in her eyes. Ah,
she was a lady . . .!" Impulsively she rose and walked over to the bar.
"No," she went on, when behind it once more, "I couldn't share that
table an' The Polka with any man--unless there was a heap o' carin' back
of it. No, I couldn't, Jack, I couldn't . . ."

By this time the Sheriff's anger had completely vanished; dejection was
plainly written on every line of his face.

"Well, I guess the boys were right; I am a Chinaman," he drawled out.

At once the Girl was all sympathy.

"Oh, no you're not, Jack!" she protested, speaking as tenderly as she
dared without encouraging him.

Rance was quick to detect the change in her voice. Now he leaned over
the end of the bar and said in tones that still held hope:

"Once when I rode in here it was nothing but Jack, Jack, Jack Rance. By
the Eternal, I nearly got you then!"

"Did you?" The Girl was her saucy self again.

Rance ignored her manner, and went on:

"Then you went on that trip to Sacramento and Monterey and you were
different."

In spite of herself the Girl started, which Rance's quick eye did not
fail to note.

"Who's the man?" he blazed.

For answer the Girl burst out into a peal of laughter. It was forced,
and the man knew it.

"I suppose he's one o' them high-toned, Sacramento shrimps!" he burst
out gruffly; then he added meaningly: "Do you think he'd have you?"

At those words a wondering look shone in the Girl's eyes, and she asked
in all seriousness:

"What's the matter with me? Is there anythin' 'bout me a high-toned gent
would object to?" And then as the full force of the insult was borne in
upon her she stepped out from behind the bar, and demanded: "Look here,
Jack Rance, ain't I always been a perfect lady?"

Rance laughed discordantly.

"Oh, heaven knows your character's all right!" And so saying he seated
himself again at the table.

The girl flared up still more at this; she retorted:

"Well, that ain't your fault, Jack Rance!" But the words were hardly out
of her mouth than she regretted having spoken them. She waited a moment,
and then as he did not speak she murmured an "Adios, Jack," and took up
her position behind the bar where, if Rance had been looking, he would
have seen her start on hearing a voice in the next room and fix her eyes
in a sort of fascinated wonder, on a man who, after parting the pelt
curtain, came into the saloon with just a suggestion of swagger in his
bearing.

VII.

"Where's