sked to do a few turns on the Metropolitan Opera
stage of New York City, New York."

"Love me to-day," sang Lolita, meltingly, if with grating harshness.

"That's right, Lolita, sing your pretty song," coaxed Pearl. "Come on,
I'll sing with you." She lifted her languorous eyes and sang softly,
almost under her breath, but straight at Hanson:

"Love me to-day,
Love me an hour;
Love is a flower,
Fading alway."

The blood surged to his temples at the direct challenge, he half rose
and leaned toward her. Then, as she laughed at him, he sat down. "Treble
Sweeney's offer, by God!" he said hoarsely. "Cash down beforehand." He
brought his fist down on the arm of the chair with a crash.

"Oh, I ain't ready to make any plans yet," Pearl announced
indifferently. "I want to talk things over with Pop first. He'll be down
from the mines before long, maybe to-day."

She sat for a few moments in silence, her eyes fixed on the far purple
hazes of the desert. "Oh, I wish there weren't so many of me," she said
at last and wistfully. "After I'm 'out' a while, I'll get to longing so
for the desert that I'm likely to raise any kind of a row and break any
old contract just to get here. I can't breathe. I feel as if everything,
buildings and people and all, were crowding me so's if I didn't have a
place to stand; and then, after I'm here a while, I got to see the
footlights, I got to hear them clapping, I got to dance for the big
crowds. Oh, Lord! life's awful funny, always trying to chain you up to
one thing or another. But I won't be tied. I got to be free, and I will
be free." She threw out her arms with a passionate gesture.

"You'd be free with me," he cried.

But, if she heard him, she gave no indication of having done so. "Can
you ride?" she asked presently.

"You bet," said Hanson eagerly. "I was born in Kaintucky. Just tell me
where I can get a horse here, and--"

"I'll lend you one of mine, and we'll have some rides. I'll take you out
on the desert. It ain't safe to go alone. You see those sand hills
yonder? Do you think you could walk out to them and back?"

"Sure," said Hanson confidently and looking at her in some surprise.

Pearl laughed. "Oh, Lolita!" she cried; "a tenderfoot is sure funny. The
chances are, Mr. Hanson, that if you started to walk around those dunes
you'd never get back. Goodness! ain't that mirage pretty?"

The desert, which had lain vast, dun-colored and unbroken before their