. - -“How old are you?” he asked sharply. - -“Three years more than you think.” - -“Sixteen?” - -“And three makes nineteen. You’re right the first time. How’d you do -it?” - -He took off his hat and extended his hand. - -“My name is Bill Carrigan,” he said. - -Even in the dim light he could guess at the curiosity in her eyes. - -“Mine is Jac--Jacqueline During. I’m awfully glad to shake hands with -you.” - -There was a little pause. - -“I suppose Maurie Gordon is nearly at the dance by this time?” he said -tentatively. - -She nodded. The lump in her throat kept her silent. - -“How tall are you?” he asked suddenly. - -“Five feet five and a half.” - -“What’s your weight?” - -“One hundred and twenty. Say, Carrigan, what you drivin’ at?” - -He looked away as if making a mental note. - -“What size shoes?” - -She looked at him with a dark frown, but the twinkle of his eyes was -irresistible. She broke into a laugh. - -“Look at ’em!” - -She extended to his gaze a foot clad in the heavy shoe of a man, cut -square across the toe. - -“Well, Columbus, what have you discovered?” - -“Land,” said Carrigan, and rose. - -“You goin’ so soon?” she queried plaintively. - -“But I’m coming back,” said Carrigan. - -“Coming back?” repeated Jac. - -“With bells.” - -She watched him swing gracefully into the saddle of a clean-limbed horse -and gallop swiftly into the gloom. - -“Well, I’ll be--” began Jac. - -She checked herself. An instinct which was born with Eve made her raise -a hand to pat her hair. - -She began again: “I must look like--” Once more she stopped, this time -with a sigh. “What words are left?” murmured Jacqueline. - -Carrigan pulled his horse up before the barber shop in the little -village a mile away. He banged thunderously against the wall of the -shanty with his gun-butt. - -“What the hell!” roared a voice above. - -“Business,” said Carrigan. “Come on down and open your shop.” - -A few moments later he sat down in the chair while the barber lighted -his lamp. The latter groaned when he saw the face of his customer. - -“How much?” - -“The price of your best razor,” said Carrigan instantly. “Now -start--chop off the heavy timber, saw down the undergrowth, anything to -clear the land. And do it on the jump.” - -Hair flew--literally. At last the barber stepped back, perspiring, and -looked at the lean face before him. - -“I feel,” he said, “more as if I’d made a man than shaved him.” - -“Maybe you’re right,” said Carrigan, and started on the run for the -general merchandise store across the street, the only clothiers within a -hundred miles, a place that carried everything from horseshoes to -hairpins. The proprietor was locking up the front door. - -“What’s your rush, partner?” he asked. “Wait till to-morrow. I got some -business to--” - -“To-morrow is next year,” said Carrigan. “Start goin’.” - -The door opened. - -He began shedding orders and old clothes at the same time. The -storekeeper, on the run, brought the articles Carrigan demanded. - -“More light!” Carrigan said at last. - -The proprietor brought a lamp and placed it close to a large mirror, the -pride of his place. - -Carrigan stalked up to it, and, turning slowly around, viewed his outfit -with one long glance. - -“All right,” he said. “Now I’m ready to begin buying!” - -The proprietor gasped and then rubbed his hands. - -“What next?” he asked. - -“A beautiful girl.” - -The proprietor smiled in sympathy with the somewhat obscure jest. - -“A beautiful girl,” repeated Carrigan, “with red hair, weighing a trifle -over one hundred and twenty pounds, standing five feet five and a half, -and with feet--well, of the right size.” - -The proprietor moistened his lips and stepped back. His eyes were very -large. - -“Start for the ladies’ department.” - -The proprietor was baffled, but he led the way. - -“Dresses first,” said Carrigan. “Some thing fancy. Best you’ve got. -Here! Red--green! green--red!” - -He picked out a gown and held it out at arm’s length, a soft, green -fabric. - -“What size do you want?” asked the proprietor. - -“What’s the perfect size for five foot five, eh?” - -“Thirty-six.” - -“What’s this gown?” - -“Thirty-six.” - -“How much?” - -The proprietor doubled the price. - -“Taken,” said Carrigan. - -“But maybe the lady ain’t thirty-six, and--” - -“You’re right, old-timer. The lady ain’t, but she will be. What’s next? -Petticoat?” - -“Those are over here.” - -“I leave it to you, partner. Something that makes a rustle and a -swishing like a light rain on leaves. You know the kind?” - -“Taffeta will do that.” - -“Then taffeta it is. Now for the kicks. Something light. Slippers, eh?” - -“Follow me.” - -He set out an array of dancing-shoes. - -“What size?” he asked. - -“The right size.” - -The proprietor made a gesture of despair. - -“There ain’t no woman in the world whose feet are the _right_ size.” - -“Then we’ll set a record to-night. How big ought they to be for a -hundred and twenty pounds?” - -“That all depends. If the lady is--” - -“The lady ain’t,” repeated Carrigan wearily. “I’m tellin’ you we’re -making her here.” - -The proprietor wiped his forehead. - -“Number four?” he suggested vaguely. “Let’s have a look. Make it -something like this.” - -He indicated a pair of bronze slippers, but when the storekeeper -produced the pair of number fours, Carrigan took one of them in the palm -of his brawny hand and stared at it with something between awe and -dismay. - -“Are these meant for real feet?” - -“Yep.” - -Carrigan thought of the mighty brogans he had seen on Jac’s feet. - -“Do or die,” he said, “she’ll have to wear ’em! What’s next? Stockings?” - -“Here they are.” - -“These green ones will do the work. And now--” - -“Corsets?” - -He indicated a model bust clad in a formidable corset. - -Carrigan sighed. - -“Friend,” he said, “did you ever hear about the days when men wore -armor?” - -“Yes.” - -“When I’m dancin’ with a girl that wears one of them things, I feel as -if I had my arms around a man in armor. Anything else?” - -A malicious light gleamed in the eyes of the proprietor. - -“There’s nothing else except these girdles that a drummer palmed off on -me. They’re jest elastic, that’s all. They don’t give a girl no figger.” - -“H-m! But they’re a long way from armor-plate. I’ll take one.” - -“What size?” - -“How do they run? Large, small, and medium?” - -“By inches.” - -“Make it something extra medium in inches.” - -“Most of ’em _wish_ they could wear twenty-one.” - -“Twenty-one it is.” - -The proprietor grinned. - -“But if that’s too small--” - -“Friend, what do you do when your cinch is too small for your hoss?” - -“Pull.” - -“Well?” - -The proprietor added the girdle to the heap in mute surrender. - -“And now that we’ve got down to the girdle,” he said, “the next thing -is--” - -“Look here, friend,” said Carrigan, “don’t go too far!” - -“Well?” - -“Well, fix up the underlining any way you want, but make it the best -you’ve got. One thing more. There ain’t enough color in this outfit. -Something for her shoulders?” - -“A scarf. Right here.” - -Carrigan picked out a filmy, orchid-colored tissue. - -“Now we’ve reached her face.” - -The proprietor groaned. - -“Paint?” - -“Nope. I don’t want to add anything. I want to make something disappear. -Freckles.” - -The storekeeper grinned. - -“Vanishing cream and then rice powder. That’s the latest hitch.” - - - - -CHAPTER III. CINDERELLA. - - -The bundle which resulted was bulky, but Carrigan sang as he raced back. -He drew his horse to a walk as he approached the During hotel, for a -light showed dimly from the dining-room; there might be some new arrival -in the place. - -It was only Jac, however. She sat by the table with her face buried in -her arms. He saw one hand lying palm up beside her head. It was small -and the fingers tapered. - -“I never noticed she was so small,” said Carrigan to himself in a hushed -voice. - -He stepped closer, softly. - -“Jest a kid,” he added. - -There was the sound of a controlled sob; her body quivered; and Carrigan -knew that she was struggling with some great grief. - -“Cinderella!” he called gently and touched her shoulder. - -Her head turned. Two marvelously deep-blue eyes shone up to him. Her -lower lip was trembling; but when she saw him she stiffened with -astonishment. - -“What do you want?” she asked. - -“A beautiful girl, five feet five and a half, one hundred and twenty -pounds.” - -“Carrigan!” she stammered. “Is it really you?” - -He dropped the bundle to the floor and turned slowly. - -“Look me over.” - -“Wonderful!” - -She had dropped into a chair and sat pigeon-toed, her