“If I want to.” They sat down--Carrigan rather gingerly, and edging away from her. “You see that skinny feller with the black hair?” “Yep.” “That’s Dave Carey. He’s engaged to that girl with the smile an’ the fluffy pink dress. She called me a ‘horrible tomboy’ once. You can bring Dave Carey next.” “Goin’ to bust up the happy homes, Jac?” “Miss Silvestre,” she corrected. “Watch Jenny Hendrix stare at me! She’s whispering, too. I hate her! Then there’s Ben Craig, the tall man with the thin, sad-lookin’ face. Once when he was at the hotel he said my head was more like a turkey-egg than a face. You c’n bring him third. I’ll think of some more after a while.” “How’re you goin’ to keep up the bluff with all those fellers? They’ll spot your lingo in a minute.” Jacqueline waved the suggestion airily away. “I read a book once,” she said, and her smile was very close to the grin of Jac During, now no more. “It told about an Eastern girl who came West an’ she was terrible thrilled about the Western men. She had a great lingo. I’ll stick by what she said.” “What was it?” “Mr. Carrigan, have you lived all your life in the West?” “Sure.” He started and stared at her. “Is that part of the lingo?” “I knew you had been all your life out here in these big open spaces. It makes you so much more real than the Eastern men.” “Huh!” grunted Carrigan, and blinked rapidly. “Do you know that I feel that you--but you would think me foolish if I said it.” “You bet your life I wouldn’t!” gasped Carrigan. She leaned closer and dropped a hand on his arm. Her gaze dwelt tenderly on his startled eyes. “I feel that you are the first _real_ man I have ever known, Mr. Carrigan.” “The devil you do!” “Yes. All the men I have met have been so superficial. But you are like your own great West, Mr. Carrigan, with a heart as wide as the desert and as open as the sky. I feel it. Am I foolish to tell you this?” Carrigan loosened his bandanna. “Jac, are you goin’ to pull this sort of a line on all the boys?” he asked hoarsely. “Sure I am. Why not? Don’t it get by?” “There’ll be gun-play before the night’s over, you c’n lay that ten to one.” “Why?” “Don’t look at me like that! You make me nervous. It ain’t what you say so much as the way you say it. Where’d you learn that way of talkin’?” “I been to the movies, an’ I used my eyes. I’ve seen Maude Merriam an’ come home an’ practised at the mirror. Has she got anything on me?” “She generally ain’t got half so much on,” groaned Carrigan, and rose. “Wait a minute, Carrie!” “Say, Cinderella, maybe I’m the fairy godmother, but don’t go callin’ me by a woman’s name. The brand don’t no ways look well on my hide.” “All right, Mr. Carrigan. But just remember this: That ain’t the Carrigan cut that we done in the last dance.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “It’s the Silvestre slide.” “What?”