aphophone. To each of the cowboys she
whispered tender little sentiments, gave soulful looks and insinuating
smiles--all but caressed them openly. Ophelia did like things to Old
Heck, Parker and Charley.

In very truth it was a "slaughter."

It was hot. After an hour Carolyn June stepped out on the porch for a
breath of air while Skinny sought in the cabinet for a record she had
asked him to play. The Ramblin' Kid straightened up as she came out of
the door. He was disgusted, angry, heart-sickened. He had seen enough
and was starting to leave.

Carolyn June had noticed the absence of the Ramblin' Kid. She had
believed, all evening, he was on the porch and that was the real reason
she had come outside. She saw him. "Oh, is--is--that you, Ramblin'
Kid?" she exclaimed as if surprised, and went quickly to where, at the
sound of her voice, he had paused.

He did not answer. The light shone full on his face and he knew that she
knew--and had known before she spoke--that he was there. His eyes were
filled with a look queerly blending scorn, loathing, pity and pain.

"Why--why--don't you come in and dance?" she asked lightly, not certain
of his mood.

"I don't want to," he replied coldly: "anyhow--" he added with a sneer
and a brutal laugh as he slowly moved away in the darkness, "when I
decide to _hug_ I'll hug in private!"

Carolyn June started almost as though he had struck her. The taunt was
an insult! A flood of anger swept over her. "The brute!" she whispered
passionately and with utter contempt in her voice. She stood a moment.
Suddenly she remembered the reckless abandon with which she had been
dancing and flirting with the cowboys inside the house. Her face flamed
scarlet. She looked out into the blackness toward the circular corral.
Her expression changed and a pitying smile crossed her lips: "Poor
Ramblin' Kid--he just--does not understand!" she murmured and stepped
back into the house.

As the Ramblin' Kid passed through the back-yard gate he muttered
savagely under his breath: "Playin' with their hearts like marbles--th'
damned fools!" He paused a moment and added, as though tired, "Oh, well,
I reckon she thinks she has to do it--it's her breed--she was raised
that way I guess!"

The snuffling sound of a horse blowing hay-powder or other dust from its
nostrils came from the direction of the circular corral. The Ramblin'
Kid stopped in his walk and turning went thoughtfully through the
darkness toward wh