hands clasped -tightly in her lap and her mouth slightly agape. - -“Carrigan, how did you do it?” - -“Look in that bundle and you’ll see.” He left the room hastily, but -before he had gone far he heard a thin, short cry. Happiness and pain -are closely akin. - -“If she only--” began Carrigan. - -He choked. - -“If this was only a masked ball,” he said at last, “she might get by. -But even then that hair--” - -He swore softly again. - -“If Maurie turns her down after this--I’ll bust his face wide open.” - -He thought of Gordon’s wide shoulders and sighed. - -After a time a voice called from the house: - -“Carrigan!” - -It was a marvelous voice. It was changed as the tone of a violin changes -when it passes from the hands of an amateur to those of an artist. - -“Is that my name?” said Carrigan, and he walked slowly toward the house. - -She stood in the center of the room, with a piece of the wrapping-paper -in which the bundle had been done up held before her face. - -Carrigan started back until his shoulders touched the wall. - -“My God!” he murmured with indescribable awe. “They fit!” - -“But--” she said behind the paper. - -“Well?” - -She lowered the paper. The freckles looked out at him--and the eyes with -plaintive brows raised by the hard knot of the hair. At the base of her -throat was a line of sharp division. All above was a healthy brown. All -below was a dazzling white. - -He could not meet the despair of her eyes. - -“Well?” she said. - -“Well?” said Carrigan. - -“I didn’t choose this face,” she explained sadly. “It was wished on me!” - -Carrigan sank into a chair and looked upon her as a general looks over a -field of battle and calculates the chances of his outnumbered army. His -eyes fell to the slender feet in the shining bronze slippers, with the -small, round ankles incased in pleasant green. - -His heart leaped. His eyes raised and met the freckles. He clenched his -hand. - -“If it wasn’t for them freckles--” - -“Yes?” - -“I could see your face.” - -Crimson went up her throat with delicate tints, blending the clear white -of the breast with the brown of the round neck. He jumped to his feet: -he pointed a commanding arm. - -“That hair!” - -“I know it’s--” - -“I don’t care what you know. Untie that knot!” - -She obeyed. A red gold flood rippled suddenly almost to her knees. - -Carrigan blinked. - -“Sit down!” - -She dropped to a chair, and Carrigan commenced to work. When a man has -to do anything from roping a steer to jerking out a six-gun with the -speed of light, he acquires a marvelous dexterity with his hands. -Carrigan could almost think with his fingers. They seemed, in fact, to -have a separate intelligence. - -He gathered up the silken mass. The soft touch thrilled him as if every -one of the delicate threads carried a tiny charge of electricity. It was -marvelous that such a shining torrent could have been reduced the moment -before to that compacted, bright red knot. - -Carrigan closed his eyes and summoned up a vision of hair as he had seen -it dressed, not on the heads of any of the mountain-desert belles, but -in magazine pictures. - -With that vision before him he commenced to work, rapidly, surely. It -seemed as if the hair, glad to escape from the bondage of that hard -knot, fell of its own accord into graceful, waving lines. It curved low -across the broad forehead: it gathered at the nape of the neck in a soft -knot in the Grecian mode. - -“Now!” said Carrigan. - -She rose and faced him. - -“What’s happened?” she cried, for his lower jaw had fallen. - -He swallowed twice before he could answer. - -“I’m beginning to see your face!” - -For the face, after all, is like any picture. The hair is the frame, and -an ugly frame will spoil the most lovely painting. The eye does not stop -at a boundary. It includes it. - -“Once more!” said Carrigan, and seized the vanishing cream. - -As he worked now he felt like the artist who draws the human face from -the block of marble. He felt as Michelangelo when the grim old -Florentine said: “I do not create; I take off the outer layers of the -stone and free the form which is hidden within.” Or perhaps he was more -like Pygmalion and the inevitable statue when the artist saw the first -hues of life faintly flushing in the cold marble. - -When he stepped back and looked at her, she seemed strangely aloof. She -had drawn away a thousand miles and a thousand years. He discovered the -most ancient of truths, that a beautiful woman is a world in herself -upon which all men must look from the outside. She escapes from -experience. It cannot stain her. She escapes from herself. Her beauty is -greater than her soul. - -“It’s done,” said Carrigan sadly. - -“Isn’t it any use?” she queried. - -He thought of Maurie and hated the handsome face which rose in his -memory. - -“You look sick,” said Jac. “What’s the matter? Is it all in my face? Let -me take a slant at the landscape after the snow has fallen.” - -She ran to the cracked glass. She was a tomboy when she whirled to a -stop in front of it. He watched her eyes widen; saw her straighten -slightly, wonderfully. She was inches taller when she turned; she was -years older. - -“Are you ready, Mr. Carrigan?” - -She moved to him with a subtle rustling like the fall of a misting rain -on orchard blossoms. He could not answer for a moment. He had seen a -miracle. - -“Yes, Miss During,” he said at last. - -The light which came somewhere from the depths to shine in her eyes -altered swiftly to a sparkle which he could understand. - -She ran to him and caught both his hands. - -“Carrigan,” said Jac, “you’re a trump!” - -“And you,” said he, “are the ace of the suit. Let’s go!” - -“One thing first,” she said, and ran into another room. - -She came back almost at once with a chain of amber beads about her -throat--a loop of golden fire, trembling and changing with every breath -she drew. She slipped the orchid-colored scarf over her shoulders. It -was like a mist tinged by the dainty light of dawn. Three times the rich -color was repeated; first in the red gold glory of her hair, then in the -flash of fire that looped her throat, and last it splashed across the -bronze slippers. But with the orchid-colored scarf the charm was -complete; the spell was cast. - -“How are we to go?” she asked as they stood beside his horse. - -He looked on her with some doubt. The dim light caught at the amber -beads. - -“Perhaps we’ll have to ride double,” he ventured. - -Her laughter reassured him. She caught the pommel of the saddle as if to -vault up, man-fashion. Then she remembered, with a murmur of dismay. - -“How--” she began. - -He caught her beneath the arms and lifted her lightly to the saddle, -then sprang up behind. The horse started at a slow trot. - -“Carrigan?” - -“Well?” - -“Harry is at the dance. If he should recognize me?” - -“He won’t.” - -She chuckled. There was a brooding mischief in the tone that set him -tingling. - -“Are you sure?” - -“Did the people recognize Cinderella at the ball?” - -“And if there should be trouble because I’m recognized?” - -“This fairy godmother wears a six-gun.” - -They were silent a moment. - -“How far is it to Bridewell?” he asked at last. - -“Eight miles--by the road.” - -“We’re late already. Is there any short cut?” - -“Across the river it’s between two and three.” - -“The river?” - -“It ain’t very deep--sometimes. I’ve done it, but never in duds like -these.” - -“Are you game to try the short cut across the river?” - -Her head tilted back as she laughed. That was her answer. It was not -laughter. It was music. It was the singing of one whose dreams are -coming true, and where it left off on her lips the sound was continued -like a silent echo in Carrigan. - -As she swung the horse to the left toward the ford of the river, a puff -of warm wind floated the scarf against Carrigan’s face. He could -scarcely feel its gossamer web, but a faint fragrance came from it, and -his heart beat fast. The moon rolled like a yellow wheel over the tops -of the black hills, and its light touched the throat and the turned face -of Jacqueline, so that Carrigan could barely guess at her smile. When he -spoke to her she did not turn. She stared straight before, crooning a -hushed, joyous melody deep in her throat. - -She would not turn her head, for then the vision with which she rode -would have vanished. While she looked straight before her past the -tossing head of the horse, it was not Carrigan who sat at her shoulder; -it was not his voice which spoke to her; it was not his breath which -touched her throat now