“Yes, but only for a little while. Only for a few months. Then they brought me west.” The last paragraph of a third instalment rose word by word before her eyes. “They thought to bury me in the west! Even out here they guard me like a criminal! To-night I had to run away to be with you--you all. But they cannot bury me in this country. I look upon the stars at night and do not feel alone. The desert is my friend. I feel its mystery. And I feel the truth and strength of the men of the desert. Somewhere among them I shall find _one_ friend!” She bowed her head again. “Some memory, Jac!” she was saying to herself. The deep rumble of his voice, broken and passionate, broke in upon her. “By God, you _have_ found that friend. I’m him!” “Mr. Gordon--Maurie!” He could not speak! The music stopped, and as it died away they caught a clear laugh from across the hall. “The feller that come with you seems to be havin’ a pretty fair sort of a time,” said Maurie. Jac looked up. There was Carrigan laughing heartily with Dolly Maxwell. She seemed extremely beautiful when she laughed, and her voice was musical--it rose over the babble of the dance hall like the chime of a bell. Jac set her teeth. She remembered the Carrigan Cut--as Maurie had failed to do it! Dave Carey was approaching. “Here comes my next partner,” she said, “but--” Her pause said a thousand things. It made Maurie stand very straight. He was taking the burden of a woman’s happiness upon his shoulders--and such a woman! “I will never forget!” The tensity of his emotion made him grammatical. “Come with me, an’ we’ll sit out the dance. Send Carey away.” “But if he don’t want to go?” “I’ll bust his jaw for him if he don’t.” “Please--Maurie!” “All right,” he said, relenting slowly. “I’ll see you later.” As he retreated, Jac turned to Dave Carey. He was standing stiffly, like a soldier awaiting orders. “‘I’ll see you later!’” she quoted. “I wonder if I should consider that a promise or a threat, Mr. Carey? Or is it just a westernism?” Dave Carey expanded. He knew that the girl in the fluffy pink dress was watching him with a white face. “Poor ol’ Maurie,” he said gently. “He ain’t much on manners. He was never given much of a bringin’ up. Maybe you noticed it sort of in his way of talkin’. You’re lookin’ sort of sad.” She was gazing pensively on the happy faces of Dolly Maxwell and Carrigan. Now she lowered a gloomy eye to the floor. “I try to seem gay, Mr. Carey.” “But there’s somethin’ eatin’ on your mind?” She looked up with childish admiration. “How could you tell? But you westerners see everything.” The clear music of Dolly Maxwell’s laughter floated to her. Her brow clouded. “I cannot help being unhappy, Mr. Carey.” Carey’s hand slipped down on his hip and then he sighed. No one had been allowed to wear a six-gun into the dance-hall. “Somebody botherin’ you? P’int him out!” “If there were, you would protect me, Mr. Carey, I know!” “_Would_ I!”