lourish with knife and fork against his plate as if to cover the sound
of Jacqueline's voice.

"Pierre!" she called again. "I've come to thank you."

He jumped up and turned toward the hall.

"Do you like it?"

"It's a wonder!"

"Then we're friends?"

"If you want to be."

"There's nothing I want more. Then you'll come out and have supper
with us, Jack?"

"Pierre--"

"Yes?"

"I'm ashamed. I've been acting like a silly kid."

"But we're waiting for you."

There was a little pause, and then Jim Boone struck his fist on the
table and cursed, for she stepped from the darkness into the flaring
light of the room.

CHAPTER XIII

A TALE OF THE SLEDGE

She wore a cartridge belt slung jauntily across her hips and from it
hung a holster of stiff new leather with the top flap open to show the
butt of a man-sized forty-five caliber six-shooter--her first gun. Not
a man of the gang but had loaned her his guns time and again, but they
had never dreamed of giving the child a weapon of her own.

So they stared at her agape, where she stood with her head back, one
slender hand resting on her hip, one hovering about the butt of the
gun, as if she challenged them to question her right to be called "man."

It was as if she abandoned all claims to femininity with that single
step; the gun at her side made her seem inches taller and years older.
She was no longer a child, but a long-rider who could back any horse on
the range and shoot with the best.

One glance she cast about the room to drink in the amazement of the
gang, and then with a profound instinct guiding her, she picked out the
best critic in the room and said to him with a frown: "Well, Dick,
how's it hang?"

The big man was as flushed as the girl.

"Hangs like a charm," he said, "a charm that 'll be apt to make men
step about."

And her father broke in rather hoarsely: "Sit down, girl. Sit down and
be one of us. One of us you are by your own choice from this day on.
You're neither man nor woman, but a long-rider with every man's hand
against you. You've done with any hope of a home or of friends.
You're one of us. Poor Jack--my girl!"

"Poor?" she returned. "Not while I can make a quick draw and shoot
straight."

And then she swept the circle of eyes, daring them to take her boast
lightly, but they knew her too well, and were all solemnly silent. At
this she relented somewhat, and went directly to Pierre, flushing from
throat to h