and again. No! For though the horse had not -journeyed far, Jacqueline had ridden a fabulous distance into the -regions of romance. The amber beads were now a chain of gold, and where -they touched cold against her breast, that was where the jeweled cross -lay, the priceless relic before which she said her prayers at dawn and -evening. The hair was no longer red. It was yellower, richer than that -golden moon. The slight clinking of the bridle-rein, where the little -chain chimed against the bit, that was the rattle of the armor of her -knight. He had ridden far for her that evening. He had stolen into the -castle of her father. He had reached her chamber, where the tapestries -made a hushing along the wall like warning whispers. And he had lowered -her from the casement on a rope made of twisted clothes. And he had -helped her across the moat. Then, with a rusted key, they turned the -harsh lock of a secret portal and were free--free--free! - -Jacqueline tossed up her arms. The air was like a cool caress upon them. -Yes, she was free! They topped a hill. Below it ran the river, -glimmering silver through the night, and jeweled by the shining of the -stars. Suddenly she shook the reins and urged the horse to a frantic -gallop down the slope. - -“What’s the matter?” cried Carrigan. - -Yes, how could he know that even at that moment her father, with a band -of hard-riding liegemen, had thundered into view behind them and that -death raced closely on their heels? She drew rein, panting on the edge -of the river. - -Then Carrigan proved himself a knight indeed. They dared not imperil -that gown of green, so he sat in the saddle with his legs crossed in -front of the horn and lifted her in his arms. Then he gave the horse its -way, and the cunning old cattle-pony picked a safe way along a -sand-bank. The water rose higher. They slipped, floundering into little -hollows, and clambered back into shallower places. Once the water rose -so high that Carrigan could have put down his hand and touched it. - -“Steady!” he said encouragingly to the girl. - -The voice was deep and vibrant. It blended with her dream of romance. -Her tyrant father with his villain knights sat their horses on the bank -of the river, not daring to attempt the passage, and now that her hero -was about to bear her safe to the other shore-- She drew a long breath -and relaxed in his arms, her strong, young body now soft and yielding. -The horse pawed for a footing and then lurched up the bank with a snort. -Her arms tightened around Carrigan’s neck; her lips pressed eagerly to -his. - -“Jac!” - -How could he know that that word carried her dream away like dead leaves -on a wind? She covered her face from him. - -“We are late already,” she said. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. THE SONG OF SONGS. - - -The dance-hall was the up-stairs floor of Bridewell’s general -merchandise store. From the center of the ceiling was suspended a -monstrous gasoline-lamp that flooded the larger part of the dancing -floor with dazzling light, but the flicker of the flame sent occasional -seas of shadow washing into the corners of the room. A thick line of -stools and chairs and empty grocery-boxes made the seats for the throng -around the wall. The floor glimmered and shone in mute testimony to the -polishing which it had received earlier in the evening when a dozen -strong men pulled about the room a heavy bale of hay with two men -sitting upon it. Waxed hardwood could not have been more brilliant. - -The music was supplied by a banjo, a slide trombone, a violin, and a -snare drum; and the musicians operated their instruments with undying -vigor. Lest they should falter in their efforts from weariness, glasses -of liquor stood beside them at all times, supplied by generous -cow-punchers who appreciated the soulful music. This stimulus was not -applied in vain, for, as the evening wore on, each piece of music was -increased slightly but perceptibly in cadence beyond all which had gone -before. - -This applied to the two-steps, which sent the dancers whirling over the -floor with such violence that at the end of each dance there was a -general stampede for the bar which stretched across the farther end of -the room. Here four men worked with frantic haste to quench the thirst -of the multitude, and labored in vain. The exercise made the throat of -every man as dry as that of Tantalus, and the glasses were snatched up -and tossed off as rapidly as they were spun down the length of the bar. - -Jac and Carrigan paused at the door to make a survey of the scene. The -festivities were already well under way. Some of the men had removed -their bandannas and stuffed the latter into back trouser-pockets, from -which they streamed like brilliant pennons during the dance. There were -other tokens that the dance had passed the stiff formality of the -opening moments. The musicians played with the fierce resolution of -long-distance runners entering the homestretch. The violinist leaned -back with eyes closed and jaw set in do-or-die determination, while his -bow darted back and forth across the strings. The banjo man leaned far -over and thrummed away with an expression partly of pain and partly of -faraway yearning as he stared above the heads of the dancers. The -expression was caused not by sorrow of soul, but by a cramp in his right -hand. The trombone-player, however, was in far worse case than either of -his two companions. He was very fat, very short, and his red, bald head -shone furiously. Yet he would not diminish the vigor of his efforts. His -long slurs were more brazenly ringing than ever. His upward runs raised -the heart and the hair at the same time. His downward slides sent out a -chill tingle along the spine. He jerked out his arm with such violence -that it made his flabby body quiver like jelly; and the vigor of his -blowing set a white spot in the middle of his puffed cheeks. - -Orpheus stirred the trees as this orchestra stirred the citizens of the -mountain-desert. It sent them whirling frantically about the dance-hall; -it moved them to sit now and then in the shadow-swept corners, closely -tête-à-tête. - -A wild and ludicrous scene? Perhaps. But also there was beauty and youth -as much as ever graced a ballroom. And there was rhythm. Rhythm of the -dance, rhythm of the screeching, thrumming music; and to the young, -rhythm is poetry. It set a glamour upon the faces of the dancers; of the -shadowy corners it made moonlit gardens. - -“What is my name?” queried Jac. “We forgot that!” - -He was dumfounded. - -“Perhaps I’m your sister?” - -He grinned. - -“Jac, you look as much like me as a yearling short-horn looks like a -long-horn maverick. Something fancy. Jacqueline Silvestre. How does that -hit, eh? Miss Silvestre! You’ve come from the east. You’re visiting at a -ranch twenty miles away.” - -“What ranch?” - -“Fake a name.” - -“Every one knows everybody else for miles around.” - -“It’s up to you. Can you do the Eastern lingo?” - -She tilted her head to one side and gazed upon him with naive -astonishment. - -“‘Lingo,’ Mr. Carrigan?” - -“Good Lord!” breathed Carrigan. - -Her laughter was low and filled with hints of many things. It made him -distinctly uncomfortable. - -“I’ve read books,” she said. “I’ll do my part. But you?” - -“I’m simply a cow-puncher you’ve pressed into service to bring you here. -Right? Now who do you want to dance with? Watch their eyes!” - -They walked slowly into the room, and were met by a new sound over the -clangor of music and voices. It was that buzz which to the heart of the -debutante is the elixir of life, and to the city matron is the nectar -which promises immortal beauty. In the dance-hall at Bridewell it was -less covert. Jacqueline stood in the spot-light like a queen. - -She knew that her color had heightened. She knew that the flare of the -gasoline-lamp made her hair a glorious dull-red fire, touched with -golden points of light, which fell again on the necklace at her throat, -the only heirloom she had received from her mother, and still further -down on the bronze slippers. The admiration of the men filled her heart; -the trouble in the more covert stares of the girls overflowed it. A -sense of power flooded in her like electricity. She knew that when she -turned and dropped her hand on the arm of Carrigan it sent a tingle -through him. - -Her smile was casual and her eyes calm. Her whisper was surcharged with -a vital anxiety. - -“Do you dance--well?” - -“Regular fairy,” grinned Carrigan, and she wished his mouth