e and smoked the scented cigarettes that she loved, he
could feel a spell, a sort of enchantment, in every soft sweep of her
eyes. At other times her long, slender arms seemed thin, in a way, and
unrounded; but then her whole form took on the slim grace of a dancer
and that strange light came into her eyes. It too was a light such as
comes to dancers' eyes, as they take on some languid pose; but it had
this difference--it was addressed to him, and her words belied her
eyes. The eyes spoke of love, but, leaning across the table, the tiger
lady talked of stocks.

It was on the occasion of his first winning on copper, when he had sold
out his Navajoa at a big profit; and, after the celebration that he had
provided, she had invited him to supper. The cigarettes were smoked
and, with champagne still singing in his ears, Rimrock followed her to
the dimly lighted reception-room. They sat by the fire, her slim arms
gleaming and dark shadows falling beneath her hair; and as Rimrock
watched her, his heart in his throat, she glanced up from her musing to
smile.

"What a child you are, after all!" she observed and Rimrock raised his
head.

"Yes, sure," he said, "I'm a regular baby. It's a wonder someone
hasn't noticed and took me in off the street."

"Yes, it is," she said with a twist of the lips, "the Street's no place
for you. Some of those big bears will get you, sure. But here's what
I was thinking. You came back to New York to watch Whitney Stoddard
and be where you could do him the most harm. That's childish in itself
because there's no reason in the world why both of you shouldn't be
friends. But never mind that--men will fight, I suppose--it's only a
question of weapons."

"Well, what do we care?" answered Rimrock with a ready smile, "I
thought maybe you might adopt me."

"No, indeed," she replied, "you'd run away. I've seen boys like you
before. But to think that you'd come back here to get the lifeblood of
Stoddard and then go to buying Navajoa! Why not? Why, you might as
well be a mosquito for all the harm you will do. A grown man like
you--Rimrock Jones, the copper king--fighting Stoddard through Navajoa!"

"Well, why not?" defended Rimrock. "Didn't I put a crimp in him?
Didn't I double my money on the deal?"

"Yes, but why Navajoa? Why not Tecolote? If you must fight, why not
use a real club?"

Rimrock thought a while, for the spell was passing and his mind had
switched from her charms.