if to-morrow were
kind to them . . . and Elmer's ranch and house and cow, horse and pigs
were laughed to scorn.

Florrie departed leaving her cruellest laughter to ring in his ears.
This might have been a repetition of any one of a dozen episodes
familiar to them both, but never, perhaps, had Elmer's ears burned so
or Florrie's heart so disturbed her with its beating. For, she thought
regretfully as she hurried out into the street, they had been getting
along so nicely. . . .

She had no business out alone at this time of night and she knew it.
So she hurried on, anxious to get home before her father, who was
returning late from a visit to one of his ranches. Abreast of the Casa
Blanca she slowed up, looking in curiously. Then, as again she was
hastening on, she heard Jim Galloway's deep voice in a quiet "Good
evening, Miss Florence."

"Good evening!" gasped Florrie aloud. And "Oh!" said Florrie under her
breath. For Galloway's figure had separated itself from the shadows at
the side of his open door and had come out into the street, while
Galloway was saying in a matter-of-fact way: "I'll see you home."

She wanted to run and could not. She hung a moment balancing upon a
high heel in indecision. Galloway stepped forward swiftly, coming to
her side. "Oh, dear," the inner Florrie was saying. A glance over her
shoulder showed her Black Bill standing out in front of Struve's hotel.
Well, there were compensations.

She started to hurry on, and had Jim Galloway been less sure of
himself, troubled with the diffidence of youth as was Elmer, he must
have either given over his purpose or else fairly run to keep up with
her. But being Jim Galloway, he laid a gentle but none the less
restraining hand upon her arm.

"Please," he said quietly. "I want to talk with you. May I?"

Florrie's arm burned where he had touched her. She was all in a
flutter, half frightened and the other half flattered. A shade more
leisurely they walked on toward the cottonwoods. Here, in the shadows,
Galloway stopped and Florrie, although beginning to tremble, stopped
with him.

"Men have given me a black name here," he was saying as he faced her.
"They've made me somewhat worse than I am. I feel that I have few
friends, certainly very few of my own class. I like to think of you as
a friend. May I?"

It was distinctly pleasant to have a big man like Galloway, a man whom
for good or for bad the whole State knew, pleading with h