was not so -broad. “How about you?” - -“Not so bad.” - -“Let’s start.” - -Dancers are not made even by infinite pains and lessons. They are born, -and Jac was a born dancer. With the smooth floor underfoot, the light -slippers, the pulse and urge of the music, however crude, the newborn -sense of dignity and womanly power, she became an artist. She danced not -to the music, but to what the music might have been. - -Through the film of pleasure she vaguely knew that people were giving -way a little before her. She knew the eyes of the girls were upon her -feet. She knew the eyes of the men were upon her face and the sway of -the graceful body, and among those eyes she found one pair more bright -and devouring than all the rest. It was Maurie Gordon. - -He was dancing with a little golden-haired beauty, Dolly Maxwell. She -let her eyes rest carelessly upon him. She smiled. Handsome Maurie -started as though some one had stepped on his foot. He stumbled--he lost -his step--his little partner frowned up at him and then flashed a look -of utter hate toward Jac. A girl may guess at the heart of a man, but -she can absolutely read the soul of another woman. It is a subtle system -of wireless which tells a thousand words in a single smile; a glance is -a spark driven by ten thousand volts. The heart of Jacqueline swelled -with the Song of Songs. - -“Do something!” she murmured in the ear of Carrigan. - -He met her eyes with a cold understanding. - -“You’ve just seen Maurie Gordon?” he asked. - -“You’re dancing wonderfully,” she pleaded, “but do something new.” - -“Do you know the Carrigan cut?” - -“I’ll try it.” - -“It’s a cross between a glide, a dip, and a roll. Take three short -steps, then take a long, draggy slide to the left--and let yourself go.” - -The trombone started an upward flourish. They followed it, running -forward. She began the draggy step to the left--and then let herself go. -How it was done, she could not tell, but somehow he took her weight in -the middle of the step, and they completed a little dipping whirl as -graceful as the lilt of a seagull against a flurry of wind. - -A gasp of applause broke out around them. The dancers veered further off -to allow room for these beautiful new maneuvers. And Jacqueline, dizzy -with the joy of conquest, saw the set, white face of Dolly Maxwell. It -was the golden drop of honey in the wine of victory. The music stopped, -but the rhythm still ran in her blood. - -Carrigan’s rather coldly curious stare sobered her. - -“What’s the matter?” she asked. - -“I see a freckle comin’ out to look the landscape over. Sorry you ain’t -got that powder-puff with you.” - -“I have it, all right.” - -“I didn’t know you had pockets in that dress.” - -“It’s my corsage.” - -“Your which?” - -“Look at that funny trombone-player.” He turned to stare at the shiny -bald head, and when he looked back she had just slipped something into -the bosom of her dress. All traces of the freckle were gone. She flushed -a little under his eye of inquiry. Then very anxiously: “Is it gone?” - -“It’s behind a cloud, anyway,” said Carrigan. “Here’s Maurie Gordon.” - -The big cow-puncher came up, earnest-eyed. - -“If you’re not hooked up for this next waltz--” he began. - -He stopped with a widening stare. She had glanced carelessly over him -from head to foot, and now turned her back on him to take the arm of -Carrigan. The movement was slow, deliberate, casual. It left big Maurie -Gordon crimson and breathing hard, the butt of open laughter from all. - - - - -CHAPTER V. THE SILVESTRE SLIDE. - - -Carrigan found Jac trembling with excitement, though her face was still -calm. - -“What the devil,” he began. “I thought Gordon was the man you wanted--” - -“Don’t you get me?” she broke in eagerly. “None of those swell Eastern -ladies would bat an eye at a bum who came up to them without bein’ -introduced.” - -“Oh!” said Carrigan. “And who--” - -“You will,” she answered without hesitation. “Take me over to a chair -and talk with me a minute. Then you can sidestep up to the bar and get a -drink. When all the boys flock around and ask about me--” - -He growled: “How do you know they’ll flock around and ask about you?” - -There was something akin to pity in her smile. The statue was walking -away from Pygmalion. - -“Take it from me. They will. Your money ain’t any good at that bar--take -me to that chair standing away from the rest of them--because every man -will be wantin’ to make your acquaintance an’ buy you liquor. Drink -beer, Carrie. I hate a breath. Then they’ll ask about me, an’ you tell -’em that I’m straight from the East, an’ don’t understand Western ways. -Tell ’em they’ll have to be introduced. An’ don’t bring over any one I -don’t point out.” - -“Beginnin’ with Gordon?” - -“Sure. Bring him first.” - -“Who’s next? Are you goin’ to corral ’em all?” - -“If I want to.” - -They sat down--Carrigan rather gingerly, and edging away from her. - -“You see that skinny feller with the black hair?” - -“Yep.” - -“That’s Dave Carey. He’s engaged to that girl with the smile an’ the -fluffy pink dress. She called me a ‘horrible tomboy’ once. You can bring -Dave Carey next.” - -“Goin’ to bust up the happy homes, Jac?” - -“Miss Silvestre,” she corrected. “Watch Jenny Hendrix stare at me! She’s -whispering, too. I hate her! Then there’s Ben Craig, the tall man with -the thin, sad-lookin’ face. Once when he was at the hotel he said my -head was more like a turkey-egg than a face. You c’n bring him third. -I’ll think of some more after a while.” - -“How’re you goin’ to keep up the bluff with all those fellers? They’ll -spot your lingo in a minute.” - -Jacqueline waved the suggestion airily away. - -“I read a book once,” she said, and her smile was very close to the grin -of Jac During, now no more. “It told about an Eastern girl who came West -an’ she was terrible thrilled about the Western men. She had a great -lingo. I’ll stick by what she said.” - -“What was it?” - -“Mr. Carrigan, have you lived all your life in the West?” - -“Sure.” - -He started and stared at her. - -“Is that part of the lingo?” - -“I knew you had been all your life out here in these big open spaces. It -makes you so much more real than the Eastern men.” - -“Huh!” grunted Carrigan, and blinked rapidly. - -“Do you know that I feel that you--but you would think me foolish if I -said it.” - -“You bet your life I wouldn’t!” gasped Carrigan. - -She leaned closer and dropped a hand on his arm. Her gaze dwelt tenderly -on his startled eyes. - -“I feel that you are the first _real_ man I have ever known, Mr. -Carrigan.” - -“The devil you do!” - -“Yes. All the men I have met have been so superficial. But you are like -your own great West, Mr. Carrigan, with a heart as wide as the desert -and as open as the sky. I feel it. Am I foolish to tell you this?” - -Carrigan loosened his bandanna. - -“Jac, are you goin’ to pull this sort of a line on all the boys?” he -asked hoarsely. - -“Sure I am. Why not? Don’t it get by?” - -“There’ll be gun-play before the night’s over, you c’n lay that ten to -one.” - -“Why?” - -“Don’t look at me like that! You make me nervous. It ain’t what you say -so much as the way you say it. Where’d you learn that way of talkin’?” - -“I been to the movies, an’ I used my eyes. I’ve seen Maude Merriam an’ -come home an’ practised at the mirror. Has she got anything on me?” - -“She generally ain’t got half so much on,” groaned Carrigan, and rose. - -“Wait a minute, Carrie!” - -“Say, Cinderella, maybe I’m the fairy godmother, but don’t go callin’ me -by a woman’s name. The brand don’t no ways look well on my hide.” - -“All right, Mr. Carrigan. But just remember this: That ain’t the -Carrigan cut that we done in the last dance.” - -He rubbed a hand across his forehead. - -“It’s the Silvestre slide.” - -“What?” - -“Sure. I introduced it in New York, an’ everybody in the Five Hundred -copied it an’ named it after me. It made an awful hit.” - -Carrigan fled. He went straight for the bar by instinct, for he began to -need a drink. Jacqueline proved a prophet. As he dropped his coin on the -bar a broad hand swept it back to him. He looked up into the handsome, -serious face of Maurie Gordon. - -“Partner,” said Maurie, “this drink’s on me. My name’s Gordon.” - -“Wait a minute, Maurie,” broke in another voice. “You’re lickerin’ with -me, friend. I’m Dave Carey. Glad to meet you. Two comin’ up, bartender!” - -“I’m drinkin’ beer,” said Carrigan, remembering orders. - -An odd look, which he understood perfectly, came in the eyes of the -other men. - -“Look here,” went