corner of a sheet-iron groggery
(plentifully punctured, I noted, with bullet holes) not yet open for
business and faced by the blank wall of a warehouse.

"I've been waiting since daylight," she panted, "and watching the hotel. I
knew you were still there; I found out. I was afraid you wouldn't answer
my note, so I slipped around and cut in on you. Where are you going,
sir?"

"That, madam, is my private affair," I replied. "And all your efforts to
influence me in the slightest won't amount to a row of pins. And as I am
in a hurry, I again bid you good-morning. I advise you to get back to your
husband and your beauty sleep, in order to be fresh for your Big Tent
to-night."

"My husband? You know? Oh, of course you know." She gazed affrightedly
upon me. "To Montoyo, you say? Him? No, no! I can't! Oh, I can't, I
can't." She wrung her hands, she held me fast. "And I know where you're
going. To that wagon train. Mr. Jenks has engaged you. You will bull-whack
to Salt Lake? You? Don't! Please don't. There's no need of it."

"I am done with Benton, and with Benton's society, madam," I insisted. "I
have learned my lesson, believe me, and I'm no longer a 'gudgeon.'"

"You never were," said she. "Not that. And you don't have to turn
bull-whacker or mule-skinner either. It's a hard life; you're not fitted
for it--never, never. Leave Benton if you will. I hate it myself. And let
us go together."

"Madam!" I rapped; and drew back, but she clung to me.

"Listen, listen! Don't mistake me again. Last night was enough. I want
to go. I must go. We can travel separately, then; I will meet you
anywhere--Denver, Omaha, Chicago, New York, anywhere you
say--anywhere----"

"Your husband, madam," I prompted. "He might have objections to parting
with you."

"Montoyo? That snake--you fear that snake? He is no husband to me. I could
kill him--I will do it yet, to be free from him."

"My good name, then," I taunted. "I might fear for my good name more than
I'd fear a man."

"I have a name of my own," she flashed, "although you may not know it."

"I have been made acquainted with it," I answered roundly.

"No, you haven't. Not the true. You know only another." Her tone became
humbler. "But I'm not asking you to marry me," she said. "I'm not asking
you to love me as a paramour, sir. Please understand. Treat me as you
will; as a sister, a friend, but anything human. Only let me have your
decent regard until I can get 'stablished in new