the prettiest girl in the
country."

With one accord the other men looked at Black Jack, and for the first
time realized that he was a superb specimen of manhood, for he stood six
feet tall, was broad, well-rounded, and had dark, even skin, big black
eyes, and full red lips.

"I'll tell you what!" exclaimed the Angel. "I'd just love to see you on
horseback. Nothing sets a handsome man off so splendidly. Do you ride?"

"Yes," said Jack, and his eyes were burning on the Angel as if he would
fathom the depths of her soul.

"Well," said the Angel winsomely, "I know what I just wish you'd do.
I wish you would let your hair grow a little longer. Then wear a
blue flannel shirt a little open at the throat, a red tie, and a
broad-brimmed felt hat, and ride past my house of evenings. I'm always
at home then, and almost always on the veranda, and, oh! but I would
like to see you! Will you do that for me?" It is impossible to describe
the art with which the Angel asked the question. She was looking
straight into Jack's face, coarse and hardened with sin and careless
living, which was now taking on a wholly different expression. The evil
lines of it were softening and fading under her clear gaze. A dull red
flamed into his bronze cheeks, while his eyes were growing brightly
tender.

"Yes," he said, and the glance he gave the men was of such a nature that
no one saw fit even to change countenance.

"Oh, goody!" she cried, tilting on her toes. "I'll ask all the girls
to come see, but they needn't stick in! We can get along without them,
can't we?"

Jack leaned toward her. He was the charmed fluttering bird, while the
Angel was the snake.

"Well, I rather guess!" he cried.

The Angel drew a deep breath and surveyed him rapturously.

"My, but you're tall!" she commented. "Do you suppose I ever will grow
to reach your shoulders?"

She stood on tiptoe and measured the distance with her eyes. Then she
developed timid confusion, while her glance sought the ground.

"I wish I could do something," she half whispered.

Jack seemed to increase an inch in height.

"What?" he asked hoarsely.

"Lariat Bill used always to have a bunch of red flowers in his shirt
pocket. The red lit up his dark eyes and olive cheeks and made him
splendid. May I put some red flowers on you?"

Freckles stared as he wheezed for breath. He wished the earth would open
and swallow him. Was he dead or alive? Since his Angel had seen Black
Jack she nev