on Maurie, “that girl you brung to the dance is a hell -bender. If you ain’t dancin’ all evenin’ with her, maybe I could break -in, eh?” - -He reinforced his suggestion with a broad wink and a tremendous slap on -the shoulder. - -“Maybe you could,” said Carrigan. - -“I’ll have to introduce you. Miss Silvestre is straight from the East, -an’ she don’t quite get the hang of our Western ways.” - -“Straight from the East?” - -“Yep. New York, an’ all that. Blood as blue as hell.” - -“The devil!” - -“It is, all right, till you get to know her.” - -“How’d you pick her up?” - -“She’s been visitin’ at the ranch where I work. We sort of ran off -together tonight. She was strong for some sort of a lark. Kind of -nifty?” - -“_Is_ she?” - -“But you got to talk careful to her, get me?” - -“I’ll hang on to my tongue like it was a buckin’ bronco.” - -“Then foller me.” - -“Hold on,” said Carey desperately. “Carrigan, don’t I get no look in -here?” - -“What d’you want to go hangin’ around with every girl in the country -for?” queried Gordon, and his frown was dangerous. “Ain’t you engaged -already?” - -“Am I?” replied Carey, with an ominous lowering of the voice. “An’ ain’t -Dolly Maxwell got you roped and throwed?” - -“Suppose,” broke in Carrigan anxiously, “that you get introduced at the -same time, an’ then Gordon c’n have the first dance an’ you get the -next.” - -They compromised on this basis and trooped obediently behind Carrigan. - -“Wait a minute,” said Gordon. “Maybe you’d like to meet Dolly Maxwell?” - -“Sure,” said Carrigan. - -They stopped before the girl of the golden hair. There was soul-deep -understanding in the cold eye she fixed upon Maurie Gordon. Carrigan -received gushing recognition, not for him, he knew, but for the partner -of the sensation in green. - -“The next dance? Sure you can have it. Good-by, Maurie.” - -But her parting shot was wasted on thin air. Maurie was headed for other -and more pleasant regions, and the light of the discoverer was in his -eye. He was a new Balboa looking out upon another Pacific. They ranged -before Jac. - -“Miss Silvestre, this is Mr. Gordon, an’ Mr. Carey.” - -Maurie searched his memory, steeled his nerves, and spoke: “I sure feel -it’s a privilege to know you.” - -“Me, too,” said Carey, and then bit his lips. - -The scorn of a superior intelligence was haughty in the face of big -Maurie. - -“Thank you,” Jac was saying. “Will you sit down?” - -“Sure,” said Maurie, and plumped into the chair beside her. “Maybe you -ain’t got the next dance taken. Can I have it? Thanks.” - -He glared his triumph at Carey, who turned away, dark-eyed with envy. - -The cold glance of Jac cut short Carrigan’s incipient grin. - -“So-long,” he said, and turned on his heel. - -He joined Dave Carey. - -“Fourteen degrees of frost in her smile,” said that worthy, “but I’m -bettin’ on a river runnin’ under the ice.” - -“Are you goin’ to dance?” - -“Nope. I need a drink. Have one on me?” - -“I got work ahead,” said Carrigan, and made for Dolly Maxwell. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. THE GIRL FROM FIFTH AVENUE. - - -“‘So long,’” quoted Jac. “Is that the Western way of saving good-by, Mr. -Gordon?” - -There was a serious question in her eyes. Maurie leaned back and drew a -deep breath. - -“Maybe your friend Carrigan talks that way, an’ I’ve heard some others -say the same thing, but it ain’t considered partic’lar choice. Most of -us says ‘adios’ or something like that.” - -“Oh, I thought it was rather queer, but then Mr. Carrigan is”--she -paused--“rather queer in lots of ways!” - -It was plain that she considered him different. The music began. They -danced. The rather diffident arm of big Maurie gathered strength and -confidence. - -“You sure c’n throw your feet!” he burst out at length. - -“You ain’t travelin’ very far behind,” said Jac, amiably. - -She felt Maurie start. She knew--with a growing coldness of heart--that -he was staring down at her face with question. With a great effort she -made her eyes rise and rest artlessly upon his. She was hunting her -book-vocabulary desperately. - -“I’ve picked that up from the western vernacular. Mr. Gordon. Does it -sound natural?” - -“It sure does.” - -The doubt was gone from his face. The triumph reinforced her smile. -Dolly Maxwell sailed by in the arms of Carrigan. They were dancing -beautifully. - -“Say,” said Gordon with sudden anxiety. “What was that funny step you -done with Carrigan?” - -“That was the Silvestre Slide, as they call it in New York.” - -“Oh!” - -“I invented it and it was picked up all along Fifth Avenue. You’ve no -idea how quickly things spread in New York. They named it after me.” - -In his awe he almost lost step. She enjoyed his consternation for a -moment and then in pity spoke: “Shall we try it?” - -“D’you really think I could get away with it?” - -“‘Get away with it,’ Mr. Gordon?” - -“I mean, d’you think I could be taught?” - -“Oh, yes. It’s this way. It’s a cinch!--as you say out here in the -west!” - -They started the maneuver, but Gordon was afflicted with stage fright. -He blundered miserably. A snicker sounded about them, and desire for -murder flooded the heart of Jacqueline, for Carrigan and Dolly Maxwell -had just executed the step perfectly. She set her teeth and drove ahead. - -“Mr. Gordon, have you lived all your life in the West?” - -“Yep. Every day of it!” - -She sighed. - -Then: “That is why you are so different. In the East the boys are -so--well, so artificial!” - -“Huh?” said Maurie vaguely. “That so?” - -“But you are like your own wild west! with a heart as big as your -mountain-desert and as open as your skies!” - -The arm of Maurie tightened. She felt his breath coming quickly against -her hair, and she thought of the spilled coffee and the “damnation!” of -earlier in that same evening. Life was sweet indeed! - -“What makes you so unusual, Mr. Gordon?” - -Once, twice her lips stirred before the words came. - -“It’s a hard life on the range. It takes a strong man to get by.” - -“You look strong, Mr. Gordon.” - -Laughter makes the voice purr, and there was a caress in the tone of -Jacqueline. He stiffened, throwing his shoulders back. - -“In a pinch I’ve done a man’s work,” he said modestly. - -“I’ve heard about men who can take a steer by the horns and wrestle -until they throw the big animal--but I suppose that is just western -joking?” - -“Nope. I don’t think nothin’ at all of throwin’ a steer.” - -“Oh! And aren’t you afraid of--of their nasty horns?” - -She stammered with admiration and wonder. - -“I was brung up to take chances. Throwin’ a steer ain’t much--for a man -like me. You see, I got the size for it. A feller needs weight on the -range.” - -“But some of these cow-punchers seem quite slender.” - -“Yep. But they don’t count much for a real man’s work. Take Carrigan, -over there. I guess he’s a pretty fair sort when it comes to gettin’ -around, but he ain’t got the weight. I guess he weighs about twenty -pounds less’n I do.” - -“Do you know that I feel--but you would think me foolish if I said it!” - -“Lady--Miss--Miss Silvestre, you c’n lay ten to one I won’t think -anything you say is foolish!” - -“Well, then, I feel as if you are the only _real_ man I have ever -known.” - -“Honest?” said the deep, quivering voice. - -“Yes. The rest I cannot understand. I--I stifle among them!” - -“You ain’t stringin’ me along?” - -“What other men say are merely words. But such a man as you are, speaks -from the heart. I know! I could believe you!” - -“Miss Silvestre--” - -“Isn’t it usual in the West to be called by first names?” - -There was a sound of choking. Her wide, wondering eyes raised to his. - -“Or is it wrong, Mr. Gordon? To be called by one’s given name seems to -me--freedom!” - -“My name’s Maurie.” - -The hoarseness of his voice was the music of the spheres. - -“And mine is Jacqueline.” - -“It’s a wonderful name!” - -“Say it.” - -“Jacqueline!” - -She looked up with childish curiosity. - -“I have never heard it spoken that way before. It seems--it seems to me -free--like your own wild west!” - -“Ain’t you been free?” - -Her head fell. Her left hand pressed his in her effort to keep back the -bubbling laughter. He returned the grip with a mighty interest. - -“I have lived all my life in a convent!” - -He started. - -“I thought you was hangin’ out along Fifth Avenue?” - -It was a close squeeze. She blessed a sudden thundering on the slide -trombone. All fat men have kind hearts, she decided. - -“Yes, but only for a little while. Only for a few months. Then they -brought me west.” - -The last