she nodded. "Have you
played yet? Win, or lose?"

"I did not come to play, madam," said I. "Not at table, that is."
Whereupon I must have returned her gaze so glowingly as to embarrass her.
Yet she was not displeased; and in that costume and with that liquor
still coursing through my veins I felt equal to any retort.

"But you should play. You are heeled?"

"The best I could procure." I let my hand rest casually upon my revolver
butt.

She laughed merrily. There were smiles aside.

"Oh, no; I didn't mean that. You are heeled for all to see. I meant, you
have funds? You didn't come here too light, did you?"

"I am prepared for all emergencies, madam, certainly," I averred with
proper dignity. Not for the world would I have confessed otherwise. Sooth
to say, I had the sensation of boundless wealth. The affair at the hotel
did not bother me, now. Here in the Big Tent prosperity reigned. Money,
money, money was passing back and forth, carelessly shoved out and
carelessly pocketed or piled up, while the band played and the people
laughed and drank and danced and bragged and staked, and laughed again.

"That is good. Shall we walk a little? And when you play--come here." We
stepped apart from the listeners. "When you play, follow the lead of Jim.
He'll not lose, and I intend that you shan't, either. But you must play,
for the sport of it. Everybody games, in Benton."

"So I judge, madam," I assented. "Under your chaperonage I am ready to
take any risks, the gaming table being among the least."

"Prettily said, sir," she complimented. "And you won't lose. No," she
repeated suggestively, "you won't lose, with me looking out for you. Jim
bears you no ill will. He recognizes a man when he meets him, even when
the proof is uncomfortable."

"For that little episode on the train I ask no reward, madam," said I.

"Of course not." Her tone waxed impatient. "However, you're a stranger in
Benton and strangers do not always fare well." In this she spoke the
truth. "As a resident I claim the honors. Let us be old acquaintances.
Shall we walk? Or would you rather dance?"

"I'd cut a sorry figure dancing in boots," said I. "Therefore I'd really
prefer to walk, if all the same to you."

"Thank you for having mercy on my poor feet. Walk we will."

"May I get you some refreshment?" I hazarded. "A lemonade--or something
stronger?"

"Not for you, sir; not again," she laughed. "You are, as Jim would say,
'fortified.' And I shal