paragraph of a third instalment rose word by word before her -eyes. - -“They thought to bury me in the west! Even out here they guard me like a -criminal! To-night I had to run away to be with you--you all. But they -cannot bury me in this country. I look upon the stars at night and do -not feel alone. The desert is my friend. I feel its mystery. And I feel -the truth and strength of the men of the desert. Somewhere among them I -shall find _one_ friend!” - -She bowed her head again. - -“Some memory, Jac!” she was saying to herself. - -The deep rumble of his voice, broken and passionate, broke in upon her. - -“By God, you _have_ found that friend. I’m him!” - -“Mr. Gordon--Maurie!” - -He could not speak! - -The music stopped, and as it died away they caught a clear laugh from -across the hall. - -“The feller that come with you seems to be havin’ a pretty fair sort of -a time,” said Maurie. - -Jac looked up. There was Carrigan laughing heartily with Dolly Maxwell. -She seemed extremely beautiful when she laughed, and her voice was -musical--it rose over the babble of the dance hall like the chime of a -bell. Jac set her teeth. She remembered the Carrigan Cut--as Maurie had -failed to do it! Dave Carey was approaching. - -“Here comes my next partner,” she said, “but--” - -Her pause said a thousand things. It made Maurie stand very straight. He -was taking the burden of a woman’s happiness upon his shoulders--and -such a woman! - -“I will never forget!” - -The tensity of his emotion made him grammatical. - -“Come with me, an’ we’ll sit out the dance. Send Carey away.” - -“But if he don’t want to go?” - -“I’ll bust his jaw for him if he don’t.” - -“Please--Maurie!” - -“All right,” he said, relenting slowly. “I’ll see you later.” - -As he retreated, Jac turned to Dave Carey. He was standing stiffly, like -a soldier awaiting orders. - -“‘I’ll see you later!’” she quoted. “I wonder if I should consider that -a promise or a threat, Mr. Carey? Or is it just a westernism?” - -Dave Carey expanded. He knew that the girl in the fluffy pink dress was -watching him with a white face. - -“Poor ol’ Maurie,” he said gently. “He ain’t much on manners. He was -never given much of a bringin’ up. Maybe you noticed it sort of in his -way of talkin’. You’re lookin’ sort of sad.” - -She was gazing pensively on the happy faces of Dolly Maxwell and -Carrigan. Now she lowered a gloomy eye to the floor. - -“I try to seem gay, Mr. Carey.” - -“But there’s somethin’ eatin’ on your mind?” - -She looked up with childish admiration. “How could you tell? But you -westerners see everything.” - -The clear music of Dolly Maxwell’s laughter floated to her. Her brow -clouded. - -“I cannot help being unhappy, Mr. Carey.” - -Carey’s hand slipped down on his hip and then he sighed. No one had been -allowed to wear a six-gun into the dance-hall. - -“Somebody botherin’ you? P’int him out!” - -“If there were, you would protect me, Mr. Carey, I know!” - -“_Would_ I!” - -“You’ve no idea how secure it makes me feel just to hear you speak that -way.” - -“Honest?” - -“Yes, for I know that you could keep danger and trouble far away from -me.” - -He cleared his throat. His chest arched. - -“Which I’d say I throw a six-gun about as fast as anybody in these -parts.” - -“‘Throw a six-gun,’ Mr. Carey?” - -“Sure,” he explained. “Flash a six--pull a cannon--draw my revolver.” - -“Oh, Mr. Carey! Do you mean that you have ever drawn your revolver upon -a man?” - -“On a man? Me? I guess maybe you ain’t heard any of the boys tell about -me!” - -“Oh, yes. Of course, I’ve heard a great deal about Dave Carey. You’re -the first man Mr. Carrigan pointed out to me when I came into the -dance-hall.” - -“Is that straight? Well, Carrigan ain’t a bad hand himself, I guess, but -you can see by the way he handles himself that he ain’t much in a -fight.” - -“Can you tell simply by looking at a man?” - -“Easiest thing in the world. Watch their hands. Look at big Maurie -Gordon over there. Too big! All beef! No nerve! If him an’ me was to -mix, I’d fill him full of lead before he ever got his gun clear.” - -“_Mr. Corey!_ You wouldn’t shoot at poor Mr. Gordon?” - -“He knows enough not to pick no trouble with me.” - -“Mr. Carey, somehow I feel that I can talk frankly to you!” - -He swelled visibly. His face was red. - -“Tag-dance!” bellowed the announcer. - -Carrigan was rising to dance again with Dolly Maxwell. The solemn face -of Ben Craig drew near. His stare was a promise as she started off with -Dave Carey. - -With the rehearsal on Maurie Gordon to help, she talked very smoothly -now. She reached her great point: “But they cannot bury me in this -country. I look upon the stars at night and do not feel alone. And I -feel the strength and truth of the men of the desert. Somewhere among -them I shall find--” - -Here she noted Carrigan standing unemployed at the edge of the hall. He -had been tagged quickly, of course, because of pretty Dolly Maxwell. She -signaled him with a great appeal in her eyes and before they had taken -half a dozen more steps his hand fell on the arm of Carey. As she -slipped into the arms of Carrigan, her smile of farewell to Carey was -sad and wistful. He stood stock still in the middle of the floor, jolted -freely by the passing couples. In his eyes was a melancholy light of the -sea-bound traveler who sees the last towers of his home port drop below -the horizon. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. THE ROPING OF CARRIGAN. - - -“Carey and Gordon roped, tied, and branded,” said Carrigan. “But don’t -forget that powder puff.” - -“Carrigan, let me talk. I’ve been passing such a line of fancy lingo -that my throat is dusty. I’ve been rememberin’ everything that I ever -read in love stories an’ if I can’t be myself for a minute I’ll choke -for want of fresh air.” - -“Thought you were having a pretty fair sort of a time,” said Carrigan, -absently. - -His eyes were traveling over her head. She caught a glimpse of -bright-haired Dolly Maxwell as they whirled. He was drifting away from -her--that was plain. - -“I’ve just been stringin’ ’em along,” said Jac. “But you’re different, -Carrigan!” - -And here her eyes rose slowly to his. Far away she sensed the somber -face of Ben Craig. She had not much time. Carrigan was looking down at -her now. - -“Look here,” he said bluntly, “you can’t tie every steer in the corral -to one rope, Miss Silvestre. Keep the brandin’ iron away from me. The -fire ain’t hot enough to hurt me yet. The iron won’t make no mark.” - -Jac thought of Maude Merriam at the great moment when her husband tells -her that he loves another woman. She caught her breath. She made her -eyes grow wide. “Do you really think that I would--” - -“Damn it, Jac, ain’t Maurie and Carey enough for you? And there’s Ben -Craig lookin’ at you like a wolf at a calf.” - -“Carrigan!” - -The timbre of her voice made him start. She knew that he would not -forget her to look after Dolly Maxwell for some time. - -“Well?” - -“Do you think I’m a flirt?” - -“Jac, I’m warnin’ you now. Don’t feed me the spur no more. I’m the fairy -godmother. I ain’t the prince in the story.” - -“Is it all a story?” - -He groaned. - -“I thought I would find one man who wasn’t just part of the fairy tale.” - -“There you go with your book English. Jac, you can’t rope me. I see the -shadow of the noose flyin’ over my head an’ I’m goin’ to duck out from -under.” - -She turned away with a far-off sorrow in her face. - -“There’s tears in your eyes!” - -A pathetic smile quivered an instant at the corners of her lips. - -“Honest, ain’t you jest throwin’ a rope, Jac?” - -“I thought _you_ would understand me, Carrigan.” - -He was breathing hard. She remembered a caption which had been flashed -on a Maude Merriam screen. - -“I thought you were _big_ enough to understand!” - -“My God!” whispered Carrigan. - -“What?” - -“The rope’s on me!” - -“Carrigan, why do you play with me like this?” - -“_Me_ play with _you?_” - -“Yes. Is it fair?” - -The keen eyes searched her intently. She felt as the duellist felt when -the rapier of a foe slithered up and down his steel. The violin started -a run. - -“The Carrigan Cut!” she cried. - -He went through with it automatically. “No one can dance like you!” she -whispered, as the hand of Ben Craig fell on Carrigan’s arm, and as she -moved away with the solemn-faced cow-puncher, she saw Carrigan standing -as Dave Carey had done, with the faraway look, like a man who says -farewell to everything that matters in his life. - -Maurie Gordon and Dave Carey, their eyes fixed upon one object on the -dancing-floor, came together at a corner of the hall. She drew closer. -They started forward at the same time, then stopped and glared at each -other with bitter understanding. - -“Maurie,” said Carey gently, “take my tip. Don’t bother Miss Silvestre -no more to-night. It won’t bring you nothin’.” - -Maurie smiled from the deeps of his pity. - -“Jacqueline,” he said, with marked emphasis, “has found one man who -understands her.” - -Carey shook his head slowly. He spoke carefully, as one would explain a -difficult problem to a child. Jac was making the second circuit of the -hall with Craig. She had reached the point: “But don’t westerners as a -rule call each other by the given name, Mr. Craig?” - -“She’s had a sad life, Maurie,” said Carey, his eyes following the -graceful vision in green. “You, with your bringin’ up, you couldn’t -understand how to take to a swell girl like--” - -He stopped, stiffening, and changed of face. - -“I guess that’ll hold you, Maurie. Did you see her smile at me?” - -“Smile at you?” said Maurie with unutterable scorn. “Why, you poor -sawed-off runt, that was all for me. She smiled at me like that before. -They’ve tried to--to--bury her in the West, but she’s found--” - -“One real man!” - -“Me!” said Maurie. - -The music stopped. - -“Maurie, aside from bein’ a little thick in the head, you’re a pretty -straight feller in most ways. I don’t want to see you make no fool out -of yourself.” - -The smile of big Gordon came from an infinite distance, from a height of -almost sacred compassion. - -“Jacqueline and me,” he said softly, “we understand. She’s led a -sad--what the hell!” - -For as the dancers returned to their chairs, Harry During, lurching -across the floor, stopped in front of Jacqueline. He had found it -difficult to get dancing partners that evening and for consolation and -excitement he had retreated to the bar and attended seriously and -conscientiously to the matter of quenching his thirst. That thirst was -deep-seated and it had taken him a long time to reach the seat of the -dryness. Now, however, he had become convinced that he had done his duty -by his parched insides, and he started toward the door to take horse and -ride home. On the way a vision crossed his path--a vision in green, with -a floating mist of dainty coloring over her shoulders. He paused to -admire. He remained to stare. - -If he had been sober he would have resumed his course with a shrug of -the shoulders. But he was not sober. There was a film across his eyes -and a mighty music swelling within him. Reason was gone, and only -instinct remained. But the eyes of instinct are far surer thar the eyes -of reason. He moved closer with a shambling step. He leaned over his -sister. - -“It’s Jac!” - -He burst into Homeric laughter. Ben Craig rose slowly, a dangerous man -and a known man in the mountain-desert. Even through the mists of -“red-eye,” Harry During sobered a little under the crushing pressure of -the hand which fell on his shoulder. He pointed, grinning for sympathy. - -“Look!” he said. “Ain’t it funny? That’s my shister! That’s Jac!” - -Craig turned for an instant’s glance at Jac. She had not changed color. -There was a grave but impersonal sympathy in her steady eyes. - -She said: “Please don’t hurt the poor fellow--Ben!” - -Craig turned back to Harry. - -“It’s a disgrace,” he said, “to let a drunk like you wander around -insultin’ helpless girls. By God, it’s got to stop.” - -“My own shister--” protested Harry weakly. - -“On your way!” thundered Craig, for he was conscious that many eyes were -upon him. - -Two formidable figures appeared on either side of him. They were Maurie -Gordon, black of face with wrath, and Dave Carey, his lip lifted from -his teeth like a wolf about to snarl. They were three formidable -animals, facing the swaying figure of Harry. When men act under the eyes -of a woman, the careful veil of civilization is lifted. The lovely Miss -Silvestre was nearby. The three became ravening beasts. - -“Out with him!” said Dave Carey. - -“Move!” said Maurie. - -“Start!” said Ben Craig. - -But the same thing that made the hair of Jacqueline red made the blood -of Harry hot. - -“I’ll see you damned first,” he said thickly. - -Instantly six iron hands gripped him. He was whirled, and, struggling -vainly, borne across the floor toward the door. A universal clapping of -hands came from the edges of the hall. It was understood that Harry had -insulted the lovely stranger, and in the West, a woman, whether -beautiful or ugly, _may_ be treated with familiar words but _must_ be -treated with reverent thought. - -At the very threshold of the door that led from the main hall into the -little anteroom where guns and hats were piled, Harry managed to wriggle -loose. The fury of his anger was sobering him a little and restoring the -nerves to his muscular control. He broke loose with a curse and swung -feebly, uncertainly, at the nearest of his prosecutors. Carey and Craig -ducked to rush and grapple with Harry; but big Maurie, with the thought -of Miss Silvestre and “real men” floating in his brain, drew back his -sledge-hammer right fist and smashed it into the face of young During. - -Harry pitched back through the door as if a dozen hands had thrown him. -The three turned and made straight for Jac like three little boys -returning to their mother for praise due to a virtuous act after a day -of naughtiness and spankings. The women around the hall were silent. -They had heard the dull thud as that fist drove home. The men applauded -the murmurs. It was the custom to applaud Maurie Gordon. - -But when the three reached Jac, she sat white of face and still of eye. - -“This don’t happen often,” began Carey. - -“I never see anything like it before,” added Craig. - -“Anyway,” said Maurie complacently, “I’ve taught him a lesson.” - -A hard voice sounded at his shoulder. He turned to stare into the -furious eyes of Carrigan. There was nothing bulky about the latter, but -now, with his lean, almost ugly face white with anger and his gleaming -eye, he seemed strangely dangerous. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. THE THREE MUSKETEERS. - - -“Gordon,” he said, “you need a lesson yourself.” - -Maurie stepped back. - -“What’s eatin’ you?” he frowned. - -“You hit him when he couldn’t hardly raise a hand,” snapped Carrigan. - -There was no mistaking it. He meant fight. It shone in his eyes like -hunger. It tensed his muscles till he seemed crouching to spring like -some beast of prey. - -“Please!” cried Jac, and stepped in between them. - -“Shut up and sit down!” said Carrigan. - -And he pointed with a stern arm. She shrank back to the wall. - -“By God,” snarled Dave Carey, “you can’t talk to girls like that, -stranger!” - -“Then come outside with me an’ I’ll talk to a man. You too, Gordon, -you--” - -A thrilling cry from many women made them all turn. In the door stood -Harry During with the light gleaming on his long six-gun. - -“Gordon,” he called. “Git down an’ crawl like the dirty dog you are!” - -There was another flash of light on steel. It was the proprietor who had -drawn, but he did not attempt to draw a bead on Harry During. His gun -cracked; there was a clang of iron and a crash of glass as the big -gasoline lamp went out; the hall was flooded with a semi-dark. And with -the coming of the darkness fear rushed on the crowd. A stampede started -for the door, but who could find the door in that chaos of struggling -bodies and swinging shadows? Through the windows came the faint light of -the early dawn. - -“Jac!” cried Carrigan. - -But tall Ben Craig was already beside her. - -“Leave it to me!” he said reassuringly. “You didn’t make no mistake when -you picked me out. I’ll show you that the mountain-desert’s got one real -man to make up for a lot of coyotes!” - -“Wait!” she pleaded. - -“Jac!” called Carrigan again. - -“Here!” - -“Don’t trust to no one but me,” said Craig. - -“Then get me out of this mob.” - -“Follow me.” - -“I will if I can.” - -“Then--” - -He picked her up and lunged forward through the crowd. - -“Drop her!” commanded the voice of Carrigan. - -“Not for ten like you.” - -He released Jac to turn and fight. A fist cracked home against his face, -and he swung furiously. They grappled, and Craig felt as if he were -fighting a steel automaton. The muscles his hands fell upon were rigid. -The fist on his head and ribs beat a tattoo. Dave Carey had found Jac. - -“Thank God!” he cried. “I thought you were lost. Trust to me. I’ll see -you through!” - -Like Craig, he picked her up. - -“I’ll take you home if you’ll go with me.” - -“Anywhere out of this crowd!” - -“Jac!” - -“Here!” - -A hand caught Carey by the shoulder and jerked him around. In the dim -light he saw the convulsed face of Carrigan and dropped Jac to strike -out with all his might. His blow landed on thin air and a hard fist -smashed against his ribs. He went to the floor with a crash. But though -his breath was half gone, he clung to his foe and struggled like a -wildcat. Wild tales were told of Dave Carey in a fight. He lived up to -all those stories now. But finally a clubbed fist drove against the -point of his chin. He relaxed. - -The burly shoulders of Maurie Gordon loomed through the semi-dark above -Jac. - -“Jacqueline!” - -“Maurie!” - -“Thank God I’ve found you!” - -“Yes, thank God!” - -“This way after me. There’s the door!” - -“Jac!” - -“Here!” - -And a demoniac sprang at Maurie through the dark. - -Accustomed by this time to the dim light, the crowd was swirling rapidly -through the door, and in the outgoing tide went Jac. The same confusion -which made a hell of the dance-hall reigned in the open air. But there -was more space to maneuver, and Jac gathered her gown up high and -slipped through the crowd to the place at which Carrigan had tethered -his horse. - -She caught the pommel and swung up to the saddle like a man. There was a -sickening sound of ripping and tearing. The green gown was hopelessly -done for. She gave no thought to it, and landing astride in the -saddle--a position which completed the ruin of the dress--she gave the -horse his head and drove forward with a shout like that of a drunken -cow-puncher. - -And she was truly intoxicated with triumph. The men of her choice fought -for her in the dance-hall. They were her knights battling for the smile -of their lady. To one of them would go the victory, but hers was all the -glory. She shouted at the coming dawn and urged the horse into a faster -run. The wind caught at her face and whistled sharply past her ears--the -song of victory! - -No delay for the fording of the river! She took it on the run, splashed -from head to foot with mud and water. She did not care. The gown was a -wreck. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders. But she reached the further -bank and drove on at a gallop, shouting like one of the Valkyrie. - - * * * * * - -A battle of giants waged in the dance-hall, where Maurie Gordon and -Carrigan raged back and forth, sometimes standing at arm’s length and -slugging with both hands, sometimes grappling and punching at close -range, sometimes rolling over and over on the floor and fighting every -inch of the way. - -If the great arms of Maurie gave him an advantage in the open fighting, -the venomous agility of Carrigan evened matters when they came to close -quarters. - -Dave Carey drew himself up to a sitting posture with both hands pressed -over his mid-ribs while he watched the conflict. Ben Craig leaned -against the wall, sick and white of face. Through his swollen eyes he -could barely make out the twisting figures. And still they slugged and -smashed with a noble will, until, missing a swing at the same time, they -were thrown to the floor by the wasted force of their own blows and sat -staring stupidly at one another. - -The growing daylight made them quite visible now. It showed two battered -countenances. It showed equally torn clothes. - -“Where’s Jacqueline?” cried Maurie. - -“Gone!” cried Carrigan, and started to his feet. - -Gordon followed suit, but slowly. He was badly hurt in both body and -mind. The two heroes stared at each other. - -“Done for!” groaned Dave Carey from the distance. - -“Stung!” sighed feeble Ben Craig. - -“Beat!” growled Maurie. - -“Roped!” said Carrigan. - -“Fellers,” said Carey, struggling to his feet, and still caressing his -injured ribs, “I got an idea we better see that Fifth Avenue swell -before we do more fightin’.” - -“I got to find her,” said Gordon stoutly. “She depends on me. I’m the -one real man she’s ever known.” - -“You be damned before you find her,” said Carrigan, and the light of -battle flared in his eyes again. - -“Hold on,” interposed Carey. “You ain’t the real man she’s found. _I’m_ -it!” - -“You are?” sneered Craig. “They tried to bury her in the West but she’s -goin’ to be set free by a man who--” - -“Who tried to bury her in the western desert?” asked Carrigan. - -The other three spoke with one voice. - -“Her uncle!” said Carey. - -“Her cruel father,” said Craig. - -“Her older brother,” said Maurie. - -They turned and stared at each other, stunned. Once more they spoke in -one voice. - -“Stung!” - -“I believe her.” defended Maurie. “She’s led a sad life in a convent all -these years--” - -“In a boarding-school, you mean,” said Carey. - -“Wrong; a girls’ school,” said Craig. They stopped again. Light from the -dim distance was coming in their eyes. - - * * * * * - -And Jac, after leaving the down-headed horse in front of her father’s -hotel, stole swiftly up the stairs to her room. - -“Who’s there?” roared the familiar voice from Jim During’s room. - -“Me.” - -“Where’ve you been all night?” - -“None of yer business.” - -“Jac, I’m goin’ to raise the devil if you try many more of these funny -tricks.” - -“I been out walkin’.” - -“All night?” - -“Ain’t I got a right to walk?” - -“Jac, why wasn’t you born a boy?” groaned old Jim, reverting to his old -complaint. - -“Because it’s a lot more fun bein’ a girl,” said Jac, “when you’ve got -the golden touch.” - -And she went into her room. - -It was hard to look at herself in the faint light and with the little -round pocket mirror which had been ample for all her needs before. - -The glory of Cinderella was gone--quite gone! The green gown was a -wretched travesty; her hair was a tumbled mass; only in her smile and -her eyes there was a difference, a new light of power which, having once -come to a woman, dies only with her death. Truly the victory was hers! -She started to remove her clothes. - -It was a long task, but finally they were rolled into a small bundle and -tucked into a little corner. She put on her old clothes and carefully -retied the hard knot in her hair. The fairy godmother was gone. She -washed the powder from her face. Cinderella once more sat in the ashes. - -She was rattling away at the stove, preparing to make the fire for -breakfast, when a sound of singing down the road brought her to the -window. There came another Three Musketeers. They were mounted--Porthos, -Athos, and Aratnis. And before them walked the new D’Artagnan--Carrigan. -And with one voice they sang. - -It should have been a sad song, for as they came closer she saw that -they were battered of face and torn of clothes. Yet their song was glad. -Experience, whether good or bad, makes strong men rejoice. - -They trooped into the dining-room. - -“Chow!” they thundered in unison, and Jac stepped to the door. - -As one man they gaped. - -Big Maurie Gordon walked to her with a scowl, took her face between his -hands, and stared into her eyes. His own were so swollen that he was -looking out of the narrowest of slits. - -“Where have I seen you?” he said. - -“Maybe you been dreamin’ about me, you big stiff!” said Jac amiably. - -Maurie dropped his hands and turned away. - -“Yep. A nightmare,” he said. - -“I got a start, too,” growled Carey. “An’ when I seen Jac I thought -about--” - -“Don’t say it,” broke in Craig. “It makes me see red.” - -“Hit the kitchen, Bricktop,” said Maurie, “an’ rustle some ham an’ -eggs--lots of ’em.” - -She smiled, and the expression changed her whole face. The Three -Musketeers jumped and stared at her with a return of their first -interest. The fairy godmother was waving the wand. - -“This,” said Jacqueline, “is worse than the convent.” - -“The devil!” groaned Maurie. “This ain’t possible.” - -“When I came west,” went on Jac with the same smile, “I thought that I -should find one real man.” - -They listened with mouths agape. It was like watching base lead being -transmuted before their eyes to gold. - -Carrigan winked his one good eye. The other was black and puffed. - -“And I have found one,” said Jac. - -And she winked at Carrigan. - -“I can leave it to you,” said Carrigan, “to lead me a real man’s life.” - -(The end.) - - -[Transcriber’s Note: This novelette originally appeared in the -July 10, 1920 issue of “All-Story Weekly” magazine.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SAGEBRUSH CINDERELLA *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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